#I feel like you can split them either into 'large haunting eyes' or 'sharp dangerous features'

[fellsilver]

My drafts folder is getting cluttered again, so I'm just posting my messy, for-my-own-foolishness list of FCs that have Seven Sisters vibes to me

Annabelle Wallis

Rebecca Ferguson

Diane Kruger

Sophia Myles

Lucy Lawless

Morfydd Clark

Anya Taylor-Joy

Sarah Gadon

Gaia Weiss

Emma D'arcy

Jeanne Goursaud

Kathryn Winnick

Hannah Dodd

Kate Winslet

Nora Arnezeder

Eva Green

Cate Blanchett

Alyssa Sutherland

Rosamund Pike

Anita Briem

Joely Richardson

Charlize Theron

Henessi Schmidt

Jessica Chastain (not a period role but the silver hair in Dark Phoenix —)

Abigail Thorn

Gwendoline Christie

Clemence Poesy

Marta Bryla

Laura Birn

[baka-monarch]

Dirt Crawlers

Look @darkeninganon , I beat you to writing the slug thing!!!! :)

(brain just randomly started thinking of story and I just decided to write it now before I lost motivation/inspiration)

Part 2->

TRIGGER WARNINGS: BUGS, FEAR, MENTION OF DEATH, FEELING SMALL, VERY GROSS DISCRETION

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Tommy watched Dream as he pushed the door to their hole in the ground open The younger Dirt Crawler was practically bouncing with excitement. Today was the day, finally Dream was taking him out on his first hunting trip. It was the perfect day for hunting as well, since it hadn't rained for weeks and was so bright and sunny out (as Tommy could tell from the blinding light coming through their burrow door) that there was no way it would rain; so there was no risk of them drowning in a puddle or getting dragged down to suffocate in mud. It was also the afternoon by now, judging by where the sun was, which meant almost no birds out hunting at all. Yeah, now would be the perfect time to get some food.

"You remember all the rules I told you, right?" Tommy was startled out of his thoughts by his older brother's voice.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know I know!" The teen rolled his eyes. The rules had been drilled into him ever since he was a kid, ever since their parents were still around.

"Okay, so remember that we're only hunting aphids- no attacking ants, ladybugs, termites-"

"Mantises,"-He cut off Dream's words-"slugs- yeah yeah, I know boss man! We don't fight anything that isn't an aphid!!" Tommy climbed out of the burrow with that in mind. He already knows what happens if a Dirt Crawler tries to fight anything other than an aphid, he's been told the horror stories thousands of times. Ants will swarm you if you hurt one, ladybugs can headbutt trample and eat you, termites can take a limb off with one bite, and mantises- of Prime Tommy really does NOT want to think about fucking mantises.

"I'm just making sure-" Dream added as he climbed out to stand next to Tommy, kicking their burrow door closed behind himself. "I know how adventurous you can get at times and I don't want to risk anything." The elder puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder and looks into his baby brother's eyes seriously. The world is a dangerous place for someone only half an inch tall, and he wants to make sure his baby brother is safe.

"Stop worrying so much- I'm not gonna leave your side big man." Tommy smirks into their serious gaze and gives his brother a comforting pay on the shoulder, making them sigh with relief.

"Good- because I don't know what I'd do without your annoying voice." Dream jokes with a slightly forced chuckle and ruffles the teen's curly blond hair. Tommy only groans in annoyance and pushes his hand away, which only makes Dream let out another fond chuckle. "C'mon, we don't have all afternoon!" The elder doesn't give Tommy any time to fix their hair as he grabs their hand and pulls them off into the towering grass blades.

It's a few hours later when the two brothers find themselves watching from being blades of grass as several aphids hop around on the dirt, having called off of the grass after the two tiny people had shaken their plant homes with the help of a light breeze. Dream pulls out a small sword and turns to Tommy to make sure he's holding his own sword correctly. Once the eldest is sure the time is perfect, he gives a signal with his hand and both split- Dream running in from the right and Tommy from the left, both catching the tiny bugs off guard and using that to their advantage to slice off the heads of several before they can jump out of reach.

"You did it!" Dream smiles up at Tommy who himself is smiling proudly. They were running low on food, and now with Tommy's help, they're both sure to have more than enough aphids to last them for a week or more at least. "This should be good- you, did good Toms." The green clad Dirt Crawler walks over to his brother and ruffles their hair, and this time Tommy does not complain. "Now help me bag them up-"

"Yes sir!" Tommy gives a small thumbs up and starts to fill his sprig woven bag with the dead aphids as Dream does the same. It's all fine until one of the aphid bodies gets up and starts to limp away- Tommy missed it's head. "I'll get it!" He calls over to his brother, who gives a nod of acknowledgement before Tommy chases after the aphid, knowing he can easily catch and kill it since it can't jump.

Tommy doesn't notice anything suspicious as he approaches the injured aphid. He doesn't look around at his surroundings as he gets out his sword. He doesn't look up as he stabs the bug and finally kills it. He does however scream after looking up to see where the droplet of slime had come from on his sword after landing the killing blow.

Dream snaps his head up to attention, his eyes wide with fear for his Tommy as he looks to where they'd run off to- and he almost screams as well. "IT'S A SLUG!!!!" He's quick to run over and grab Tommy's arm and start to drag the petrified teen away before they can be eaten.

Tommy doesn't hesitate to follow Dream once he snaps out of his state of fear. As they run Tommy tries not to think about the humongous slimey being of pure squishy muscle, with four eyes that stared at him with nothing but hunger, and a large gaping mouth that was opening and closing, ready to eat it's lunch with the rows upon rows of tiny razor sharp teeth that could allow the disgusting giant to swallow him whole. Tommy shivers, yeah that's going to be haunting his nightmares- oh well at least slugs are slow, so he and Dream have plenty of time to run away…. Or so he thought, before suddenly his running is slowed significantly by something making him stick to the ground. The teen looks down, and sees he's stepped into a trail of familiar slime that has him now stuck where he stands.

"Dre- Dream!?" He yells to his older brother, who also finds himself slowed by the slime trail. Dream looks at his brother sadly, and grabs their arms before desperately trying to pull Tommy free as the slug approaches at a slow orgilating crawl towards them.

"Tommy- Tommy, look at me!" Dream said, keeping his voice firm, trying to give his baby brother something to focus on. "Don't look back- don't- d- don't look behind you. Just focus on me, we're going to get out of this." At least Tommy is close enough for Dream to pull them into a hug. He lets Tommy bury their face into his chest, letting them cry as he glares up at the omnivore that had successfully hunted them down on Tommy's first aphid gathering…

"I- I'm scared…" Tommy admits quietly, something they usually would never do, but Dream can understand in this situation: getting stuck while running from a slug is certain death for any and all Dirt Crawlers.

"I know… I know, but it's going to be okay, I promise…." Dream whispers softly and weaves his fingers into Tommy's soft golden curls, something that's always calmed them down, no matter how old. He hugs his small brother close, closing his eyes so he can savor one last moment with them…

BOOM-SQUELCH!!!

The sound is loud and disturbing to hear for the absolutely miniscule brothers, and they both open their eyes wide in surprise and fear of what happened. All that can run through Dream's head is that the slug must've been crushed by something, but what? A deer? A wolf maybe? Possibly even a skunk even if they aren't in this area? The only way to find out is to look up- and up- and up and up and up and-

"Fuck." Dream doesn't cuss often, but for this occasion it feels necessary.

"Wh- wha-" Tommy begins to ask but cuts off his own words as he feels all his breath leave him in fear, as he looks up too.

A giant. An actual giant. A person, thousands of times their size was standing right on top of where the slug had been only seconds before- and it seemed like they didn't even notice they'd crushed anything.

"Human…" Dream mutters quietly, remembering the word from a story their mom told him once before Tommy was born. Giants- humans- weren't supposed to be here. Dirt Crawlers almost never had to deal with humans… yet here one stood, having unintentionally saved the two brothers lives, and Dream realized in a moment how close they both were to that death dealing foot, and if the human hadn't seen the slug, then if they took another unfortunate step- "R- run- we need to run! Run!!" Dream shouts and starts to pull Tommy, and his brother quickly gets the message as they both pull themselves out of the slime to start running.

Dream doesn't let go of Tommy's hand the whole time as they both run as fast as they can, but it doesn't feel fast enough as every time Dream looks back the human looks just as close as they were before and- oh gods they were looking down at them. Dream pushes forward, trying to pull Tommy even faster with a feigned hope that maybe, just maybe they can at least get to the burrow in time and be safe until the human leaves-

Dream bounces back off of something hard and smooth, he can't see it but he can feel it. Tommy rushes forward to stand beside him and starts to bang on the invisible wall; it's a fruitless effort however as both know that anything used by humans is guaranteed to be too strong for either to break through. Only a few seconds later they feel gravity change and they're sliding down the wall, Dream grabs Tommy and hugs him, wanting to make sure that wherever they land his brother is safe more than anything. They eventually hit a bottom, made of another invisible wall- and as Dream looks up he meets two massive eyes, twice as big as himself, staring directly at him and his brother.

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Mcyt g/t list:

@trashpumped @lorie-the-little-ghost @encaos @i-am-a-weeb @wyforyu-gaming @5unfl0writ3r @colorfulsiren @moonmwah @iwasgoingtohellanyways @echoslime @wilbur-simp @trouble-off-grid @lilsyxx @smogs-0 @hello-world-im-snow

[of-tatooine]

honor him. | chapter 1 - wolf to man

sword practice takes a turn as tensions rise under the gray skies of the Flooded District.

Ego homini lupus.

Man is wolf to man. The dark, twisted, plague-ridden world you had to be a part of brought this brutal law of nature to the spotlight - in all of its twisted ways man could think of.

Sometimes it took form in letting swarms of rats crawl and devour a poor soul in a matter of minutes, only leaving the gut-wrenching sounds of human tissue getting chewed on while you watched and did not lift a single finger to rescue the man. It was just the way the world worked, the way the cogs turned and clicked. It had been a challenge to shut down your sense of pity and helpfulness as a good human being - when your entire life revolved around killing and letting it be killed, finding time for remorse did not come so easy between the death contracts.

Often times it was a bloody blade twisting in yet another soul’s heart, tearing arteries and ribs apart. Traveling to the deepest, grittiest corners of the once-great city of Dunwall, slicing countless noble and Weeper throats for coin that would only be enough to barely get by, days and days of living on cold and ruthless rooftops to scout for missions had all shown you many horrors that your humankind could commit. In times of distress, of misery and sometimes, times when one succumbs to selfish intentions.

This time, the simple combination of Latin words was showing its' gnarly thorns into killing an Empress.

The piercing sound of steel clashing steel echoed through the bricks and the damaged rooftops as it got mixed with the filtered huffs and groans thrown in the duel through the whaler masks. He pressed on with another attack, taking a quick forward step along with a low groan of effort as he threw out an expert dash that would have taken your dainty little beating heart out of your chest if you had not anticipated it, a little spark flying out as your trusted blade clashed against his yet again.  

The shadows in your hands became prominent, engulfing your fingers with the familiar warmth of smoke and magic until the sensation was blocked. The dark but enticing songs of the whales muted for the time being, powers taken away from you momentarily as the cool and cold surface of the steel felt harsh against your palms again.

“Flesh and steel. The way I trained you,” the Knife of Dunwall sneered, almost reprimanding you, a familiar spark of adrenaline in his darkened eyes.

A man of enigmas stood before you wielding a knife, but there was only one certain truth eminent on him - when Daud fought, it had been with the only intention of killing.

The man rose strong yet scarred from the slums when all odds were against him, killing to fight for his life, later for coin, for reputation and much to your gratefulness, to keep his underlings alive and fed and equipped. It had been easy to him, taking lives as he did not even bother for a split second to watch the light dim out in their eyes, blood washing over his leather overcoat and steel only to dry off till the next target appeared in his eyesight. Whoever saw the Knife in front of their mere mortal eyes, with his blade drawn and ready, begged to pay him tenfold whatever his patron paid, collapsed without a hint of pride left.

Only this time, there was something else lurking in there, some sort of unknown. Uncertainty reflecting off of his irises as they met yours on the opposite sides of locked steel, neighbored by the reflection of the old and battered down Rudshore Financial buildings.  Almost as if those dark eyes of his were looking for answers to questions you could not fathom, questions you did not dare ask yourself in the first place.

The shadow magic unavailable from your disposal for the time being, you fueled your pent up adrenaline into a violent push to break out of the agonizing lock, sending your Master’s blade slide off of yours with a screeching sound from the friction.

Taking a step back and catching your breath, the blade was flipped with years ease in your hands as you watched his movements - taking in every step, every little reflex, even the single movement of his fingers clasping the metal handle. The two of you moved in accustomed unison, albeit on opposite sides, like two wolves circling in the snow, waiting to bite each other’s throats off but only waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The Serkonan scanned your every movement with his rugged but dangerously handsome face - you knew he knew your next ten steps, what you wanted for dinner, and then some. His moves and tricks were no surprise to you either, after all, you had been by his right hand, under his wing for many painful years.

Locked in that tense moment, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and knuckles almost white from all that clutching, you lunged forward in a swift but graceful attack which got countered by none other than the blade master himself and a series of slashes, groans and sickening clangs began echoing in the air.

What had been an ordinary daily sword practice on the rooftops of the Flooded District had turned into the rather interesting sparring of the Knife of Dunwall against one of his most-trusted lieutenants. Whalers knelt and stood on surrounding buildings, some watching behind the brick remnants of destroyed walls, some choosing the more traditional approach and staying on the rooftops. Wherever the Whalers were, it did not matter - there was only one focal point, one spectacle to follow.

“Is the old man trying to kill her or something?” the assassin clad in navy leather spoke in a surprised tone beneath the mask. “Always thought Daud had a soft spot for her - how did this happen?”

The woman clad in red leather shrugged, with her arms crossed, eyes dead focused on the clinging blades further down below, following every moment and every flick of the leather-covered wrists. “Daud knows what he is doing,” she spoke, sounding fairly confident in contrast to the fact that, frankly, Billie Lurk did not have an inkling of an idea of what fueled the almost emotional duel she was witnessing.

Sure, it was common occurrence for Daud to try one of the assassins in a duel every now and then, but the magic running through her veins sourced by none other than her Master himself told another tale - he was desperate. As if he was looking for a way out, or for someone to reassure him. Someone to tell him that everything would fall into place in the end. A trapped soul he was, signals of doubt lingering in the ebbs and flows.

The Daud she knew never crumbled against the unknown.

Panting mixed in with angry throes of war with the side of sickening metal clashes were all you could hear as your footwork did not let you down for the time being.

By the time you could count the ways you fought against Daud, it would take you an entire trip around the Isles and maybe more. After all, he had been the one to pull you out from the gutter, from the decrepit, bloodfly-infested back alleys of the slums of Karnaca. Taught you how to slit your first throat in exchange for money. Sailed across the Isles and brought you to capital of the Empire, where he trained you relentlessly. Told you how to exploit the weaknesses of each and every victim. How to find the shady stuff under everyone’s name, even the cleanest, the most noble. How to stick a blade in one rich bastard in the Estate District to please another rich bastard somewhere else, long as gleaming coin went in your pouch at the end of the day. How to confront the most dangerous, most reckless and the most wanted of Dunwall - only equipped with one of his old swords he had stolen from the Grand Guard.

“Always go for the head,” he had always said as his leather-clad hands tutored yours, teaching you the ruthless ways of fighting. The feel of that calloused texture still fresh under your fingertips.

True to his advice, that was exactly what he did to send you reeling back in a loud groan - his undefeated blade knocking yours out of your grip in a sharp flick of his large hand, sending it sprawling against the old bricks and cement.

Your panting and aching body was then left without a solid defense, he seized the opportunity as well as any - the cold hard steel rested dangerously on your covered throat, the victorious master assassin’s larger frame close to yours as his dark eyes sparked in some sort of emotion you could not discern. Shivers running down your body, a lump in your throat so evident it made the blade angle as a defeated gulp passed through.

It was as if the world had stopped. You wondered if this is what being summoned to the Void felt like - cold, uninviting, tiring, frightening, daunting. Unknown and unexplored. He had told you about his encounters with the black-eyed bastard once, years after when he first received the wretched mark on his left hand that seemed to haunt him in his nightmares to every single dawn.

Now it seemed to be that Daud himself was recreating the Void for you, for all of the eyes to watch as the Whalers held their breaths.

“You better not fight like this when we take the Empress,” Daud scolded you, his fierce eyes locked into yours even through the covers that your whaler mask provided. As his mouth uttered the last word, your entire body was begging you to give up, to collapse as your heart dropped. Your body under the heavy tactical gear stood as rigid as can be, though, even with a blade looming on your precious neck and all you could give to your mentor as an answer was a short nod.

Was this one of those usual duels he would pick up with you just to show the other Whalers what failure could cost them? Beat you on purpose, take the shared powers away from you for the duration of the fight so that the others would train like they would die in the next hour?

No - this had been a message for you. Every single footstep he took as he advanced on you, every little spark that flew into thin air as metal hit metal.

Much to your demise, the Knife of Dunwall knew you to your core. By the Void, he could piece together details about you that the old soul of the Outsider maybe did not even consider looking for.

Daud knew this one contract, the biggest job his Whalers were asked to pull off would strike a nerve deep within you, hit a buried spot concealed within your emotions, your morals and memories. The same spot in him that was struck, that made him do a double-take on the grand scheme of things, what they implied. What this particular death implied.

It terrified him, as much as it terrified you. He knew the mere prospect of it, considering the looming deadline as you steadily approached into Month of Earth, shook you to the very core. It was natural instinct for you to read through his irises, but some experience to see the hesitance lay in them.

“Understood, sir,” your throat gave out in a hoarse voice filtered through the mask, your head tilted upwards to his towering figure as he grew satisfied with the answer, loosening his grip on the blade slowly, then sheathing it to the holster on his belt with habituated ease. Your chest heaved with deep, lingering breaths as the remnants of the adrenaline emptied themselves in your veins, slowly dissipating after the sparring. The man in front of you tilted his muscular neck, as the mark on his left hand glowed orange ever-so-visible even through his thick gloves as he raised his palm lightly - making the familiar warmth of power surge through you once again, the return of the bond making you gasp lightly, finding some sort of much-needed comfort as you nodded your thanks.

With yet one more stare thrown your way, his jaw clenched as his feet carried him across the rooftops away from your figure, walking in between his assassins, his loyal gang of misfits and killers alike. Taking this as a signal that practice for the day being was over, the Whalers began to vanish into the shadow one by one, leaving a more vast, open sight of the gray skies contrasting the beige-white ruins of what once used to be a booming financial hub.

It was at that moment of defeat that your weakened body fell on the knees next to your sword, millions of possible scenarios filled with blood and screams running through your mind. Head leaning forward as you breathed in and out, in an attempt to calm yourself down.

And it was at that moment when your heart and body and mind fell in unison - you could never spill the blood of an Empress, even if the man who swore to protect your life ordered you to.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Prison Cell, Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long- it got so long that I had to split it into two parts. Anyhow, from this point forwards, you can expect a lot of violence, so be warned. This chapter will have a lot of interpersonal stuff, and the final chapter will be pretty much entirely action.

---

Sammy unlocked the door. On the other side of it was a demon. The demon. The one that had stolen her blood.

Its body was humanoid and wearing a suit and white bow tie, but its hands were made of ink. The top of its head was covered in black ink, which spiraled up into horns and spilled down its face, leaving only its mustache, mouth and chin visible. Seeing it in the light for the first time, Susie recognized it as the bottom of Joey’s face.

“Joey?” Susie asked, her voice full of wonder and fear.

“Once,” the demon said, and its voice was not Joey Drew’s. It deep, and rough, and horrible. “But I have taken over. Don’t worry- I don’t want this any more than he does. Once I find a way to separate humans from ink, I’ll go back to my dimension and free all of you to yours.” The demon turned and beckoned Susie to follow him. “Come.”

The demon led Susie through the basement, seemingly one large room full of very strange things. Pentagrams littered the floor. Scattered iron cages contained a few emaciated, ink-covered people. Shelves full of sharp tools and unknowable ingredients lined the walls.

“I can still hear him, you know,” the demon mused, taking a syringe and a number of bottles from a shelf, “Joey. His mind. I can see into him. Learn how to manipulate humans. I asked him how to crush your insurrection, and he said that I’d need to destroy your little story.”

The demon led Susie to a door and opened it, and when he did, she lost all her breath.

It was Norman, chained to the far wall. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he was taken away several weeks ago, but now they were hanging off of him at sharp angles. Susie ran to him, and he cringed away from her. He didn’t want her to see him like this, or to feel how thin and bony he’d gotten.

“What did you do him!?” Susie demanded.

“Nothing beyond the obvious. You see, you thought that some of you could overcome us with physical power. That was your story- that your hope and your resilience would lead to freedom. I needed to show you that rebellion only forces me to take your strength. This isn’t something I wanted to do. Strong, healthy people do better work, and unfortunately Joey’s desire to manage the studio is in me. But... you forced my hand.”

The demon then pulled Susie Campbell up by the collar, pushed her against the wall, and put the syringe to her throat.

“He can’t protect you now,” the demon explained, perfectly calm. “His ability to do so was always under my control, and you made me take it away.”

All Norman could do was bury his head in his hands and listen to her whimper. The chains were too short for him to reach her, and he didn’t stand a chance against the demon anyhow. Not like this. The demon released her blood into one of the bottles, then reinserted the needle, working at an unhurried pace. He repeated the motion several times before letting her go. She fell onto her hands and knees, faint from blood loss.

---

Utterly haunted, Sammy escorted the two sickly individuals back to the music room, carrying with him the two first-aid kits and a message that Joey had written. The second he entered the recording studio, The instruments went silent. A bassist got up from his instrument and tackled Sammy to the ground.

“Okay, someone get these two to the infirmary and look after them,” the bassist ordered, “And Johnny, get the rope. We have a loyalist to hang!”

“Wait!” Sammy cried, “I carry a message from your lord!”

“Can it! You let this happen to them. Why would we listen to your stupid ‘message?’”

Meanwhile, Jack Fain picked up the message from the ground and read it. “Guys! It says if three days go by without incident, they’ll release our prisoners! Let’s not do this. Please.”

The man who’d tackled Sammy got up, snatched the message out of Jack’s hands, and skimmed over it. “Huh. You’re right. Fine. Take him to the elevator and I’ll take this to Abby. Hopefully she’ll actually use it.”

---

Abby read over the letter.

To the upper levels,

A lot of violence has occurred between the upper and lower levels recently, so let me make myself clear: I do not want war, and no matter what level you come from, you should not want loyalists to die. Without our work, you would starve. I’m sorry to have done what I did, but I think you all needed a reminder of what’s coming for you if you keep interfering with our work. I do not wish to have to do this again.

Simply put, be peaceful, do what’s needed of you, and everything will be fine. As a final peace offering, I will release your prisoners three days from now if the rebellion stops entirely.

-Joey Drew

Abby knew the letter was full of lies. That thing wasn’t Joey, and it wasn’t forced to keep them here. She knew that the others knew that, too, and she knew that now that the upper levels had tasted hope, complete compliance would be even more impossible than before. This so-called war was going to happen sooner or later, so she needed to make sure they started at an advantage. She called on Henry to help her make a plan, and called everyone into the recording studio that night to announce it. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy even the most rebellious of souls.

---

The door to Susie’s room opened, and Abby stepped in. Susie's eyes opened weakly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry you had to miss the meeting tonight. Big things are happening, and I thought I’d let you know about them.”

“Okay,” Susie said.

“So... Joey, or, his demon, rather, has threatened to come down hard on us if there are any more signs of rebellion- and we both know that there will be. He also promised to release our prisoners if there are three days of good behaviour. So, I’ve decided that we’re breaking out the same night that our prisoners are released. The plan is for someone stealthy to go down there in the dead of night, steal the keys, and come back. After that, we’ll leave in groups of seven in order to sneak out of the portal. We’ll do it as quietly as possible, but we’ll also be packing axes and spears made from the knives you brought up. Hopefully there won’t be too many causalities.”

“Why seven?”

“We’re expecting to have ten injured people, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. There are going to be 68 of us in total, assuming that none of the prisoners died, you know, I thought that one per group would have the least chance of really compromising a group’s chances of escape. Plus, smaller groups will be quicker and quieter.”

Susie nodded.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be better by then. And Norman is fine, too, by the way. Well, physically. We looked him over and he doesn’t have any issues aside from the obvious. He won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe some kind of spell.”

Susie should have felt something in regards to that, but she was honestly too exhausted from the blood loss.

“Alright. I’ll let you rest now- but tomorrow, I’m going to have to ask you about everything you saw down there- especially anything that might help me plan. Goodnight, Susie.” With that, Abby left.

---

The rebellion required planning, and management. Every axe was pulled off the walls and moved into Sammy’s sanctuary, along with the knives- just in case a loyalist decided to take them away one night. Two people guarded the elevator on each floor and at all times, and not to keep loyalists out. Loyalists were allowed right through, but any especially rebellious souls had to be kept from ruining their plan. Henry and Abby were busy planning the groups and drawing up an easy-to-follow map to the portal room. Every department head struggled to keep the remaining workers to their jobs. It seemed pointless for them to work jobs they’d quickly be fleeing from, but it was essential in order to keep suspicions to a minimum.

---

It was the night before the march. Most were turning in early, knowing that tomorrow, they would have to be on their guard well into the night. Susie had tried to do the same, but she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her head. Too many factors that had to align if she was ever going to make it out. The horrifying possibility of facing the ink demon again if they failed. And her mind, despite there being there bigger fish to fry, kept going back to Norman, if they could ever have what they had once had again, and if Norman even wanted that anymore.

“Has Norman talked to you, yet?” Susie asked Grant once he entered their room. Since Norman hadn’t rejoined them, there was no real reason for them to still be roommates, but they’d stayed roommates anyhow, just out of habit.

“No. As far as I know, he hasn’t talked to anyone.”

“I saw him speak today. Wally wanted to help him carry something, and Norman snarled at him to back off. So, it’s not a spell- just mental stuff from being imprisoned. I wanna help him, but he won’t talk to me. Can you try?”

“Sure,” Grant said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Susie said, biting back tears. “I just wanna know that he’s in a place where he’ll be able to handle things tomorrow. And... I know that this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but... can you ask why he’s avoiding me?”

“Oh, Susie. I...” Grant tried to find the words to comfort her. “I’ll talk to him.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like Norman was the only one who had to pull themselves together for tomorrow night.

Norman wasn’t used to being pitied. Even as a kid, after all he’d been through, his adoptive family had known that he was a problem child who needed to be set straight before he got even bigger and his aggression became more dangerous. He’d never wanted pity, either, and now that he had it, he couldn’t say that his opinion on it had improved any. He never thought he’d miss his coworkers looking at him like he was a frightening beast. Though he did cut the long, greasy hair he’d grown while imprisoned as soon as he had the chance, he’d been half-tempted to just wash it and keep it, just to somewhat retain that beastly image.

Mostly, he wanted a way to cope. He wanted to talk with his sister, or go for a walk in the woods, or somehow get out of the sight of these people without isolating himself in one room. That had been what he was doing in his off hours- both because there was little else he wanted to do and because he didn’t have the stamina he used to. It wasn’t Susie’s room. Honestly, he’d been too scared to even look at her.

Norman knew of the plan. Honestly, it had happened so quickly after he was released from his imprisonment that it was a little hard to take in. Yes, late tomorrow night, he and everyone else would end up escaping or die trying, and Norman would either reunite with his sister and put his life together from there, or it would be the end of him. It was happening, but it didn’t seem real.

There was a knock at his door. Norman pulled himself up and answered it. It was Grant. Well, out of everyone in the studio it could have been, Grant was the most tolerable.

“Hey, Norman. You... wanna play some cards?” There was a little pity in Grant’s voice. Thankfully not too much.

Norman ushered Grant into the room. They sat down on the floor, and Grant started shuffling the cards.

“So, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess. Kind of hard to believe it’s happening.”

Grant’s face lit up. “You’re talking!”

Norman shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s you."

“Uh, thanks. Do you want talk about... you know, what’s happened?”

“No,” Norman said, and the two played cards in silence for a while before Norman spoke up again. “Is Susie okay?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be strong enough to make it out, assuming the plan goes well.”

Norman’s face was unreadable. “Good." A long pause. “Y’know, she’s childish, and shallow, and stupid. But she was impressed with me because I was strong and I could protect her. And so, you know, she was pretty, and we did... things together. I thought that could be all it was, but she was sweet and kind to me and I went and caught feelings for her. Of course, shallow attraction based on one thing won’t last now that I look like starving stray dog, but whatever. So long as she’s okay. She’s a good girl. So long as she’s okay.”

Grant just stared at him. “Have you... looked her in the eye recently?”

“What?”

“Uh, sorry. It’s just that you’re usually so good at figuring this kind of thing out that it borders on the supernatural, and right now, you’re really, really wrong. This entire, organized rebellion started with her trying to put together a rescue team for you. She wanted to be the first one down in loyalist territory, for you. She’s actually the one who sent me, because she’s worried about how you’ll do tomorrow.”

With the last line, Norman’s face went from appreciation and disbelief to twisted anger. “For God’s sake! Joey didn’t cut my fucking legs off!”

“Well, she can’t know how well you’re doing if you avoid her. Look, if you aren’t up for it, I can go back and try to comfort her, tell her you’re fine.”

“No. No. I’ll do it. And I’m sorry that I’m not my most pleasant right now.”

Grant smiled. Nothing ever changed- the best way to get Norman to do anything was to offer to do it for him. Susie slept in Norman’s arms that night, knowing it could be their last chance to be together.

[sabraeal]

Age of Reason, Part 1

Obiyuki AU Bingo Sleeping Beauty AU

The moon hangs swollen in the night sky, a bloated corpse in the river of the heavens. Fitting for a night like this, for the job he’s about to do.

Salt is thick on the air; a strange taste for a path in the middle of a wood, so tangled and choked with briars that he can hardly pass. As it is, they catch on the wool of his shirt, pulling snags in the pile. He huffs, plucking one from the shoulder seam. By the end of this little excursion, he’ll need a new wardrobe.

His mouth curves. Good. With the mountain of dir he’ll get from this job, he can afford an upgrade.

That is, if he ever gets there. The canopy looms, branches criss-crossing in a messy tangle, blotting out the sun. They said the village was only half a day’s walk, barely an hour over the border but--

That’s the thing about borders in these parts: there’s nothing to mark them.

The brush rattles, soft as a snake’s warning. His feet slide beneath him, supporting his crouch, legs coiled tight to pounce--

“Ah! Hail, traveler!” A man slips out from the bush, his hair a sloppy thatch of mouse brown, a basket perched high on his back. “Not many on these roads, of late!”

He straightens, yanking his boot away from where a briar has latched around its brim. “Can’t imagine why.”

The man smiles at that, but it’s a faint, bitter thing. “Ah yes, well, the plant life is certainly aggressive.”

He frowns down, plucking a bramble off his shoulder. “Can you tell me if it is far to Clarines?”

“Clarines?” His lips part in a friendly flash of teeth. “Why, you’re already there. Or at least close.” He hunches, squinting into the undergrowth. “There should be a marker, oh-- ah! There!”

There-- a small statue, nearly swallowed by the forest, shoulder-high. He steps toward it, gloved hand pushing aside the briars.

“What’s this?” He tilts his head. “An angel?”

“To guide us,” the man says, hushed. “Or guard us. I hardly know any longer.”

He lets out a bark of a laugh. “I thought the Clarinese were above superstition.”

The stranger’s smile wears thin. “So did we.”

The man next to him is large, tall and wide as a mountain, dwarfing the stool he sits on. Still, there’s something delicate about him, almost hesitant, holding this breath like he’s taking a plunge off the world’s edge.

“There’s a place,” the man says, his voice a deep rumble, like the way rocks move beneath the mantle of the earth. “In Clarines, just over the border. A manor.”

He leans in, on the hook. A manor means money, whether the people in it are alive or not. “Clarines? I thought they didn’t brook with the supernatural anymore. They’re--” he pauses, for dramatic effect-- “enlightened.”

The man’s mouth rucks into a smirk. “That they are.”

“And you’re telling me this manor is cursed,” he asks, dubious. “In this great land of reason.”

There’s gravel in this man’s laugh, the sorta of rasp that only comes from experience. “A man’s only reasonable if he believes what he sees with his two eyes.”

“And you’ve seen this?” he presses. “A cursed manor right in Clarines?”

“I have.” His teeth flash in the tavern’s dim. “And if you have any sense, you’ll see it too.”

“Where are you headed?” The man bobs along beside him, the mousy haystack of his hair ruffling in the breeze. “Down on to Wistal? I hear it’s nice this time of year. Prince just had a baby too, I heard. Holding a big party just to name the thing.”

He sighs. Clarines might be a land of reason, but they still clung to their royals. “No.”

“Eurikenna isn’t half bad either, if you don’t mind sticking to your own skin,” the man offers amiably. “They’ve got a festival of their own going on, least so they’re saying.”

He knows persistence when he sees it; this man has no intention of letting him walk in companionable silence. “I’m headed to Laxdo. Just across the border.”

The man’s brows hike to his hairline. “That so?” He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Seems as though we’re headed the same way. The name’s Shuuka.”

“Ah.” His mind whirs. “You can call me Kage.”

“Well, Kage--” he hitches the basket higher on his back-- “what brings you out to Laxdo?”

The gate, in theory, shouldn’t be a problem. Those royals like to make them high, make them spiked, make them out of wrought iron to keep the riff-raff out. He’s no stranger to being kept on the outside.

Boosting over a fence is no trouble, no matter how high they make it. But the briars, well-- those are a problem.

It’s the first part of his night to disappoint his expectations, but oh, it’s far from the last.

“Business.” His hands flex at his side, even as he smiles. “And maybe some pleasure.”

Shuuka’s smile stiffens. “Ah, well, there’s not much of either in Laxdo. Though if you’ve got something to trade, there’s always a few itching to buy.”

The man gives his pack a cursory look, but he assures him, “I’m no merchant.”

“Huh.” Shuuka’s mouth purses, thoughtful. “What else might bring you out this way?”

“KUREI!” A band of men raises their tankards as they catch sight of him in the corner, cheeks ruddy with drink. “The savior of Oberwald! You have a drink?”

He raises his own stein, nearly empty, but they’re all too far into their own to notice. With a raucous cheer, they turn back to the bar, wheedling for another pint.

Good. Now when they remembered that name, they would talk of the man who drank drink-for-drink with them, who told them just what they wanted to hear. He wouldn’t, of course-- but this night would be a blur to them, and a conversation with the man of the hour would be a lie that was safe to make. After all, he wouldn’t be around to gainsay them.

The big man is steady as he pours, the bottle comically small in his meaty hand. “Ah, so that’s what you have them call you.”

He watches his cup fill with dismay, smile plastered onto his lips. Now this-- this wouldn’t do. He could drink any of village men under the table, but this stranger--

Well, he knows when he’d be beat. “All the villages between here and Altenrode.”

“Quite a ways,” the giants says, shifting on his stool. “Thought I recognized the name they were shouting when I came in.”

“Many a tavern lifts a glass to me.” And he’s sure more than a few toast his eventual demise too. “But about this manor...”

The man’s mouth slides into a dangerous curve. “Ah, right, the cursed manor. Used to be a royal residence, you know. One of the ones built by the old king.”

A king’s manor. All the more promising. “Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t,” he agrees, “it was barely been finished before he died. The prince took up with it though. Kept a mistress of his there.”

He’d never much cared for Clarines-- too learned, and too suspicious in all the wrong ways-- but he did know something of their royals. At least, the younger ones. “The prince?”

“The same.”

His finger taps at the tables. “But none of this explains the curse.”

The man’s mouth splits wide, teeth flashing white in the dim. “Why do you think you’ve never heard of it?”

“I heard a rumor,” he says, casual, “that there’s a manor in Laxdo that used to belong to the royal family.”

Shuuka’s step stutters beside his. “Still does,” he manages after a moment. “On paper.”

Ah, now that was promising. “So it’s true.” He slants a sly look at him. “It was abandoned.”

A blunt-fingered hand ruffles through his mop of hair, anxiety entrenched at the corners of his eyes. “That it was.”

“The prince’s mistress used to live there, did she?” He doesn’t need to wait for Shuuka’s answer, it’s writ across his face. “Some say she still does.”

It’s silent for a moment, only the crunch of their shoes on the path to fill it, until Shuuka croaks, “Who says that?”

“So you mean this is a ghost situation.” He takes a quick sip of his ale and wishes he had more. “A haunting. Maybe a poltergeist.”

“No.” The man’s smile grows thin. “She’s alive, by all accounts.”

Alive. Now that’s a different sort of request. “I’ll admit you’ve got me intrigued, mister, but I exorcise spirits, not ex-mistresses.”

His mouth twists wryly. “Is that what you call it, then?”

“It is.” He settles back into his chair, balancing some of his weight on his toes. His knives dig comfortingly into the arch of his back. “I may make a name for myself for ridding folk of unwelcome guests, but those are the ones who have lingered, and need to pass on. By all accounts, a living mistress, well--” he winks-- “she’s done her job, and I’m not the sort to pry her from her hard-earned reward.”

The man shifts, the light of the lamps skittering over the hard planes of his face, and he grins. “Glad to hear it.”

Ever so slowly, he slides his feet down, so his soles touch the floor. “Still think I should go see this manor?”

“More than ever,” the man admits, and in the light, he swears he can see red glittering among the gray of his hair. “You see, this mistress, she’s not dead--” he hesitates, lingering at the edge of another drop-- “she’s asleep.”

Shuuka lets out a long string of air. “Wouldn’t think they’d talk about all that, even out in Tanbarun.”

“Ah, you know how it is.” He shrugs. “They love a good story. Even better if there’s a pretty girl with a curse.”

Shuuka grunts, casting him a measuring look. “And that’s what brought you here?”

He grins. “Who could resist?

The man shifts next to him, hesitant. “Just what was it that you do again, Kage?”

The brambles wrap tight around the bars, thorns as sharp and thin as needles. He places a hand over it, and-- ah, yes, that’s not smart. Not gonna be able to climb that way.

Not that he has many other options. Forewarned is forearmed, and someone hadn’t seen the need to tell him about the thicket of thorns tangled around the only entrance. Besides what could hang off his belt-- a few of his finer tools and a couple of his favorite knives, and a handful of nuts for good measure-- he’s shown up empty handed to a pruning party.

Still, if she had gotten in, he could too. He’d just have to get creative about it.

He stares down at his hands, leather giving a soft squinch as he flexes them. His teeth clench at the feel of padding against his palm.

Or he might just have to do this the old fashioned way.

His mouth hooks into a smirk. “I didn’t say.”

Shuuka’s eyes narrow. “Is that how you got that bruise on your cheek?”

The salt is rough against his palms, stinging where cuts haven’t yet become calluses. This hasn’t been the easy job he signed up for, but-- it’s fine. All this ends tonight.

He cranes his neck, squinting at the fattening moon in the sky. It’s not as full as he wants it, but that’s par for the course on this misadventure. It’ll do.

Stretching out a toe, he scratches a circle in the dirt. This isn’t how he likes to do this-- most villages have at least cobbled stones at its center, some sort of central pavilion around the town well, but-- not here.

He grimaces, pouring the sand into the trench he’s made. His payment here is more likely to be greens than guilder, but-- he knows better than to turn his nose up at a good meal. Not when he knows there’s no guarantee of his next.

“Kurei,” the mayor hisses from his doorstep, not daring to take a single step from its frame. “Are you sure--?”

“Stand back!” he warns, holding out his hands. Outstretched, they just fit inside the circle. “When I call the curse’s spirit, it will be violent! It longs for a life, and if any living being stands in this square besides myself, they risk becoming its next host!”

The townsfolk murmur worriedly at their doors, and one by one they close, even as shutters peep open. Eyes peer curiously out from slender cracks, all of them fixed on him. As they should be.

“I shall now call out the incantation.” He raises his arms, hands grasping beseechingly at the moon. “Protect me now, O Mysterious Maiden, for I call forth a power both vengeful and unknowable!” He takes a breath, and projects the words, “Veni! Vidi! Vici!”

For a long moment, there is only silence. He glances at sky, frowning as a cloud leisurely passes.

He clears his throat. “Veni. Vidi. Vici!”

A wind picks up, sudden and urgent, blowing at the salt in his circle, and pricking at his hair, but--

The moon shines down, unimpeded, and the circle around him softly begins to glow. Perfect.

A grunt saws from the rooftops, followed by a savage snort and a dangerous growl. He turns, a moment too late--

And catches a beastly elbow to the face.

His lips part in a grin. “Well now,” he drawls, casting his companion a sly look. “If you want to hear about that, you’ll have to buy me a drink.”

[monstersandmaw]

Twelve Days of Exomas - 70+k words of exclusive exophilia stories!

So, they’re all up now.

*wheezes and passes out*

For a long excerpt from Day Six (male were-yeti x reader) see below!

Twelve Days of Exomas (Christmas Special stories) 2019

Day One (male mummy x female reader - v. light nsfw)

Day Two (male djinn x male reader - NSFW)

Day Three (female were-hyena x female reader - NSFW)

Day Four (male sharkmer x reader - v. light NSFW/kiss)

Day Five (female orc x male reader - NSFW)

Day Six (male were-yeti x reader, Part One - SFW)

Day Seven (male were-yeti x reader, Part Two - v. light NSFW/kiss)

Day Eight (non-binary demon x reader - light NSFW)

Day Nine (male werewolf x male vampire x female character, Part One - NSFW)

Day Ten (male werewolf x male vampire x female character, Part Two - NSFW)

Day Eleven (female naga x reader - NSFW)

Day Twelve  (male haunted mirror/Fae (x reader - NSFW)

Day Six - Male were-yeti x reader  long excerpt (sfw)

“Come to Snowy Starfall Springs, they said. Live out the fairytale Winter Wonderland dream, they said,” you spat as you waded through knee-deep snow, way off the trail, lost, freezing your backside off, and with the daylight hours slowly burning out. “Fuck.”

The eerie stillness of the woods didn’t help either.

Short, stocky, slow-growing pines, their branches laden with snow, stood sentry against the approaching night, and the old, softened tracks of either a cervitaur or an actual deer were the only sign that anything else aside from you was even alive out here. You might not be for much longer unless you found that trail and headed back, but you couldn’t be that far from where you’d gone wrong. You had driven three hours out of Starfall Springs into the Starfall Mountains, parked up at the trail head, donned your awkward snow-shoes, and plunged eagerly into the wilderness that morning. You’d only intended for this to be a four hour hike, but instead you’d missed a turning somewhere, and had ended up somewhere off the usual trails, in the arse end of Winter Wonderland. “Happy Solstice, eh?” you chided yourself.

You’d just stopped and resigned yourself to digging around in your pack for your phone and compass - having been assured that the trail would be easy enough to follow in a nice loop from the car park - when up ahead, the stillness broke as something shifted between the trees, and you froze. These parts weren’t known for harbouring particularly dangerous wildlife, but there were packs of wolves, and even feral werewolves if the stories were true, and you were easy picking like this. Tiredness seeped into your muscles along with the cold, and you flexed your fingers, frozen on the point of sloughing off your backpack.

To your utter astonishment, a young child appeared between the snowy pines. Unlike you, he was not really dressed for the cold, wearing only a sweater and scruffy jeans. He stopped, stared straight at you, and then laughed. It wasn’t a particularly kind laugh either.

“Shit,” you hissed, watching your breath fog across your vision for a moment. Your eyelashes were frozen, creating a thick border of white around your vision because you’d neglected to bring your goggles too.

The child bent and swept their hand through the snow in a rapid arc, sending a wide spray of powder glittering through the air, and amid the flurry, they turned and ran.

“Wait!” you yelled after them. “Wait! Is there a shelter around here?” As if you had no more sense than a jackrabbit, you plunged through the trees after him, immediately tripping on the toe of your snow shoe and pitching into a deep bank of snow, face first.

His hair had been a white blond, and his skin a warm, rosy brown, and somehow he looked like he belonged here among the sleeping pines and wild, endless skies. You, meanwhile, were making more noise than a bear in a city trashcan.

Around your fresh mouthful of snow, you cursed and rolled upright. It wasn’t easy to do, but you’d fallen over enough times on your way out from the trail head to learn how to pick yourself up. Faceplant, roll onto your front, rock up onto your knees, windmill your arms a bit, stand up. Rinse and repeat.

As you straightened again, you heard the boy’s laughter and froze. “Hello?”

It seemed to come from one direction and then, a moment later, from another.

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “Listen, I got turned around and I could use your help. I’m going to freeze my butt off if I stay out here tonight. Can you help me or not?”

Empty childish laughter was your only response.

Sucking in a deeper breath - cautiously because if you breathed too deeply and too quickly you’d start coughing with the cold - you headed in the direction you’d last seen the boy prancing through the snow like a Solstice reindeer. How did he move like that? Could he be a fae? At that point you were almost ready to sell your left kidney for a safe place to spend the night, but as the thought crossed your mind you realised that maybe you were more desperate than you should be. You still had perhaps an hour left of daylight, and you had a compass and a detailed map in your bag.

Out of nowhere, a deep, bellowing roar split the silence, crystalline fragments of winter peace shattering as your ears rang and you stumbled, catching the front of your snow-shoe again. You went down hard with a grunted ‘oof’ and felt your ankle go. It didn’t snap, thank all the gods, but you’d sprained it before and remembered the shock and the sudden rush of heat. You couldn’t have helped the yell that left your lips as you went down even if your soul (or your left kidney) had depended on it.

Defeated, frustrated, and in a fair bit of pain, you just lay there, face down in the snow for a minute. Perhaps the bear - if it had indeed been a bear - wouldn’t notice you if you just lay there.

Heavy footfalls reached you not long after, the snow squeaking slightly as it was compressed beneath large feet.  

Shit.

Summoning the strength to turn your head, you looked and found two enormous, fluffy white hind paws, tipped with thick, four-inch long, jet black claws standing right beside you. You didn’t think that polar bears lived in these parts, but by this point, your exhaustion ran bone-deep, your muscles were shaky and cramping with the creeping cold, and your reserves of courage had just run completely dry. And with that, you went limp.

The creature knelt beside you and turned you over, chuffing softly like a tiger and gripping your backpack as if it were the scruff of your neck. Your stomach swooped, and when you opened your eyes, you saw that you were five feet off the ground, in the claws of a creature you’d thought only existed in ancient fairy tales.

A yeti had you in its claws.

Stars danced in your vision and you went limp before you could process much more than the dull, deep growl that reverberated around pronounced canines and black lips.

Warmth washed through you and you wriggled gently before a flash of sharp pain shot up your leg and you stopped moving immediately. At the sound of your shuffling, something sat up straight beside you and you blinked again, trying to clear your vision a bit.

Covered by a soft, woollen rug, you were lying on a sofa in a wooden cabin, with an iron, wood-burning stove blazing away at one end of the modest space, and with vibrantly coloured rugs and throws decorating the floor and couch. Everything had a handmade look to it, including the house itself right down to the cement used to seal the gaps between the rounded logs of the cabin walls and the rustic wooden handles on the doors.

In a chair near you sat possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen in your whole life, and the first words out of your mouth when you spotted him were, embarrassingly, “Am I dead?”

He laughed joyously, his ice-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. His skin was a warm, rich tanned brown, his eyebrows steel grey, and his long, thick, wiry white hair tied back off his ruggedly chiselled face in a half-ponytail. He looked to be at some intangible age between thirty and forty, with laughter lines around his eyes and one or two between his brows. His lips were full and looked infinitely kissable, slightly chapped, and he had a thick, pale scar on his chin that stretched up his neck, over his jawline to his lower lip that just invited you to press your fingers to it and draw him closer for a kiss. Naturally, you did none of that, and just stared at him like a thunderstruck imbecile.

“You’re not dead,” he chuckled, and you immediately felt hot all over, under your skin. He had a beautiful, rich, deep, lyrical voice with a lilting, thick accent. “But you did twist your ankle pretty good. How do you feel?”

As you blinked again, you realised that it was dark outside and that the curtains had been drawn against the night. You shifted again, trying to sit upright, and you realised that your foot was cold. Staring down at it, you discovered that he’d strapped a plastic ice block to it, wrapped in a tea-towel. “Where am I?” you asked groggily. “What happened?” and then you added, “That kid… there was a boy out there…?”

“You mean that one?” the man asked gruffly, scowling and jutting his chin over his shoulder at a wild-looking boy standing at the other end of the cabin. He was resting his lean, wiry frame against the doorway to what looked like a kitchen area, though it was hard to see in the low lamplight. The kid, perhaps nine or ten, flashed you a wickedly sharp smile and disappeared into the other room.

“Yeah,” you said lamely. “He’s yours?”

“Yup,” he said, standing up and looming over you for a moment before backing off, mostly so you didn't have to crick your neck to look at him.

He was wearing a creamy, cable-knit jumper with an intricate pattern on, and pale scruffy jeans with a rip in the knee. Where he was tall he was also broad-shouldered, though there was a softness to his torso that spoke of a different kind of strength from movie stars and body builders. He was the kind of man who could lift a tree trunk without much difficulty, but probably couldn’t sprint for long without getting winded.

“Who are you?” you asked as he turned away and reached for a mug on a nearby table. It looked unusual and you realised a second later that it was carved from wood. Something in the back of your head said, with the voice of your late grandmother, that it was called a ‘kuksa’ by folks in these parts.

“Oh,” he said, pausing and glancing back at you over his shoulder. His hair was thick and coarse looking, hanging just down to his shoulder blades but you still felt the inexplicable urge to run your fingers through it. You frowned, wondering whether he’d slipped you something while you’d been unconscious. “I’m Arttu,” he said, drawing out the consonants in a way that made your mouth go a bit dry. His eyes were so blue that they were almost beyond comprehension. You’d never seen anyone with eyes that colour. “Here,” he added, moving back to you and holding out the kuksa.

You made no move to take it from him, no matter how rough and big and inviting his hands looked. “What is it?” you asked.

“Water,” he grinned. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

“You can’t blame me for being wary,” you grumbled, sitting up awkwardly and reaching for the cup. “Passing out in the claws of a yeti and waking up in the cabin of some supernaturally handsome guy…”

Arttu nearly dropped the kuksa as he handed it to you, but he laughed almost shyly at your words. “Well,” he said, oddly flustered and with his cheeks slightly flushed. From the other room, the boy yelled something in a language you didn’t speak or recognise, and Arttu replied more softly in the same.

You tried not to make an indecent noise at the sound of his voice, and looked away. You took in the way your foot was propped up on a cushion and, for the first time, noticed that your very unflattering snow-suit was nowhere to be seen.

When you looked back up at him, Arttu was licking his lips nervously and had stepped back even further. You drank and then set the kuksa on a nearby hand-made, pine coffee table. “I mean it,” he said in a soft, earnest voice. “You’re safe here. Are you hungry?”

For you? “Uh, yeah?” you said, suddenly realising how long it had been since breakfast as your stomach clenched almost painfully.

His lips twitched and he nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

___

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[mirkwoodshewolf]

Mother dragon (12); Winchesters brothers x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay guys to make up the chapter of the BoRhap boys barely making an apperance besides Ben’s character, here is a makeup chapter and this time it’s longer chapter than the last one was so I hope that you guys enjoy it.

Warnings: Torture, drugs, blood, violence, death, the usual SPN warnings.

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural​

@plethora-of-things​

@ixchel-9275​

@waddles03​

@platawnic​

@deanscroissant​

@onebigfangirlworld​

@izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash​

______________________________________________________

*3rd Person POV*

Warren landed about a mile and a half away downwind of Percy’s mansion.  He lowered his head and the brothers and Cas slide off of him.

“Thank you Warren.” Said Castiel.

‘His mansion is just a walk that way. But be warned, his acid spitters patrol the entire territory of his mansion. But if you do run into his dragons make sure to cover your scent.’

��Thanks for the warning. What will you do?”

‘Something I promised I wouldn’t do but have to. Otherwise I know he’ll kill me.’ It was then Warren took off flying back towards the den.

“And so what he’s just gonna leave us here?” Dean asked in a snappy tone.

“He’s gonna get help Dean. Dragons can easily detect other dragons based off of smell, had he stayed it would’ve been like a beacon in the dark. It’s best he left when he did.”

“Okay so we just walk from here on out?”

“For the next mile yeah. But we need to watch out. Percy’s dragons patrol this part of the territory. We need to move quickly, quietly and hopefully undetected.” The brother’s nodded and they proceeded to walk the mile and a half to the mansion.

*My POV*

When I woke up, the first thing I felt was just this splitting headache and my vision was incredibly blurry.  No matter how many times I blinked or tried to shake my head of it, my vision kept going in and out.

“Seems our little hunter is awake.” Damn it Percy. Now I remember what happened, son of a bitch drugged me with something in that damn needle of his. “Now what do you say we start over my dear? Like tell me your real name? And what exactly you were doing at the dragon’s nest?”

“I—don’t know about no dragon nest.” I groaned as I kept hearing this high pitched ringing in my ear.

“Oh don’t lie to me girl!” he hissed.  Then I saw a tv click on and for a split second I saw me holding my dagger and the video paused on my face. “Along with injecting their own venom so that I can control them, my dragons’ come with a video surveillance collar. No one has been able to kill those acid spitters, not even other dragons. So what makes you so special to kill probably the most dangerous of dragon species?”

I just looked up at him and told him.

“A good set of balls.” It was then I felt a hard slap across my face before feeling another needle injection in my neck. I groaned and hissed as my vision got more blurry.

“I’m surprised you managed to wake up from just a slight dose of acid spitter venom, let’s see what a full dose does to you?” At this point I began seeing hallucinations and flashbacks of my parent’s dying and the vampires that killed them surrounding me as they taunted me.

“It’s all your fault.”

“You’re the reason your parents died.”

“You should’ve protected them.”

“You’re weak.”

“Not only will we kill your friends but also that precious son of yours.”

“No….no you….shut up. Shut up shut up shut up! SHUT UP!!!”

*3rd Person POV*

Sam, Dean and Castiel were just about to reach the mansion when Cas saw the familiar shape of an acid spitter climbing down one of the trees.

“Get down.” He quietly hissed.  The three of them soon hid behind underneath some large uprooted roots of one of the trees and they saw as the acid spitter came down on the ground.

It softly growled as it turned its head from side to side almost as if it sensed them somehow.  Then it reared it’s head back and let out that god awful raptor-like cry which made the three hunter cringe as it then roared out.  Soon enough another acid spitter came flying in and the two of them chirped and growled at each other, communicating to each other.

“Now how the hell are we supposed to get by them?” asked Dean.  It was then Sam saw a good patch of dirt.  

Taking out the holy water from his pocket he dumped the whole container into the mud and swished his hands around it till the soil got wet and muddy.

“Here, cover yourselves up with mud.” Sam whispered as he dipped his hand into the mud and began to smear it over his face.

“Sammy this is no time to play boy scout.”

“No Dean he’s right. Warren said if we want to get past those dragons’, we need to have our scent covered.”

“And (y/n) always said that covering yourself in mud blocks your sweat and scent. That’s how she’s survived everything she had to go through.”

“Okay, okay fine. Fine.” Dean then took out his holy water flask and dumped it near a patch of dirt closest to him.  Once it was muddy, both he and Cas covered their faces, necks, arms, and hands in mud trying to block off their scent.

They even patted around their clothes and then once they were done, Cas peeked over to see the dragons still there.  One quickly turned towards them but Cas ducked back before it could spot him.

“Alright, keep low and follow me.” Cas then crawled towards the nearby shrub trail and soon the three of them crawled slowly and quietly past the dragons, who at that point were walking on the other side of the shrubs sensing that something was close.

Hearing the haunting hisses and the low purrs, it sent shivers even up Castiel’s spine.  Sure he had dealt with a dragon or two whenever he was forced to come down to Earth during the Medieval ages, but never has he dealt with dragons like these. He didn’t even think he’d even have the power to kill dragons like these.

As soon as one of the yowled out, the boys stopped and kept low among the shrub, fearing that if they moved another inch, it would hear them.  On the other side of the shrubs, the dragon in front walked before tapping one of it’s front leg onto the ground, almost as if sensing something was close but it couldn’t picture out where.

It looked over the shrub but didn’t see anything as it continued to growl and snarl before it was called out by its partner. Once they knew it was safe, Cas led the brothers onward again, while at the same time on the other side, the two acid spitters walked the opposite way.

Once they reached the end of the shrubs, Cas peeked out and he was surprised to see the dragons were now gone.  He didn’t even hear their wings flap away much like he could hear Deacon’s or the rest of his nests.

“They still out there?” asked Sam.  Cas shook his head but his face held nothing but confusion.

“I don’t know either these dragons are very smart or very dumb.” Said Dean.

“We’ll have to be cautious. I think we’re about a half mile from the mansion now. Come on.” Soon they took off running as swiftly and quietly as they could until they finally reached the over hill passage and they looked down to see the mansion dead ahead.

“So—this is Percy’s mansion?” asked Dean.

“Looks like it, I’m surprised there’s not a heavy artillery of guards around. I mean yeah he’s got some dragons but surely he doesn’t just rely on them. Especially when he hunts and kills dragons.” Said Sam.

“Dragons, humans I don’t care what this son of a bitch has got. All I know is that he’s got (y/n) and we need to get her out of there. Who knows what she’s going through in there.”

“We’ll get her out Dean. By any means necessary.” Said Cas.

*My POV*

God I was—I don’t know whether to count myself as high or delusional but all I did know was that I was out of it.  From the vampires that killed my family, seeing the ghosts of my parents telling me their disappointment, as well as seeing the spirits of everyone that had died because of me from my time with the Winchester.

But if I had to say the worst thing that I was seeing from my hallucinations was it felt like I was now in a tight glass coffin and standing over me was my son Deacon in his dragon form.  However there was no kind, sweet eyes.  

I was looking into the eyes of a real dragon as he sniffed around the glass coffin and stared down at me with sharp, soulless golden eyes.

His head hovered right over my coffin and almost like the scene with the T-Rex from the first Jurassic Park film, he broke the top part of the glass coffin and roared down at me trying to actually eat and devour me whole.

I screamed bloody murder as he tried repeatedly over and over to try and get to me.  When that didn’t work, he resorted to tipping the table I was strapped to over. I felt the hard jostle and I shrieked and squirmed trying to free myself but it was futile.  Then the second time I was immediately flipped over and landed flat on my face.  I whimpered and sobbed hysterically as I begged for Deacy to snap out of it and see that it was me, his mummy.

But all he did was try to come at me again. His canines bared out as he growled and hissed.

*3rd Person POV*

While sitting on the other side of the window, Percy observed (y/n) tossing and turning as well as screaming in absolute terror.

“Her heartrate and brain activity is off the charts. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before from being injected with the acid spitter’s venom. At this point I’m not even sure if she’ll die or not.” Said Doctor Zemo.

“There’s something off about her. Not to mention she keeps mentioning the Alpha’s name. Keep observing her, I’ll be back.” Percy said as he walked away.  Doctor Zemo kept a watchful eye over her, recording her data onto his record books for further research.

Meanwhile Sam, Dean and Castiel finally managed to make it past the acid spitters and a line of Percy’s dragon hunters and trappers all lined along the corridor.

“We’re not gonna ask again bud. Now tell us where our sister is?” sneered Dean.  He had one of the male dragon trappers pinned against the wall after Cas had broken both of his arms so that he was now unable to reach for a gun or even radio for help.

“Go…..to….hell!” the blonde trapper hissed.

“Been there pal, dozens of times and frankly they ain’t got nothing on us right now. So tell us where she is or we’ll have our angel friend fry your brain to a puddle.” Sam snapped.  Castiel stepped forward and placed his hand on the trapper’s head and as his eyes glowed blue ready to evaporate the trapper’s brain and burn his eyes out, the trapper succumbed and said.

“THE LAB! THE LAB! PERCY TOOK HER DOWN TO THE LOWER LAB LEVELS FOR TESTING! He wanted to find out just how she was able to kill one of his dragons and why she wore that suit of dragon skin.”

“Thank you. For your cooperation.” Dean smirked smugly as he patted the trapper’s cheek.  Then at the flick of a switch, Dean stabbed the hunter in the chest. As his body collapsed Dean shook his head and he muttered.  “Like I’ve always told you. Give me a monster to deal with anytime. People—hell no. They’re experimenting her like some kind of lab rat.”

“Well at least we know where she’s at. Now let’s go before Percy sends in more of his lackies to stop us.”  Soon the three hunters ran down towards the lower levels of the mansion until they reached an elevator.

“Huh? Is there anything this guy doesn’t have?” asked Dean as they all got into the elevator and Sam pressed the button for the basement levels.  They waited and waited until finally the elevator dinged and they soon ended up staring down an endless metal corridor.

“So do we—just run ahead or…..” started Sam.

“I think I might know where she is.” Said Cas as he once again took the lead and the brothers followed him.

Doctor Zemo who was currently in (y/n)’s room jotted down some final notes before packing up his things.  As soon as he left the room, he looked to his right and saw the Winchester’s and Castiel standing there.  

Frightened, he quickly took off running and Dean cried out.

“Hey stop!” But before Dean could run ahead to grab the doctor, Cas stopped him and he said.

“She’s in there.” Sam was the first to head in and there he was horrified to see (y/n) strapped onto a metal table.  Her eyes were bloodshot and red ringed.

“Men of letters……Winchesters and angel of the lord Castiel…..”

“(Y/n), (y/n)? Oh my god what has he done to you? Cas!” Cas came over and he didn’t like the looks of this.

“She’s been drugged.”

“With what? LSD? Morphine? Seleucidan?” asked Dean.

“Acid spitter venom. See the rash markings on her neck?” Cas gently turned her head aside and there the boys saw a palm-sized black rash marking on her neck.

“Is she gonna die?”

“That’s the thing. She should’ve died after just one injection. At this point she must’ve been drugged 3-4 times.”

“Can you save her?” asked Sam desperately.

“I can try, but this is something even out of an angel’s league.” Cas then touched both of (y/n)’s temples and began to heal her. Both her temples glowed as well as Cas’ hands.  The brothers watched nervously and anxiously as the angel healed their sister.  It must’ve been—who knows how long before finally (y/n)’s soulless eyes started to gain some life back.

*My POV*

I saw nothing but darkness after my hallucinations.  No idea what I must’ve said, probably babbled about some things or maybe confessed everything who knows.

But I then saw a bright light.  Am I—Am I finally dead? Am I going to heaven? But why? I thought I was damned for hell just for being a hunter?

When my vision finally came back into focus, I saw the three familiar figures of Sam, Dean and Cas.

“Sam? Dean? Cas?” I croaked out.  My voice was scratchy as hell from lack of water and from my constant screaming earlier.

“Hang in there (n/n) we’re gonna get you out of here. Sammy help me get these damn straps off of her.” I then felt the tug and pull of the triple leather straps Percy had on my wrists and ankles.  I looked up to Cas and he stroked down my head.

“Warren?” I croaked out.

“He came and told us. And he brought us here to get you out of here. He’s safe.” I closed my eyes and once I felt my limbs were finally free.

“C’mon kid stand up. Can you walk at all?” asked Dean as both he and Cas helped me sit up.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s test it. One, two three, up.” Both Dean and Cas picked me up and set my feet onto the floor but almost immediately I felt myself leaning forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa easy, easy, easy. Okay she can’t walk. Not without us. Here get her on my back.” Sam knelt down and Dean placed her on his little brother’s back.  Sam held (y/n) under her knees and hand her arms wrapped around his neck. “Alright let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I can teleport us back to the den once we get out to the woods.” Said Cas.

“Alright come let’s go.” Said Dean as he was the first to race out of the torture room, then Cas and finally Sam and I.

Just as we made it outside and before we could even reach the woods, we were stopped by one of Percy’s acid spitters.  Soon two more came from the corners and surrounded us before finally a fourth one came right behind us, trapping us in a deadly circle.  

It was then a spotlight suddenly shined on all four of us and a voice came out through some speakers.

“The Winchester brothers, and the angel Castiel. I must say I have heard a lot about you three.” Percy soon came up along the balcony of his room as he stared us down.  I also saw how all of his trappers and hunters also surrounded us with their military weapons ready to fire at us.

“I take it you’re Percy.” Dean proclaimed.

“Seems my name’s famous even across the seas.”

“More like infamous.” Sam stated.

“Oh now Sam darling, no need to be so crude.”

“You kidnapped our sister. I got no reason why I shouldn’t Captain hook!” Dean exclaimed.

“Well I could give you four a warning, let you go but then again Americans usually are resilient little things. And resilience, means trouble.” He held his normal hand up and a snap rang out loud and clear.

The dragons surrounded us, hissing and baring their fangs.  Sam set me down and stood in front of me, while Dean and Cas got on either side of me, forming a protective wall around me.  The dragon in front of us huffed and slowly crawled closer and closer before getting ready to fire at us.

Just before it could spit out it’s acid, suddenly a dragon tackled it onto its side and went for a bite straight into the head. The dragon squirmed underneath the larger dragon but it wasn’t until I saw the familiar horns and pattern-like skin that I knew who exactly was attacking the acid spitter.

It was Stephen.  He tore the spitter’s head off before tossing it aside and he turned towards us, his pupils recited to a sharp point.

‘Go! Run!’ I heard his voice in my head and I’m sure the guys also heard it too.  Suddenly he was tackled by two of the acid spitters.  The three of them rolled along the ground till finally Stephen revealed his four wings and began flying in the air sending the other two after them.  

But it was then suddenly shooting out from the trees like a snake striking its prey, Apophis in his dragon form grabbed one of the spitters and quickly wrapped it up so tightly that it couldn’t even move.  Squeezing the life out of it till it drew it’s last breath.

As the next spitter got onto Apophis’ back and just before it could send it’s stinger into his skin, suddenly a fire ball shot out right onto the spitter’s side sending it off of Apophis’ back.  I then heard the sound of two different wing flaps and soon coming down were Warren and Deacon.

Deacon shot a fire ring around the four of us protecting us from any oncoming threat as Warren went in and landed in front of us and firing right at Percy’s warehouse burning it down to the ground. Forcing the hunters and trappers to scatter everywhere.  They tried to grab any weapon they could get their hands on, but with his whip-like tail Deacon tossed them either far into the woods or right into the burning warehouse.

The two remaining acid spitters leapt for Deacon but Warren managed to grab them both with his mouth.  Getting a good grip onto them adjusting them into his mouth before finally delivering that last powerful bite to make them gurgle until finally lying limp.  

Warren then discarded them towards the warehouse, and due to the force he threw them at, it created two large holes which only allowed the fire to explode out like a firework booming in the sky.

My son looked to his Beta in gratitude before Warren turned towards Percy.  I could sense that Warren was wanting more bloodshed, especially from the hunter that had been hunting them for years.  But Deacy stopped him and growled and huffed at him.

I watched as my son phased from his dragon form into his human state but kept his wings out as he flew towards Percy. Warren, Apophis and Stephen followed suit and soon the four of them all flew over Percy’s head.

*3rd Person POV*

Percy now was forced to look at the Big Four of the dragon’s nest he had been hunting down.  He had encountered all four of these dragons in the past, but this was a first when all four of them were together like this.  Truly seething with rage and a protective aurora.  

The burning flames from his warehouse just enhanced the fire in their eyes, especially the Alpha’s whom he refused to break eye contact with.

“My Big Four. I am—honored that you four would come to see me so willingly.” None of them responded, only kept their glares set on the dragon trapper.

“One warning; If you ever come near the Winchester brothers, the angel or the woman again. There will be more to come that not even you can stop.” Stephen sneered lowly.

“I—am surprised my dragons. You do realize the Winchester brothers have killed a dragon before with the one thing that can kill your kind. The angel has killed thousands in his lifetime probably, and that girl—she’s probably just like me with her dragon suit of armor. Why would you care so much for dragon killers like them?”

“Because that girl is my mother!” Deacon snarled. It was then Percy began to realize something.  He may be a hunter and come from a dragon hunting lineage, but he wasn’t stupid to the dragon laws.  

And he knew the consequences of harming or even hunting the mother of the Alpha from the story of his great-great-great grandfather who made that fatal error.

“Mother.” He whispered as he turned towards the ring of fire to look right at (Y/n).  “Forgive me Mighty Deacon.” He fell to his knees extending his arms out almost as if offering himself to the Alpha. “I—I had no knowledge of her being your mother. Had I known I would’ve never done what I did. Have mercy I beg of you.”

Deacon just stared him down before flying down towards him but keeping a distance from him.  His tail came out and it quickly wrapped itself around Percy’s neck choking him.

He gasped for air and tried to escape the Alpha’s tail but Deacon just continued to glare soullessly down at the hunter who had killed many of his people.

“Stay. Away from my mother. Don’t track her down, or her family. And never let me hear you trying to find her again.” Percy nodded and groaned out.

“Yes Alpha, I swear it…..I’ll never touch her again.” With a thrust of his tail, Deacon tossed him down towards his room and that’s when Apophis said.

“Call off your army, any dragons you got left, and let us pass.”

“Less you want to see your precious mansion burn too.” Threatened Warren as he allowed his hand to burn up.  It was then Percy spoke into the microphone.

“Stand down. Let them pass.”

“But sir—” cried one of the hunters only to be interrupted by Percy.

“LET THEM PASS!!” He then looked up at the Big Four once more and they flew back towards the ring of fire.

*My POV*

He was letting us go. Why? Why would he let us go so easily.  I saw the boys flying back towards us changing back into their dragon forms.  

Stephen grabbed Sam and Dean with the hooks of his two lowers wings allowing them to mount his back, Apophis wrapped his tail around Cas and hoisted him up onto his.

But now with them gone, I had no more support as I found myself collapsing to the ground.  Until both Deacy and Warren were now flying over me.

Lowering their heads down towards me; Warren first gently nudged me like I was a newborn baby trying to get me to stand up.  Deacy lay his head right in front of me as Warren kept gently nudging me to stand.  Finally I at least managed to crawl and grab a hold around my son’s neck.

I pulled myself up and mounted on top of his head and he slowly took off from that position trying not to move his head around so much since he knew I was still fuzzy from the drugs.  

Soon I felt nothing but the wind on my face and I saw Warren flying close behind Deacon as he looked down at me and nodded to me.

We were going home.

*3rd Person POV*

As Percy walked out to join the remaining trappers Doctor Zemo said.

“Why did you let them go like that?”

“I had too. Besides our Mother dragon will prove more useful out there than she will here.” It was then Percy pulled out a small device and turned it on to reveal a red dot on the move.

Smirking victoriously.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement chapter 14

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary:  The darkness has been purged from the basement. As Ienzo begins to recover in earnest, Even feels stagnant.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Even sits the next day, waiting for the phone call. He feels numb. Better to be numb in this moment. He’ll be able to make better decisions if he can’t feel. He keeps Aerith on speed dial. Mostly, he tries to keep it together.

It doesn’t take long. The phone rings and he hears Demyx sobbing, a sound that shouldn’t be familiar, but is. “It’s alright,” Even says. “I know. We’re coming.”

Call Aerith. Wrangle Dilan--who protests and snarls at Even after that argument, but submits immediately when he tells him Ienzo is in trouble.

It also helps that Even twisted his arm painfully.

They go down and down and down those stairs. He doesn’t feel anything, seeing it again. The air is dank, damp, and musty, but there’s no smell of darkness.

They must’ve done it, then.

He feels almost possessed, punching in those numbers, not listening to Dilan’s protests. About fifteen meters from the offices, he sees them, the blood, Demyx doing compressions. “Take care of him,” Even hisses at Dilan.

But when he tries to move Demyx, they quickly discovered he’s injured too, blood gushing from his right arm. When Dilan tries to get him to walk, he can’t bear his own weight, and when the man heaves him up, Demyx actually resists, reaching with his good arm towards Ienzo, something shattered in his eyes. But it’s an easy fight, and Dilan carries him away.

Keep him alive.

Don’t look at the blood. Do compressions, keep his heart beating. Don’t notice the fact that his eyes are still half-open and that he looks like a broken doll. Don’t notice that it sounds like it hurts him to breathe. Don’t think about death, that the boy’s tempted it too many times now, eventually it’s bound to take.

Keep him alive.

She’s there before long, there to help, always. Her eyes are frantic. “The second time,” she says. “Even, I don’t--”

He doesn’t listen. He waits.

It’s a harder fight, takes longer to stabilize him in order to move. His own hands are trembling. Aeleus takes him and they, so slowly, put Ienzo in bed. Aerith keeps working, keeps trying to heal the boy.

Even checks on Demyx. He’s still so numb, but the boy isn’t. He tries to stand, to cross over to Even, only to immediately drop to the floor with a soft groan. “Oh, bother,” Even says. “Here. Right. Up we go.” He sits the boy down, checks his wounds. Someone has wrapped them up.

“What’s going on,” Demyx asks, full of panic. “How--”

“Getting yourself worked up will not help the situation,” Even says dully. “Let me see your leg.” He feels at it. Without machinery, it’s hard to be completely sure. It seems to just be a torn hamstring.

“Even,” he presses. “He’s not--”

“No,” Even says. “Ienzo lives yet.”

“You say that as if it’s not guaranteed.”

What does he seriously expect? “His condition is quite critical. Aerith is doing what she can. The situation he’s in… it’s quite extreme. We’re still not fully sure of the extent of the damage.”

“He didn’t know he was doing it,” Demyx says. He’s crying, hiccuping. “He was taking them out of the pain. Out of the memory, like he did for me.”

“And the interference of darkness doubtless doesn’t help.”

“I didn’t know either,” Demyx says. “I just--I thought--I didn’t see anything, and then when I did see he was getting weak I tried to get him out of there. But then I got attacked.”

“You’re not at fault.”

“Yes I am.” His voice is sharp, full of razors. “I shouldn’t have let him do this at all--”

“As you said. This would’ve happened sooner or later. Ienzo, in his humanity, has become quite impulsive.”

“Still, I--”

“I believe he was more sensitive to their pain than he let on. He always was acutely aware of darkness. When he was a little boy, he would tell me he could hear the screams. I always thought it was trauma. Now I'm not so sure.” He’s barely aware of the words.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“You two were the only ones equipped to end this suffering, and willing to do it. I cannot be mad that has a price.” He can feel it, deep in the pit of his being. It’s all over. The smell of darkness is gone, and the basement is just a basement.

He isn’t mad at Demyx. He knows the boy tried his best.

He wishes he could feel.

Ienzo is dying. He can feel that.

Does he take the pain now, or later?

Demyx is still talking. “I knew her. Subject X. Her name was Skuld.”

Their first true victim. The thought of her large orange eyes. “Really?”

“We were both Dandelions.”

There are never coincidences, are there? “I did think that was a needlessly poetic name.” Even takes his hand. “This has obviously been quite traumatic for you.”

“What about you?”

It feels like getting slapped. “It is never easy to see Ienzo in danger,” he says haltingly. “I admit I do not care for this new self-sacrificing streak of his.”

“You raised him.”

Even stares at him. Is his numbness obvious? “You know how I feel about Ansem’s paternal instincts. What was I to do, let the boy go rabid?” He sighs. “Like many days of our past, that was a harsh one. All of a sudden I’m presented with a bloody, traumatized child and expected to make it all better. Not unlike now. At least you’re speaking to me. It took him close to a year to talk.” A voice he may not hear again.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You should get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

“But what if he--”

“Should the situation worsen, I will rouse you.” He stands. “He would not want you to push yourself for his sake.” Not if he may be all that’s left of the boy.

Even leaves, feeling his body weighing him down, the walls not having straight lines. He opens the door to Ienzo’s room. The girl is still hard at work. He can’t think of anything to say. He leaves. He sees Aeleus, the man’s white gloves stained with blood--whose?

“Even?” the man says. “Even, friend?”

He feels the pain starting in him, sharp. “Aeleus, I’m afraid--”

He steps forward just in time to catch Even as he falls.

---

He’s been put in his bed. There’s a cloth on his forehead, which is splitting. The light hurts his eyes.

There’s someone in the room with him. He tries to focus.

“Easy, there,” says a voice.

Even groans a little. “...Ansem. Where is--”

“I’m afraid everyone else is indisposed at the moment. You must deal with me.” He hands him a glass of water. “When was the last time you slept?”

“The stress, I’m afraid, triggered another… spell. I can’t simply  keep it together now.” He forces himself to sit up, drinks all the water down. “Do I… want to ask about Ienzo?”

Ansem sighs, a heavy sound. He knots his hands. “It’s every bit as bad as it was the first time. But the girl is optimistic. Says she can feel him.”

He feels nauseous.

“They ended it. That boy, his unrelated lover. This wasn’t their responsibility, and they still were able to fix things. All while we… wrote it off as collateral.” He shakes his head slowly. “I trust in him too. He had such a connection with the darkness. Purging it… can finally give him peace.”

Even isn’t sure what he feels. It’s strong, it’s bittersweet. It’s painful.

“We’re running out of chances with him,” Ansem says.

“I know.”

“Did you help them do this?”

“I… gave Demyx medicine, to try and save Ienzo. I have no idea if I was successful. I… he…” He can’t speak. “Ienzo was stuck. He was willing to do this. They both were. Like you said. Collateral. I did not want it to happen. But otherwise… the boy would be haunted. As Demyx said, we live here. We live with the darkness we’ve made. And he was always so sensitive to it. So yes. I helped the boy. If sparing them helps spare him… then I am for it.” He’s breathing hard. “They were all victims, Ansem. All of them.”

Let him go to save him?”

“He’s a grown man, Ansem,” Even says. “But this is more than just Ienzo. It always was. Could I have put up a fight? Dragged you into it? Would it have stopped him?” He’s woozy, faint. “Maybe. Maybe not. Ienzo won’t be manipulated by anyone anymore. Let him be stubborn. He needs it.”

He must sound absolutely insane, because Ansem just gently pushes Even back down. “You need rest, Even,” he says. “You’ll feel more centered.”

“...I’ll try.”

---

Even sleeps a long time. He feels unstable, strange, a wretch. Guilt washes over him, even after Ienzo stabilizes, even as they wait. Did he do the right thing, giving the boy the tools to destroy himself? Or did he help them? Did he help those Heartless? Why does he feel so guilty even after assisting in this good deed?

After a week or so of this wallowing, Aeleus intervenes. “You’re getting up,” he says briskly.

“I’ve no need to listen to you.”

“I’m stronger than you,” is all Aeleus says. “So we can do this willingly, or not so.”

Even can tell from his eyes that he means it.

“Go bathe. I will wait here.” He sits on the chaise, crosses his legs. “I left out a change of clean clothes near the tub.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because clearly at this moment in time you cannot look after yourself. And we look after one another.”

“...I’m frightfully pathetic.”

“Go.” He points towards the bathroom door.

The warm water feels good against his skin. He's greasy, vaguely gritty. It takes a bit of scrubbing to pull himself together, especially his hair. To do all this is absolutely exhausting, the reliance on the body frustrating. Yet more work to comb out his hair. He really has to do something about it. Most unbecoming. When he dresses, he notices Aeleus has left him a new pack of elastics.

It feels odd, to bind up his hair after so many years. Odd and habitual, Llke he's not quite himself. The old Even was much too passive, too vain and petty for his own good, so aggravatingly self-righteous.

And what of this one? Is he making good choices? How to determine what is good and what is not anymore? He feels so like a child, learning the difference between good and evil.

When he emerges, he finds Aeleus has made them both breakfast and coffee. For too long Even stares at it, almost uncomprehending, before finally forcing himself to eat.

"It's like the old days," Aeleus says. "I remember quite often that I'd used to need to feed all of you, tempt you with favorites like you were kids. Otherwise you'd all work yourselves into the ground."

"I'm a doctor--you would think I'd know better, all my wittering on." He shakes his head.

"Knowing and doing are two different things." He rests his cup on its saucer. "How do you feel?"

"The pain has… faded." He touches his breastbone. "I do hope I'm nearly there. This is awfully inconvenient."

"...Other than that."

"A rather pregnant question."

"I'd like to know." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"In short--guilty." The damp hair against his back is cold in this barely-heated room. "I feel I handed Ienzo the tools to destroy himself. How can I allow it? Yet--doing so, I enabled them to help our poor victims find peace. I don't want to continue to allow the poor boy to throw himself away for others. There must be some other way. Isn't there? All these kids know is sacrifice. It's… so sad."

"Perhaps there can be a future where it is not so."

"I dearly wish for that."

"We can make it happen, Even."

"How? The committee refused my help--and they're the de facto government. And I'm afraid bigger picture experiments are too indulgent when we're sitting here freezing."

Aeleus blinks. "Maybe that's it," he says softly. "We can fix this place--leave it for future generations. But there's one thing you need to work on above all." He takes Even's hand. "Recover. Learn to be human again."

If only it were that simple. "I shall surely try."

---

Again, Even writes. He stays out of that frigid lab, sits in silvery sunlight. He writes of how he feels, how his body responds to these emotions. He tries to parse his own psychological state. It's not an easy task. It might be the most difficult, tedious work he's ever done, and he can't be sure he's getting much of anywhere. It all seems like going in circles.

He tries to spend time with the others. Aeleus and Demyx are the most amenable to this, the most willing; and of course Ienzo is a captive audience. But Ansem and Dilan… the latter has been avoiding him since the basement, and the former is often nowhere to be found.

To mend a bond, both parties have to be willing, after all.

The cold seems to ease somewhat, snow yielding sleet, yielding rain. Ienzo sleeps. Demyx continues studying, always with that sitar in hand; Aerith comes by, teaches him simple spells to take care of the boy's fallen form. Even observes this all happening. Demyx is so nervous, his hands trembling. He shapes magic gently, cautiously, getting what he needs done. Then, facing Aerith with something like wonder, "I can… feel him. He's really going to be--" He cries, and she embraces him. Good. The boy can use more friends.

He misses that sense of awe, of fixing what's broken. Then again, he never was that way in the limited time he actually practiced medicine. People were things to him, inconveniences.

And now? He can't be nurturing, it simply isn't his nature. But perhaps he can help ease the strain, so to speak. So many others are in agony, the psychological consequences scarring them for life. His knowledge of psychopharmacology is limited. But he has time, and a library. He reads, studies compounds, scavenges for materials in the marketplace.

He puts on his white coat, ties back his hair.

Even experiments.

---

The weeks pass, one after the other.

This is the sort of work that takes time, patience. His study of replicas gave him more insight to the human body, how it might react to certain compounds. This is still something that will require testing. But it’s all he has, so he moves forward. He studies the physiological impacts of trauma, of darkness--scars and burns. He tests treatments on his own myriad scars. Not much can help him, but maybe someone else.

They keep watch over Ienzo. It’s been nearly six weeks again. Demyx claims he can feel him, his energy, but the boy is new to his studies, and the EEG machine isn’t giving Even much to work with. But, again, Demyx is right.

(Demyx has been right about far too many things lately.)

Almost six weeks to the day, Ienzo wakes. He’s with Ansem when it happens, and only an hour or so later does anybody see fit to tell him. “This is all becoming rather routine now, isn’t it?” Even says coolly when he sees the boy at his door. “Come here. Sit. You shouldn’t be up and about without someone properly looking at you.”

“Demyx says I’m fine.”

“Demyx has three weeks of novice healing training. I have a medical degree.” He feels at Ienzo’s vitals, finds that the boy is actually smiling a little. “You’re in awfully good spirits, all things considering.”

“I’m so… relieved.”

Even takes a better look at him. The utter agony that has been in the boy’s eyes since he reformed is gone. This act, reckless and destructive though it was, has given him more than any of them could. “Well I should hope so,” he says crisply. “Your body is not a renewable resource, you know. I should not like to make you a replica. It’s no substitute for the real thing. Not when so much is still not proven.”

He sighs. “Well, you needn’t worry. My power is well and truly gone--and the lexicon is now a mere notebook.” He shakes his head. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“No. I should hope not.” Even sits next to him on the chaise. “It’s about time you were able to try living for yourself,” he says.

Ienzo nods once. “It’s terrifying,” he says. “I was always under someone’s purview or another--now to be under my own? It’s been a… learning experience. Truthfully I do not know what I want .”

“You have time,” Even says. “That is, unless you end up destroying yourself again. You won’t get a third chance, Ienzo.”

“I’m aware. And I… am trying to see myself as having worth. I’m not a tool. I’m a person. That in and of itself is overwhelming.”

“It is.”

The boy twists the tie of his robe in one hand. “So strange, to be warm again,” he says.

“Yes. I’d forgotten how eternal these winters seem.” He pauses. “You should be careful. I have no doubt that you’ll catch the first thing someone carries in.”

A derelict sigh. Then he smiles. “Quite. Well, if it’s all the same… I’d very much like to get cleaned up.”

“You go on.”

For a second it seems Ienzo will get up; but then he winces and clutches at his head.

“...Child?”

“Headache,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m sure it’ll pass.”

It doesn’t.

---

It becomes clear that this recovery is much harder on Ienzo than the last; because the headaches don’t go away. It takes him time to bounce back, time to gather his strength. Aerith does her own examination and insists there’s nothing physical about the headaches.

“Well you did wear down your will twice,” she says to Ienzo, in a slightly scolding tone. “Of course it’s going to be a lot harder for it to actually move your body, and this is how that manifests.”

And Even has no working machinery to take a look at the boy. All they can do is give him medicine… insist he does nothing physically or mentally difficult… and wait. It’s clear this chafes him endlessly. If Even were constantly being poked and prodded and checked in on, given not one moment of alone time or peace, he’d bristle too. But he’d rather have the boy annoyed and frustrated rather than dead.

Demyx tries to keep his spirits up, keep him entertained, bringing him books and the like; though there’s some tension there too ( do not think about why that may be) . They’ve weathered the storm, but there will still be aftershocks.

Even still isn’t entirely sure what happened down there, what Ienzo saw. The humanity of the Heartless intrigues him; it’s possible they’ve been forever wrong about these creatures. He decides to bite the bullet and ask. “I brought you some tea. No pesky headaches today, I hope?”

Ienzo takes the cup from him, setting aside the novel. “No. At least, not yet.”

He appraises him. “Your color looks good. You do look a little thin, though. We should try to get you eating more. I’m not sure how many kilos you lost--”

“My clothing doesn’t feel loose.”

“Even so. I thought you were underweight before all this happened. I’ll get you some of the leftovers from dinner, how does that sound?” He brings the boy a plate, notes that at least he seems to have some appetite. “I know what happened,” Even begins, haltingly. “But I didn’t get to hear the whole story.”

Ienzo shoots him a look. “I’m not sure I’m the source you want. That evening is very hazy to me. Demyx would probably be more accurate.”

“Hazy? How so?”

“I’ve lost my powers.” As if this explains anything.

“Yes. I can’t say I’m sorry to see them go.”

“Neither am I, but… I believe they gifted me an atypically strong sense of memory, and now that I am merely average, it feels like something of a downgrade.” He touches his brow. “Feelings, fine details, are not so clear.”

How odd… but Zexion’s abilities were always so psychic, so intangible. And the boy’s will was a Nobody’s. To have all that be gone… of course he feels different. “The average memory functions by recording, then recalling that recording, and then taping over it with the recollection. Which is why, for the ordinary person, it fades over time. If you’re not used to that sensation, of course things must seem out of place.”

A pause. “Do you think I will ever be capable of magic again?”

The last thing he needs. It’s hard to go from powerful to powerless, but does the boy still not acknowledge how destructive this all was? “...Perhaps,” he concedes. “But I forbid you from trying anything for some months. You’ve taken enough risks.”

Ienzo scowls.

“Ansem agrees with me. So, I’m sure, would Demyx. He was an absolute wreck when you were asleep.” He exhales. “This isn’t about choice, or agency. You’ve pushed the limits of your being too far. Of course we’re going to worry.”

He smiles, but it’s very cold. “This reminds me of when I was a child.”

Alright. Fine. Two can play. “Well, when you were a child, you didn’t have a death wish.” How to impart to him what was done? The boy never used to be dense.

Is he just in denial?

“Beg pardon?” Ienzo asks.

This requires gentleness, tact--things Even still is not any good at. “Part of me believes you absolutely did the right thing. On the other hand, the part of me that raised you cannot bear this impulsiveness of yours.”

“It was not an impulsive act. This was something I wanted ever since I was human--”

“But were you truly saving them? Or saving yourself?”

It’s the hesitation, the stuttering, that gives it away. “Does it matter?”

It about breaks Even’s heart. But he should’ve known--hasn’t he raised the boy to be like this? He sits next to him, takes the empty plate. “It’s time for you to let go.”

His tone is rather sharp when he says, “I have. I think you need to follow suit.”

Ienzo’s right; it’s this that has him reeling, and before he can formulate a reply, the door is swinging open and there’s Demyx, carrying a bag of books. “So I couldn’t find the third volume of Shadow of the Morning Star, but the rest were there, so--” Noticing the tension, he blinks. “Am I, uh, interrupting something.”

All the better. There’s no way Even can be neatly composed. “I was merely bringing Ienzo some lunch.” He leaves, taking the plate and cup with him, feeling something like lead in the pit of his stomach.

How to let go? How to move on? He’s hoping his new research might be of use, but in case it isn’t? Is he allowed to move on? Is he allowed to live?

(Moreover, does he want to?)

He’s in the middle of this process, still clutching Ienzo’s dishes, when he sees Dilan in the hall. For a moment they both hold eye contact before the man pushes past him.

How does Even begin fixing things?

Is it possible?

---

All questions, no answers.

There is one person in this castle who is good at such waffling.

For some weeks Even procrastinates seeking him out, but with nothing of substance to do, there's no point. Even takes a breath.

It isn’t easy to find Ansem. Even calls him twice, knowing well the man won’t answer--even for Ienzo he’s hard to get a hold of. A brilliant programmer, yet he can’t--or won’t--grasp the gummiphone.

(It makes him more accountable.)

So he searches. On foot.

It’s the thick of spring, but the castle is still damp, and it’s raining; they’ve all been passing around the same cold. It’s been nearly six months they’re all here, Even realizes. Six months of--what? Not much of anything, really. Reeling, sniping at one another. Only Ienzo and Demyx seem to have begun recovering. The rest of them feel stagnant.

He checks Ansem’s usual haunts; the lab, the library. It’s only as he’s heading towards the man’s quarters does he sees Demyx, toting his medic bag (the sight will never not surprise him). When he gets closer, he sees something heavy in the young man’s eyes, his posture slumped more than usual.

“...Boy?” Even asks. “Are you alright?”

He looks up as though surprised, then blinks once. “Even,” he says. “Do you… have some time?”

The wind seems so loud against the breezeway. “That depends. Is something going on? Is… is everyone okay?”

Demyx seems to think for a moment. Then he grasps Even’s hand and brings him back towards the sitting room. “Well I mean not really,” he says in response to Even’s question. “Alive? Yeah. Uninjured? Sure.” He sits Even down on the couch and starts building a fire. “You want tea? You hungry?” There’s something manic and not at all hospitable in the way he’s speaking.

“Boy, you’re frightening me. If you hope to cultivate a good bedside manner--”

“Ansem’s in trouble.”

All he can see is the back of the boy’s head, half shorn. He holds rumpled paper in one hand. Even can hear him breathing. He can intuit what the boy means, but still he asks, “What kind of trouble?”

“Like he…” He stays facing the hearth, but he doesn’t move to keep making the fire. “He’s… he was sick. Had a fever. I was outside, taking care of a few things, and I saw him.” He shoves the paper into the fireplace, picks up the box of matches. “Seemed to be in some kind of episode… or flashback… If I hadn’t been there when I was, I’m not sure if he might’ve--”

It feels like getting socked in the stomach. “Are you sure?”

“He said something along the lines of, “I believe I was going to do something reckless.” Which, considering how euphemistically you all talk… yeah, Even. I’m sure.” His voice hitches a little. “Ienzo’s with him. They’re talking about stuff.” He turns to face him, finally. Demyx’s eyes are watering. “Every time I think I start to get it, shit gets a whole lot deeper and more complicated. You guys… all these weird power dynamics…” He shrugs and shakes his head.

“Don’t I know it,” Even says numbly. “I know the man has been avoiding everyone--I figured he wanted nothing to do with me. And rightfully so, all things considering.”

Demyx strikes the match. Its hiss seems particularly loud in the room; Even can’t help but flinch. He shoves it into the fireplace. “I feel so fucking weird,” he says.

“As… as do I.”

He turns. “Do you feel that way too?” he asks him. “Ienzo can’t--I--”

“I am not… well. But I don’t feel as though… that’s my only option. I’ve put the boy through enough.”

He takes a deep breath. He wipes at his eyes.

“The question is how to pull us all back together,” Even says. His own body feels so heavy; he has to lean forward on his knees. “I’ve been pondering and pondering it. Do we… deserve to pick up the pieces? And yet… our lives, after so many permutations… are still ours. That can’t be insignificant. We must… need to be here. But…” His mouth is so dry. “Boy, I’ve no idea why, or… what to do.”

“It’s gotta be pretty bad, for you to not even pretend to know something.”

“...Quite.”

Neither of them know what to say for a long time. Demyx continues to build the fire, to warm his hands; he’s shaking.

“Your record is cleaner, as it were,” Even says. “You have the excuse of your amnesia. We, on the other hand, very deliberately turned against all we stood for, in the name of… discovery. ” He spits the last word. “A decision is much heavier than a choiceless choice.”

“Aren’t you trying to be better?”

“Desperately. With every fiber of my being. But I think Ansem… would believe we’re not worth saving.”

“Why not?”

“...I’ve no idea. Come sit over here, boy. Get off the cold floor.”

After a moment, Demyx obeys. He perches next to Even. “I was there for part of it,” he admits to his lap. “Ienzo said he felt… used.”

Even sighs. “That makes sense,” he says. “Xehanort certainly did use him, as a tool. His brilliance… a bargaining chip over me.”

Demyx sniffles. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes. And then… all those years in the Organization… Zexion became very loyal. The validation he was given was much needed. Of course the boy would think, in the moment, he was doing the right thing. We all did. The darkness twisted us so. Now of course we know better. That knowledge had a price. While we’re closer to who we once were than we are our Nobodies, we still all hurt each other, tossed one another aside. Trying to reconcile those feelings is… complicated. He was deprived of a normal life, his skills used to further someone else’s agenda… not unlike you.”

“He’s gone through so much--”

“And you haven’t? And we all haven’t?”

Demyx sniffles. “Do you think we’re not worth saving?”

“Either way… we’ve been saved.”

Slowly, he nods. “Gotta make it worth it.”

“...Indeed.”

---

Hours later, Even waits. He watches, observes. Ienzo finally returns from Ansem’s quarters, pale, drawn, eyes swollen and red-rimmed. He walks like it hurts. Demyx gently takes him into his arms, guides him into the kitchen.

Even gathers himself.

It’s not a long walk, but it seems like it is. He’s not sure how he feels; he just knows it’s strong. Indignation? Disgust? Outrage? (Concern? Heartache?)

He doesn’t bother knocking on Ansem’s door; besides, it’s cracked open. He takes a deep breath, and enters.

The accused is sitting by the fire, nursing some kind of warm beverage. He looks up at the sudden noise, shakes his head a little, and says, “I suppose my humiliation is complete, then.”

Even cants his head a little to the side. Getting angry will not help at all; yet he feels it in his breast, hot and demanding. He tries to smother it. “Do you still feel ill?”

“I am physically back to normal. More or less. Demyx took good care of me. Sit, why don’t you.”

Even perches on one of the chintz chairs. “The boy says you were delirious. Is that true?”

“True enough. I’m afraid I have much less willpower than I used to. These things are so difficult to combat. Only now do I fully understand your frustration over Ienzo’s mental health.”

“From back then?”

“Quite. I know to a degree you feel it too.”

“But I’m not about to do anything about it.”

“I’m not sure I would’ve. Equally as uncertain what would’ve happened had the boy not been there. He believes I’m here for a reason.”

“Aren’t we?” He scoffs a little. “Ansem, if the universe truly wanted us dead, truly believed us irredeemable, we’d have been long gone.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate.”

“I do now. I’ve been handed so many clues, guided so carefully by such forces. That isn’t for nothing. As much as I would like to… curl into the science, into the known, that simply isn’t the case.”

He nods once. He stares into the flames. “I wasn’t hopeless for a long while,” he admits. “I had my rage to sustain me--then once I arrived, I had the thought of Ienzo, of atonement and you all. But…”

“Where to begin?” Even offers. He exhales. “I believe I know exactly what you mean. I was never good at kindness, as much as my heart wanted me to be. Any way  I’ve helped the boy-- those boys--has resulted in pain.”

“You’ve given Ienzo peace, Even. That’s not for nothing.”

“Well, he still has a long, long way to go. All that compartmentalizing is bound to begin unpacking itself now that he’s more stable.”

“But peace is the first… piece. As it were.”

Even adjusts his collar. “What would it take for you to find peace, Ansem?”

“...The ability to forgive. If I could find forgiveness, the rest would follow.”

“Do you want to forgive, or be forgiven?”

Ansem is silent.

Even tries a different track. “Ienzo was in here with you. What is it you spoke about?”

“He doesn’t trust me. I don’t know why that was surprising. Why should he? I abandoned him.”

“You didn’t ask to be--”

“Before that.”

The sharpness of his tone throws Even off for a moment. Ansem sets the empty cup aside and knots his fingers. “Things were getting dark, even before I knew it was completely atrocious,” he says. “Yet I… did not once think of how it impacted him, what was happening to him. You said you tried once to get him out. Why didn’t I?”

“You were the king. Where could you have gone?”

“I had the power to stop these things and I simply didn’t.”

Even leans back a little. He tries to keep his face open, neutral. It’s an uphill battle. “Why not?” he asks gently.

“Part of me… I believe… also wanted to know what it was you were discovering. I hid myself behind false ideas of trust in you, of honor. But deep down? I am just as complicit.”

For a moment all that is audible is the crackle of the fire, the soft tick of a clock. “Guilt is just as intoxicating as darkness,” Even says slowly. “But unlike darkness… it can be useful.”

“I hardly call this useful.”

“It reveals the weaknesses in one’s character… things that can, theoretically, be fixed. This isn’t going to be easy.” His hair falls over his shoulder. “I’ve been doing the same thing… it might just be the most impossible research project. But it must be done. No need to waste myself when I still have so much to offer.”

“Like what?”

Even doesn’t know what to read into that question. “I’m educated. I’ve learned so much--true, I’ve used most of it for ill, but now I can undo the damage, or at the least… ensure it never happens again.” When Ansem says nothing, he adds, “The people running this city are children , Ienzo’s age. They have no experience, little knowledge. I may have only been a paltry scientist, but I can help them along their way. You could too. They don’t really know how things were. Yes, it was flawed, but it was better--than this.”

“Better than hiding, and rotting.” He bites the bullet. “That young man Leon asked if you wanted power again. I had no answer.”

Ansem laughs, but there’s no warmth in the sound. “And--what, wreck what they’ve built?”

“You were king for close to ten years. There were hardly ever more human rights. You cared for these people. You brought unprecedented change.”

“Change which was then taken advantage of.”

“I am trying, Ansem. I am trying to help you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Even feels the blood in his face.

“As you said. All the good you’ve tried only ends in pain. Pain I do not need.”

His hands are trembling. “Very well. If that’s how you feel.” He stands; he’s so angry he’s dizzy, and in his periphery, something far darker and heavier than anger. Even leaves, willing himself not to look back, not to say anything, not to feel--

---

It takes work, to seal up one’s emotions. He’s forgotten. He hides himself behind his newest project, staying out of the way, saying little, again incapable of being any use. It’s hide himself away or fall apart; neither seems like a good idea. It’s summer now, hot and impermanent, but his lab somehow feels cold. His hair has become longer and more unmanageable until finally he caves and cuts off the dead (singed?) ends.

He doesn’t isolate himself completely. No point further worrying the boy when he seems his happiest. When necessary, he socializes, but keeps the conversation as surface level as possible. He pushes through it. Facades are so much harder now. It is a relief, to see Ienzo doing so well, all things considering. A relief and somewhat of a novelty to witness the boy in love. It suits him, and for all intents and purposes Demyx seems to be a good partner. He would know; Dilan gossips about it endlessly. (Even supposes the man needs some way to fill his days.) Apparently the boy’s been caught going to and from Ienzo’s room. Even doesn’t particularly care; they’re both human adults in a romantic relationship, these things are bound to happen. More power to them. But to Dilan you’d think it’s the most scandalous thing; so much for him claiming to not care, either. Even puts up with the gossip, because at least it means the man is talking to him.

He didn’t fully realize how serious things are between the two young men (though aren’t they? Ienzo risked his life to save Demyx). All of a sudden one of these days he notices that Ienzo’s possessions are slowly disappearing from his room, piece by piece. Dilan, ever the glutton for drama, faithfully reports that they have cleaned up an apartment several floors below. One day when they are both preoccupied by their work, Even sneaks down to examine it for himself. The door’s been left open, and sure enough there their things are lying; pairs of shoes, jackets, odd little trinkets and books. It evokes in him something deep and bittersweet. The boy’s finally been allowed to properly grow up.

Soon after that, he’s returning to his own quarters after a fruitless day of working when he sees Ienzo rummaging around in his old room’s drawers. He opens the cracked door. It’s beyond strange to see this room so emptied. All of the posters have been taken down, the bookshelf stripped, even the mattress is bare. He realizes that Ienzo’s essentially leaving as soon as Even got used to his presence again. “So that’s it then,” he says.

Ienzo looks up at him. He’s not embarrassed, exactly, but there’s a shyness when he says, “Yes.”

Even goes over to the bed, smooths the quilt a little. “It will be odd to not have you around.”

“I’m not far. Just downstairs.”

“Even so. I only just got used to being in this place again. I feel I am growing much more slowly than you.” He isn’t sure why he admits this. But isn’t it the truth? He’s so stagnant.

“It isn’t a race,” he says, and offers a small smile.

“No.” He sits, considering the young man. “You know, when Ansem first decided to bring you here, we reacted poorly. How on earth could we expect a child to thrive in this environment? Moreover, how could we care for one? But I think you brought a life into this place. An ambition. You were a reminder of the future we sought to create. You still are.” How’s that for earnest? But he means it.

Ienzo sits down near him. He looks at his hands, the clothing in his lap. “Our relationship has been… strained. Yours and mine.”

“I’m aware.”

“We reformed… and you were gone. I know now, of course, why you did it. But things were overwhelming enough that I… I worried I’d lost the Even I’d known for good.” It feels like he’s wanted to say this for some time.

Even drops his eyes. “It is… tempting to blame it all on the thrall of darkness, but that is reductive. This whole process has revealed flaws in me that I once valued as strengths. I was selfish, devious, cruel. And I had no way of stomaching the emotional rot it would dredge up. Ienzo.” He takes his hand. “I am proud of the person you’ve become. Even though I cannot flatter myself and take credit for it.”

He blushes a little. “That is very kind.”

“I’m glad the cards have fallen the way they did. We have all played our parts to perfection, including those of us who are surprises. Only now there is no more script.” Even brushes a strand of hair out of Ienzo’s face. “I do so wish you would let me cut your bangs.”

A small smile. “I’m afraid you must get over it.”

He laughs a little. “I suppose. You’re grown now, making your own decisions.” He takes a breath. He can’t help himself. The boy is just so young . “Are you sure this is what you want?”

His turn to look away. “Yes,” he says. “I… I do love him. And I want a future with him. This is part of that.”

Even knows it’s the truth, but still it’s odd to hear him say it out loud. “Better him than a stranger, I suppose.”

“A stranger would not be able to understand.”

The boy has a point. Nobody else will be able to grasp the convoluted past of his. “No. You’re right. I’m glad you’ve found what happiness you could.”

His blush reddens further. “Thank you. I am too. I will still be around.”

“And I should like to see this place sometime.” More than covert spying.

“Of course.” He picks up his things. “I should head back. We have plans for lunch.” He’s almost at the threshold.

“Ienzo?”

He turns. “Yes?”

“Is it very strange, to be in love?”

He barely hesitates. “No. It is as natural as breathing.”

---

Even finds himself considering what that means.

Loving is supposedly natural--regardless of what kind of love it is.

Why does he find it difficult?

(Is he worth loving? A desiccated wretch like him? What can he possibly give to anyone in any capacity?)

He thinks about his late spouse, if that was a real love. Of his biological son. Surely he must’ve loved them--their departure wrecked him so. He must love Ienzo similarly, right? A sort of paternity? What of the others? The webs between them are all so complicated--Demyx is right, the power dynamics at play are so strange.

Is it possible to make amends? Is he worthy?

He recalls the conversation with Ansem. How the man claims he only causes pain.

(Isn’t he right?)

He feels stuck.

[din0pants-blog]

Guess ill be the first! Is it possible to get some nsfw headcanons and a scenario of their first time?

Firstly, I’d like to apologize for taking so obscenely long toget to this! That said, I was originally going to do both headcanonsand the scenario, but in the interest of getting this posted ASAP, Ionly did the scenario for now (don't worry though, I didn't rush it).However, if you still want the NS*FW headcanons, Anon, please feelfree to send another request asking for them and I will gladly get to them whenever I can!!!

Little bonus fact about this piece: I was originally planning onincluding Diego making a metaphor comparing his... naughty time withHot Pants to the Devil tempting her into a fall from Grace, but Icouldn't quite figure out how to make it fit, given the direction Itook this piece in, so ultimately, I dropped the idea. It'sadmittedly an interesting idea on paper, but I feel like Hot Pantswouldn't have taken too kindly to it anyway (especially in context),so it's just as well that I decided against the metaphor's inclusion.

Requested content is under the cut! 18+ readers only, please:

Many people have an idea of how they imagine their first time willbe, whether in general or with a specific person–an ideal scenario.Predictably, some end up setting their expectations quite high, butvery rarely are those ideals realized. However, even when someone'sfirst time having sex doesn't go according to plan, though some aredisappointed, others are very pleasantly surprised by the unexpectedturn the situation had taken.

However, neither Diego nor Hot Pantscould have been said to have any sort of ideal planned out for theirfirst time. The former had never thought of sex as something that wasworth idealizing, while the latter actively attempted to banish allsuch desires from her very being whenever they popped up and sorarely allowed herself to entertain thoughts about sex at all. Assuch, it makes the situation they currently find themselves in allthe more surprising, Hot Pants straddling Diego's lap, rolling herhips firmly against the slowly but surely growing erection beneathher. Her breaths come in short, quiet, and frustrated bursts, hereyes screwed shut as she focuses on getting Diego ready, but mainlyon her own pleasure.

“Are you having a hard time?”he asks.

“Hush.”

“You're getting nowhere fast.”

“Because you keepbreaking my focus.”

“You've never done this before,have you? Let me hel-”

“Shut up, Diego!”

He narrows his eyes and snorts in abestial sort of way. “If you want to be stubborn and strugglemeaninglessly, be my guest. But if you must insist on it, then I, onthe other hand, will be going to sleep. Who knows? You might manageto give me a nice wet dream,” he taunts.

Hot Pants' motions suddenly come to agrinding halt and she narrows her eyes at him in response. “... Youwouldn't.”

He shrugs nonchalantly as he getshimself comfortable, making sure his companion still has unencumberedaccess to his frontside. “Try me,” he says to her, shutting hiseyes in a casual display of defiance, truly prepared to make good onhis word. “I offered to help and you so carelessly refused myoffer. That's not myproblem.”

Clutching at the turtleneckcollar of his sweater, Hot Pants pulls herself closer, her face up inDiego's own, the tip of her nose pressing uncomfortably against his.“Listen, Brando,” she hisses. “It isyour problem. You startedthis. You deliberately riled me up and now you're telling me thatyou're going to sleep instead??? What do you want,dammit?! For the love of all that is holy, be straightforward withme!”

“What a ridiculous question,”Diego chides. “Isn't it obvious?”

“What did I just finish sayi-!!!”

His lips are on hers before she canfinish. It's not a particularly chaste kiss, but it's notparticularly passionate either. And then it's over. Hot Pants isdazed while Diego looks at her with the titillated gaze of an ancientpredator. “I wanted to rile you up, of course,” he tells her,finally answering her question properly. “Can't you feel it? Theracing of your heart? The flush of your skin? The roar of your blood?… The wetness between your legs?” Hot Pants blinks, but realizesthat he's right.

“It's thrilling, isn't it...?”he says quietly, grinning unnaturally wide, the points of sharp teethpeeking from past his lips and his split cheeks, though his featuresrevert to something recognizably and unalarmingly human withinseconds.

“... I'm not answering that.”

“Mm? Which question in specific?”

“All of them. I'm not answering anyof those questions.”

Reaching down to her clothed groin, herubs at her. Hot Pants quietly gasps out a, “Yes...”whimpering at Diego's tender touch. “A pity you won't tell meyourself. But your body betrays you, Hot Pants. It speaks the wordsyou refuse to say with your voice. I can feel it; you're hot andslick. I can smell it; it's earthy and sweet. I can see it. Oh, butyou're not even aware, are you? I've been keeping my hand perfectlystill. Mostly,” he tells her and she suddenly becomes all too awareof her hips rolling against the pads of the man's inviting fingers.She jerks to a halt, becoming self-conscious and he removes hisfingers from their spot, purposely running them against her sensitiveclit before resting both that hand—covered in her delectablescent—and the other on her hips. In her sudden stillness, her sexcradling Diego's own again, she takes notice of the fact that he'sfully erect now, his firm shaft undeniably pressing and throbbingexcitedly against her.

“Let me help you,” Diego repeats,staring her in the eyes, his voice low.

Hot Pants is silent now,but—reciprocating his stare—instead of speaking, she tugs atDiego's sweater, managing to remove it from his body with hisassistance. Working at her own clothing momentarily, just long enoughto expose her chest and torso to him, she works on unfastening thebelt securing his jodhpurs. She should feel indecent, she should feellike the filthy sinner she knows herself to be. But then... why doesher soul feel unaffected by the stain that plagues it? It's stillthere--this, she knows—but for the first time since her childhood,she feels untouchable, like the sin and the guilt can't haunther.

Sheseeks more of Diego's body, briefly runs her hands upon the strong,muscular planes. Her breathing comes and goes heavily. She's high onthis drug, on the peace and the lackadaisy she feels towards thatmistake, the iniquitythat has tormented her very being since the very moment it had beencommitted.

'More... I need...'

“Diego,I need more. Touch me...” she finally murmurs, pulling Diego'slower garments down as much as she can, exposing his cock—drippingfrom the tip with pre-ejaculate —to the chilly Autumn air. Diego'spupils narrow into slits again, Hot Pants' plea sending fire throughhis veins, making it all the more difficult for him to reject thecall of the wild that echoes within his skull. Tearing apart thecrotch of her leggings like thin paper, before she can gripe aboutit, he's lifting her by her hips and seating her on his lap, hislength penetrating her wholly and suddenly. Hot Pants immediatelytightens around him, letting out a startled cry, eyes wide, breathstaccato as she desperately plants her hands against his chest in aneffort to keep herself grounded in the midst of the shock of intenselightning pleasure that has struck her entire body and surges to herhead and through her limbs, causing her digits against his chest andin the dry, gritty soil to curl and her head to be filled with athick, Nirvanic fog.

Havingbarely given her time to adjust, Diego bucks into her from below. Hischeeks have split open again, a scaly patch forming beneath his lefteye. With clawed, blue-tinted saurian hands, he firmly grips herrear—the points of his ivory claws pricking dangerously into themeaty flesh—and guides her motions. She quickly comes to understandwhat he's asking of her and rolls her hips as he thrusts into herfrom below; her compliance earns her the reward of happy chitteringfrom Diego's throat.

He'slarge, easily filling her and stretching her. The heat of his bodyinside of her is enough to draw moans, sweet like honey, forth fromher lips. Every thrust up into her slick warmth resounds with a wet,carnal slap,slap,slap thatintermingles with her moans and sighs, with her trembling calls ofDiego's name.

“Die-g-go...I-I think I'm... OhGod...” Hot Pantsfeels somethingwinding tighter in her lower belly, growing hotter, tensing,twisting.“More... Faster, harder, anything!Please!” Diego eagerly complies, pistoning into her in earnest now.“I didn't mean by thatmuch!!” sheexclaims, crying out in pleasure. And yet, quickly, those wordlesscries become a chant of Diego's name, each repetition coming outhigher and higher-pitched until finally, her back involuntarilyarches forward and her head falls back. All at once, she feels theintense heat that had been building up inside of her bursting intoevery part of her body, her lungs are burning for air, her cuntthrobs around Diego's length, and the heavenly haze in her headintensifies. Amidst the simultaneous sensations that assault herhypersensitive body, she's faintly aware of an additional liquid heatpouring into her.

Asthough instinctively, Diego holds her close. Despite the wonderfulfeelings echoing within her and the exhaustion that urges her eyesclosed, she can't help but think that Diego's probably not entirelyaware of the unusually affectionate action he's performing. Beforeshe allows herself rest, she's all too aware that this feeling offreedom she's experiencing is going to disappear soon enough.

'Though... Even if it'sforbidden, I want to feel this again.'

Openingher eyes once more, she looks up at the now-slumbering Diego's facefor a short bit before closing them once more and, exhaling throughher nose, she makes herself comfortable and before settling intosleep herself, she asks God to forgive her.

[ratbound]

EXPEDITION II.             – THE MISTWOOD. 

–– You hadn’t thought you were doing anything wrong. In your mind it was just a normal camping trip, albeit into a forest deeper than most. There wasn’t much that you had heard about the Mistwood, other than its general location. You prepared everything you thought you would need; food, water, supplies to make a fire, a simple first aid kit, and most importantly… a tent. In a way, you were trying to prove that you were able to do something like this on your own. Trying to prove that you were capable of surviving, gathering information, and being useful. 

You left notes of course, and at least let your brother, Haru, and Shouto know you’d be away camping for the weekend. 

It seemed to be going well, at least at first. Most of what you found were old ruins that behaved in strange ways, inverting only when you saw them from the corner of your eye. Thinking that maybe you were seeing things or reached a point of exhaustion, you decided to wander a short distance away from them to set up camp. Settling down with your notebook, you jotted down your findings as you ate the mushrooms you’d foraged. They were tough, and tasted burnt from being left on the fire too long, but you stomached them regardless. 

Eventually you stopped trying to find the right words to describe what you saw, and went to sleep. The forest was nice and warm, and despite the uneven ground, you sunk into the kind of sleep that goes right down to your bones. It’s the sort of comfort that only comes after a long stint of gardening, once your body believes that it’s truly earned it.

It’s for that reason you almost don’t wake when you hear a sharp crack echoing in the distance, your eyes slipping shut once more until you feel the slightest pressure against the shell of your ear. A child’s voice speaks in a whisper, as if they’re telling you a secret.

     “ You should go mister, they’re coming. They’ll be here soon. They’ll eat until there’s nothing left of you.” 

You jolt upright, heart pounding in your throat as you take in the words. Who would let a child come out this far? Did you just dream it? Stay still for a few moments, contemplating on what to do before another crack sounds in the distance. You decide to take the risk and leave your tent. If there’s a child lost somewhere in the woods, you should try to help them get home, now. 

When you look around, however, the only thing left in the fog is the shape of the shifting buildings you had wandered through earlier. Beyond the old stone, and the hoots and howls, you hear another large crack. It’s close. Close, and too large to be a deer or a bear. 

Normally you’d rely on where the rats of the forest would take you. Away from the danger. However, they don’t come, and you can't will them to. The child’s voice never returns, either. 

You decide that going home early might be a better idea. However, you make the mistake of going back into the buildings, thinking that maybe the child you heard might be scared and hiding there. You leave the tent where it is, taking your backpack and nothing else. 

The inversion of the buildings seem to have become more aggressive, you notice. You try to focus on shining your flashlight in every corner, hoping to find the owner of the child you heard earlier. The cracking from outside has stopped, or at the very least, you believe you’ve navigated far enough from the source. It’s at this point you brave calling out a bit louder. 

“Hello? If you’re here, please, come out. I only want to-” you call to the child as you round a corner of a building, but your voice is cut short as heat hits your face. It takes a moment to register the damp breath, and the fact that you are staring at teeth in the darkness. 

Then they begin to open, and draw nearer as you watch in horror. You only barely manage to surge backwards before jaws clamp down, inches from your face. The teeth open again, but this time you realize they’re coming. You jump back to get as much distance as possible before turning to run. There’s only a split second where you see the face attached to the maw, its flesh pulled too far forward to be human despite the shape being so reminiscent. It’s eyes are beady, sunken in so far that you’re sure it can barely see. But you don’t think it needs to. It can tell where you are. 

It had been hanging from the ceiling before, but you hear it drop behind you as it ambles after you on too long limbs. The creature lets out a sound like metal against metal, yet somehow guttural and undulating. It’s a horrible sound that vibrates through you, and you nearly trip from shock. It’s enough to make the trees you dodge through feel less real than they are. 

The ground shakes around you as you try to escape, and once again, it screams. You smash into a tree, rolling down a short hill. You try to get your legs to move, but they do so too late. You feel something sharp pierce into your front, knocking the wind out of you in a way you can barely comprehend. You transform almost immediately. Your bag drops with loud thud where your body used to be. In the corner of your mind, you barely register the sound of thundering weight shifting, and then quickly leaving.

It’s the last thing you remember when you wake up, autumn leaves bigger than you are collecting against your pile of clothes, and your bag. 

Your body feels too heavy to move, and your mouth is incredibly dry, filled with a bitter taste that makes your eyes water. Despite the weight on your small shoulders, you struggle with one paw to look over the mountain that is your bag. 

The buildings are nowhere to be found, and instead, you find yourself alone by a pool of water illuminated by rays of moonlight. The gurgling rush of a distant waterfall would be enough to lull you back to sleep, were it not for the searing pain blooming under the fur covering your side. 

You try to close your eyes, to let yourself fade back into the comfort of the dark. But each time you do, the waterfall seems to become louder as if it’s asking you to stay – to not give up just yet. 

You crack your eyes open. It seems far away, but by the time you’ve struggled to the water’s edge and taken a drink, you hardly notice the time that’s gone by at all. Cold coats the sore edges of your throat, and without any strength left, you fall into the water. It’s all you can do to keep your snout above the rippling current, clinging to the edge as you fade out again. 

In the morning light, the world is smaller again. You’re on a trail, clothes and bag next to you as if someone had set them there for you to find. Red wounds still bloom along your arm and your ribs, but they’re far cries from the gashes they once were, threatening to take you into sleep.

You shakily dress yourself, remembering the voice you heard, and the beast you saw. It feels as if it happened weeks ago, though it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. You wonder... if you hadn’t transformed, what would have become of you? Would you have lived? Would that beast have left?

It causes you to pause.

That thought stays with you as you make your hobble your way to the edge of the forest, your body heavy, almost too sluggish to go on. You send a text to Haru, once you reach the edge of the city, sending a location signal before propping yourself up on a lone tree. 

It isn’t until you see a tuft of Haru’s white hair coming over the hill that the pressure you’d felt in your throat builds, and your eyes begin to sting. It’s in that moment you realize all of the things you almost lost. It isn’t until you see him that you realize you get to go home today, and see the people you were risking your life for. You had thought you’d lost them, all because you felt like you needed to do this on your own. All because you didn’t think to ask one of them to come with you.

 You cry as you realize that, more than anything, you want to see your brother. You don’t care what crazy story he tells you, just so long as he stays by you while you go to sleep. You want Haru to pick on you in that fond way of his, telling you jokes you don’t quite understand. You want to play video games with Badou again, and see get him riled up over it. You want to tell Hatori you’re sorry for snapping at him the first chance you got, instead of telling him that you know he’s hurting too. You want to tell Rin that you’re tired of being at odds with her, and tell her you want to understand how she looks at the world. 

You want Honda-san to come back home, so you can show her what you’ve learned to cook while she’s been away. You want that stupid cat to come back to haunt you, so that she can smile so brightly it lights up a whole home. 

You want to go to school, and garden with Shouto. You want to eat zaru soba with him, and fall asleep next to him again. Like you did in your dreams.

And you realize, it’s all possible. You get to do those things now because when you needed it the most, you were able to turn into a rat. 

You don’t know how to process this realization. The feelings are complicated, and have a long history that can’t just be changed in a day. 

But you won’t forget. You’re alive. 

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Collection} A Haunted Haus : Day Two & Three

That is a mask...right?

Day Three, Start.

The past 48 hours haven’t exactly been “business as usual” for the Stone Spider Family.

Atamu hadn’t figured life would be all sunshine and roses every day since the Merger almost three years ago, but the Patriarch hadn’t ever anticipated anything quite like this. His displeasure in the recent, strange goings-on under his roof was clear on his dark, weathered face as he sat with his massive arms folded across his broad barrel of a chest. His long dreads were secured back in a thick braid that reached his waist, an impressive feat for a man over eight feet tall--it was a task he’d asked His little to perform, something Monica was quite skilled at by this point and had done so without hesitation. Atamu wanted his hair out of his face so he wouldn’t have to think about it or push at the long, thick twists of soft hair as the day’s events continued on around him. And while he normally reveled in the time Monica spent playing in his dreads, enjoying the way her small fingers felt beneath the lovingly secured strands, today it had been more for business than pleasure. There were events going on at the Haus that required the old Chieftain’s full attention and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

Helen’s office was currently holding several select, key members of the immediate Family--the Reaver herself was behind her desk, with Thomas standing in front of it. Atamu was seated in a high-backed chair facing the desk, with Monica safely in his lap--she wasn’t allowed down, much less out of the Patriarch’s sight.

Not after what had happened yesterday.

And while normally Monica might chafe under strict restraints on being told what to do...after what happened she wasn’t too keen on being out of Atamu’s embrace at all, much less where he couldn’t see her.

Luvon Dreadful was the newest addition to the room, the Alpha standing beside his Father and lifemate. The werewolf had his arms folded much like his Father, his large, heavily muscled body blocking Monica from the door and providing a second wall of protection for the young vampire. If Atamu hadn’t been overprotective enough to keep Monica at his side, Luvon would have done it. The overprotective Alpha did not play around when it came to Monica’s safety and well-being and anyone who looked at him now would only notice his tightly locked square jaw and the way his orange eyes glowed almost ferally. There was a dormant volcano of rage smoldering dangerously close to Luvon’s surface. All he needed was a target to unleash it on--but that was part of the problem. No one was quite sure what happened yesterday, and that was the cause of the current meeting.

“Would you like some tea, sweetheart?” Thomas straightened up from leaning against Helen’s desk, his gentlemanly smile aimed at Monica. “I would be happy to make you some, or perhaps a snack?”

“You need to be here for the recording, Thomas, you cannot be off making her tea. That’s why we have staff,” Helen’s sharp tone was back in full force, sounding like a whip of censure, though Thomas was used to her by now and didn’t react as if scolded. His smile didn’t even falter.

“I’d happily do it if she’d like me to.”

Helen didn’t doubt that for a split second.

“That’s okay, Thom.” Monica offered the Detective a small but genuine smile, showing she meant the gratitude.

“How about a blanket?”

Monica shook her head, leaning a little closer to Atamu, who reacted immediately by tightening his arm around her. “Poppy’s really warm!”

“Oh, of course he is,” Thomas’s smile deepened, before he tried again. “Perhaps a stuffed animal?”

“Thomas for god’s sake would you stop fussing over her? She’s fine.” Helen gave the man a look of heavy disapproval, and this time he had to sense to clear his throat and fold his hands against his trim middle, his earth-toned vest-coat a perfect compliment to the paleness of his skin and hair.

“Right, of course, so sorry.” His apology sounded even more sincere in his British accent. “I’m afraid I’m a little...out of sorts.”

“Why?” Luvon bit out gruffly. “Nothing happened to you.”

Monica looked up at Luvon in surprise at the line that might have been misinterpreted as hostility, but Thomas either was so used to Helen’s way of speaking he didn’t rise to the challenge...or he was simply too non-confrontational and understood Luvon was reacting as a lifemate should. Thomas simply answered honestly, as he was one of the more emotional members of the Family and was unafraid to show it.. His chin lifted, with the truth lightening his blue eyes and his accented tenor.

“Something could have happened to Monica. I’m as upset as you are about that.”

Luvon didn’t speak, unsurprisingly, but his defensive posture relaxed. It was an acceptable answer by the Alpha’s standards.

Monica reached up for Luvon’s hand and he met her halfway, lacing his fingers through hers with a grip like iron. In a movement that brought both of her men together, she turned her smile back to Thomas, one that he readily returned, pleased that she seemed to understand how deeply he cared for her. Feeling emboldened by her smile, Thomas moved to press a kiss to her forehead, and a little of the tension seeped out of the office.

“Are we all ready to review the recording?” Helen glanced first at Monica, then Atamu, then lastly at Luvon as Thomas returned to leaning against her desk.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer; Monica didn’t necessarily want to relive yesterday’s experience, Atamu didn’t want to put her through it again, and Luvon was still grappling with a lifemate’s raging need to protect his mate and being unable to do so. But all three knew there would be no moving forward without reviewing what happened, and when Luvon squeezed her hand reassuringly and Atamu’s lips found her temple, Monica felt strong enough to nod from her safe place between them.

“Yes! Let’s do it,” Monica nodded, and was rewarded by one of Helen’s rare, proud smiles. Monica seemed to be the only one to ever receive them, though that wouldn’t surprise a single member of the Haus to learn.

“Rollback the recording, JARVIS.”

Day Two, Recording Start

It was a fair assumption on Wade Wilson’s part (for once in his insane life) that Usopp had never been to a Halloween store, before. And that was why it was his duty, as Usopp’s newest bestest friend in the whole wide world, to take the sniper captain shopping for more costumes than there are days in a calendar year!

It was also a fair assumption that Wade Wilson often lost the rights to his Family credit card for doing things like buying 500+ Halloween costumes.

“Is this...how we’re supposed to celebrate?” Usopp asked, watching Staff member after Staff member bring in armfuls of shopping bags. The Staff had tried to arrange the bags in some semblance of order but Wade had quickly upended the entire system, because as soon as a servant set a bag down he was rifling through it like a kid on his birthday, flinging costumes over his shoulder with wild abandon. “All these costumes?”

“One for every day of the year!” Wade cheered incorrectly, arms lifted over his head.

Usopp was left staring and wondering how Wade had managed to pull a long blond wig on over his masked face in the split second it took him to straighten up.

The recreation room of the Haus (one of many, actually) was quickly covered in fabrics and masks, novelty weapons and other assortment of accessories for the many, many costumes that lay strewn about. It was no coincidence that the majority of the costumes were couples’ costumes, or “Bestie Suits” as Wade kept referring to them to Usopp in the store. There was no denying the Merc with the ever-running Mouth was thrilled to have a friendship with Usopp and true to his clingy nature, wanted to do everything with his new friend. In his twisted, often incorrect mind, somehow he was going to figure out a way to do a couple’s costume with Monica, Usopp, Peter Parker, Dick Grayson, Nathan Summers, Logan Howlett, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Banner (just to piss Hulk off) and Oliver Queen (to piss off Clint Barton because the hawk-eyed assassin ate his leftovers). He didn’t know how he was going to do this, just that he was, and like everything in Wade’s life, somehow this would work out.

Or it wouldn’t.

He didn’t know.

“Soooo...” Usopp watched with his hands on his waist as Wade upended another bag onto the floor. “How do we decide what to dress up as?”

“Well~” Wade’s strangely pitched voice was all aflutter with excitement. “Tomorrow is one of the costume parties being held this month and I’m pretty sure there’s no contest because we’re all supposed to love one another and just have fun, but if I insult enough people’s costumes by saying ours is better then we can get one started and win!”

Usopp didn’t think that sounded right but was quickly learning arguing with Wade was a dangerous game--because you either got sucked into an argument that lasted six hours because Wade liked to talk, or he’d kiss you to shut you up. Usopp was still deciding which of those was the lesser of two evils.

“So we just need to dress up as something really fuckin’ kick-ass so we can win!”

Usopp’s brow pulled together in the center. “...Win the contest that isn’t happening?”

“Oh it’s happening, good buddy.” Wade straightened up, holding up an incredibly stereotypical pirate captain costume, complete with a hat emblazened with a cheap skull and bones across the front. “Would Luffy be mad at me if you were captain for a day?”

“At you?” Usopp asked, confusion clear on his tanned face. He was still learning everything circled back to Wade eventually...even if it shouldn’t.

“Yeah! I mean, he can be mad at you but I’m a sensitive boy. I have all these emotions. Feelings. Mostly in my junk but that’s where they come from.”

Usopp’s face was blank and Wade didn’t even miss a beat.

“See because my thought is, if you’re the pirate captain, then I can be the parrot...sitting on your shoulder for the whole night. And I can just say really raunchy things and no one can be mad at us because I’m just a bird, the fuck do I know?”

That cracked Usopp’s resolve, imagining Wade in a giant bird suit. He was tempted to say yes just for that.

“Oooo!” Wade’s squeal indicated his wandering eye had caught something else and he tossed the first costume to the side, picking up two costumes to hold up side by side, peering around them to grin at Usopp. “How about Peanut Butter and Jelly!”

Given the years he’s now lived at the Haus, Usopp recognized the food items and the oversized jar costumes Wade was holding up were definitely...something. The hands were connected, sewn together actually, so whoever was wearing the costume would have to hold hands the entire night.

“That’s...uh, if you want!” Usopp was too kind to shoot Wade down, which was partially why they’d been gone the entire afternoon and also why they’d run up a bill with more zeros than Usopp wanted to remember. It more resembled a bounty than a price to be paid.

Wade dropped the costumes before making a heart with his hands and sending it in Usopp’s direction. “This is why you’re one of my besties. You just get it, Usopp.”

“Get what?”

“Everything.” Wade stated, dramatic and somewhat breathlessly. “You get everything.”

If Usopp thought shopping with Wade was an ordeal, that turned out to be only half-truth--now that they were home, they had the monumental task of sorting through the haul to find what they wanted to wear.

“Gorilla and his really big banana?”

A pause before Usopp ventured, “that sounds kinda...lewd.”

“Oh! So Franky would do it.”

Usopp didn’t know if Wade wanted Franky to be the gorilla or the banana and he wasn’t going to ask.

“Okay so we’re not getting anywhere and since you won’t let me take your pants off--”

“You never told me why you needed to take my pants off?!”

“I need a reason to take your pants off?” Wade asked, blinking beneath his lifted mask. Usopp could easily read the confusion in the scarred half of Wade’s face he could clearly see.

“I’m starting to see why Nami hits Brook so much.”

“I thought Nami was going to hit me once but it turned out Sanji kicked me in my face before she could, which was just as good.” Wade quipped, but his attention was on one of his many pouches on his belt that he was rifling through.

“Why did Sanji kick you?”

“I think it’s because I was saying something about Monica sitting on my face--”

“HAHA WOW, YES, MHM, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN YOUR SUIT?!”

Wade paused in his search, slowly looking up at Usopp’s panicked expression. His visible grin was nothing short of wicked.

“Does Monica sit on your face, Usopp? I bet that nose is her favorite part--”

Shutting Wade Wilson up was a monumentally difficult feat to accomplish, something Usopp had learned recently, but had been told that food helps. Wade’ll still talk with his mouth full, but it might help distract him from his train of though--so Usopp started carrying around an extra stash of candy in his own pouches and pockets, aside from the stash Monica kept on him. Acting quickly, face red with the ideas Wade was putting in his head, Usopp plucked up a piece of candy and expertly tossed it into the Merc’s running mouth.

“S-So what are y-you looking for?” Usopp took control of the conversation in the split second Wade closed his mouth around the candy, nearly exhaling with relief when Wade’s multi-tracked mind switched lanes.

“My phone, I wanna text Monica.”

Trying to ignore the way his heart skipped at the mention of her name, especially so soon after the recent topic of conversation, Usopp cleared his throat.

“Why?”

“Oh, well she’s the smartest person I know--I mean Tony Stark likes to say he is, and he’s not the only one who says it either, but even he doesn’t argue when I say it’s Monica, so I think that’s the consensus.” Wade switched pouches for the fourth time. “Fucking thing’s gotta be here somewhere...anyway I wanna text Monica and have her come help us pick a costume!”

Usopp couldn’t argue with that, Monica was the smartest person he knew, too--well, she was a lot of things. Smartest, funniest, prettiest...even now, he was smiling wide enough to show teeth at the thought of Monica coming by, even if there wasn’t a reason for it. For as long as he’s known her (and he was very proud of the years!) he’s been head over heels in love with her and to feel it only grow as time passed wasn’t something he’d been prepared for. So much of his young life had been about action and adventure, a lot of the emotional journeys he’d taken had somewhat been overshadowed--but Monica brought them to the surface. He’s loved and lost--not always necessarily people, either--and that taught him that holding onto love so you don’t lose it is very, very important. Usopp was considered a lot of things by a lot of people, but the only opinion that really mattered to him was Monica’s. Yes, his captain and crew, but it was different when Monica talked to him, about him, told him things that no one else ever had before. Love becomes as necessary to one as air when they’ve had it for a while and now Usopp couldn’t imagine loving anyone more. It was a sentiment echoed by his entire crew and she became the central, uniting force behind the Straw Hats. Nothing and no one else would ever be more beloved or important to them.

Wade could definitely relate to his new bestie’s feelings; Monica was the love of his life and had been since the first moment he saw her. He’d fallen and fallen hard, not even bothering to get back up. He didn’t want to. She was smart, beautiful, funny as hell, sexy enough to make his suit uncomfortable 24-fucking-7, witty enough to put anyone to shame--she was a knock-out in every sense of the word. The Merc knew he wasn’t anything to look at and he knew Monica liked pretty things, pretty people; he didn’t know how he’d managed to slip under her radar but now that he was here, he wasn’t going to leave. Much like the fact that he couldn’t die, Wade couldn’t live with Monica. Plain and simple, end of story. That fierce love and his tendency to hyper-fixate made for one needy combination that Monica had to deal with--the fact that he was in near constant contact with her was one result but she was always so sweet to respond to his many, many text messages, to send him pictures when he asks for them, and to even pick up when he calls needing to hear her voice. Wade wasn’t dumb or oblivious enough to think he deserved her, he knew he didn’t but had decided, fuck the universe. He’d been dealt a real shit sandwich for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for years and years, so now that he had something good, someone who loved him and took care of him, why shouldn’t he get to have her?

Monica was never really ready for the love every member of the Haus had for her, but that didn’t stop her from being bombarded with it at any given hour of the day. The matching, exuberant expressions on Wade and Usopp’s faces should have scared her--just how much time had they been spending together?--but she could hardly find one single thing to focus on amidst the insanity she’d walked into. From what she could tell, Wade and Usopp had bought an entire costume outlet and then thrown every single costume onto the floor and were now standing in the aftermath, waiting for her.

“Monica~ Sweet angel girl. You came for us!”

Monica laughed at Wade’s loving coo, missing the way Usopp’s smile widened at the sound. “You make it sound like you got kidnapped. What is all this?”

“Costumes! Usopp and I went shopping.”

“Yeah you definitely went shopping,” Monica’s eyes lingered on a giant grape costume whose grapes were at least the size of human heads. “Are these for the whole Haus?”

“Noooo, the whole Haus can suck it.” Wade slung one heavily muscled arm around Usopp’s shoulders. “These are just for Usopp and me. But don’t worry!” Wade held out his other arm, giving his eyebrows an enticing wiggle in the hopes Monica would move beneath the hollow of his shoulder. “I bought you and me a whole room to go through later~”

“...A whole...room?” Monica couldn’t resist the offer for affection, slowly side-stepping costumes as best she could to move into Wade’s embrace.

“Yep! They’re mostly lingerie, mostly for you but I did buy myself a few things I thought you might like to see me in. My juicily scarred ass looks pretty good in lace, I’ve been told...by myself.”

Monica immediately turned to Usopp, avoiding that topic of conversation. “S-So, you and Wade are going to dress-up together?”

Usopp’s smile was boyish and loving as he nodded down at her. “We need your help, though! We don’t know which ones to wear for the party tomorrow.”

Wade was nuzzling into Monica’s hair, sniffing with keening little noises. “And since you’re so smart...and pretty...and smell like fucking heaven...”

Usopp gave Wade a look when Wade didn’t even bother finishing his sentence, far too wrapped up in being affectionate with Monica, who was grateful for her inability to blush at this particular moment.

“...We thought you’d be perfect to help.” Usopp finished for Wade, his smile returning full-force when Monica met his gaze.

“I’d love to help!” Monica nodded, smiling just because Usopp was. He looked so happy!

And so, the hunt for the perfect bestie costume began, re-energized by Monica’s presence. The trio sifted through the insane costume pile side by side by side; neither man moved too far away from her, wanting to be near and enjoy her presence. Wade’s openly affectionate ways were rubbing off on Usopp, who, on more than one occasion, was brave enough to give Monica’s hand a squeeze or even lean down to kiss her cheek or forehead, when he was so overcome with happiness at her participating that he couldn’t help himself! It felt good, doing this with her; it was good for both of them, Wade now so relaxed his mask was entirely off his face and Usopp feeling confident enough to express himself to the woman he loved.

The banter between the three was natural and flowed as if they’d always been, just like this.

“AAAA?!” Usopp reeled back with a surprised peal of laughter. “Wade! Take off that mask! ...That is a mask, right?”

Monica was nearly doubled over at the giant baby mask Wade had on, because it looked so ridiculous on his normal, man-sized body.

Wade did not help matters by beginning to talk and gesture with the mask still over his head, so his scratchy voice was coming from the baby’s pudgy face and gap-toothed cartoon smile. “I know it’s hard to tell when I have a mask on, okay, because my face looks like a melted candle in the shape of what I think Freddy Kruger’s balls probably look like--”

Usopp’s laughter was so loud it cut off Wade’s sentence and Monica all but threw herself on the Merc, because she couldn’t take his words coming out of that stupid looking mask!

Wade caught Monica effortlessly, strong arms like steel bands around her back as he took full advantage of the hug, and as soon as she pushed the mask off his face he was nuzzling against her soft skin, cooing and murmuring like one might imagine a baby would actually do.

“Mommy’s skin is so soft~”

“W-Wade you’re being silly,” Monica’s giggling turned shy, but she held onto him all the same. His words had come out like a self-deprecating joke but she knew the Merc and she knew his self-esteem was likely the worst in the Haus. So when Usopp laughed, and Monica took the mask off, it helped Wade feel a little better--because Usopp was paying him attention, and Monica wanted to see his face.

Time flies when you’re with the ones you love. Monica could hardly believe that an hour and a half had gone by and they hadn’t even made a dent in the pile of costumes the two had brought home. It left her a little concerned about how much time it would take to go through the room Wade had set up for the two of them...not to mention the tummy flip at the thought of what all would likely take place in said room supposedly filled with costumed lingerie for two. Smiling to herself, Monica picked up and then immediately tossed aside a naval sailor suit that Wade probably wanted to try and stuff Cora into. It was safer not to ask what his plans were for half of these things--

A prickle of unease had Monica’s attention snapping up, and her green eyes fell on...well she didn’t know if it was Wade or Usopp since the mask on the face made it impossible to tell. Her face broke into a smile, the unease chalked up to that feeling one gets when they’re being watched and it dissipated as quickly as it came. She hadn’t heard them approach, so it made sense she’d be a little startled. The mask itself didn’t exactly help; it was modeled after an old timey ventriloquist dummy, with the finely painted wooden features, including the slits down the side of the mouth where the dummy would “talk”. It’s eyes were brilliantly blue and inhumanly realistic looking, like doll’s eyes, and apparently came with a costume to match because the wearer was decked out in a full suit and tie. She must have been really involved in her searching to not notice Wade or Usopp pulling on a suit, but she had to commend the boys. A dummy and a ventriloquist was a pretty damn creepy costume combination--especially with the way this one looked. As she continued to stare at the mask, the mouth slowly opened but given it was a mask, couldn’t smile. They were just standing there with the mask mouth unsettlingly wide, as if frozen in a silent scream.

The prickle of unease returned.

Monica knew Wade and Usopp would never scare her on purpose, but she couldn’t make sense of what was happening, why they were just standing there. Were they expecting a different reaction? Maybe just wanting something more than her smile? ...It still wouldn’t make sense, Wade was never this quiet and to be honest now that she thought about it a bit more, Usopp would probably have to be coaxed into something this creepy, and she definitely would have heard Wade trying.

It was then that she saw Usopp pass by her peripheral, his spine bent as he traced a lengthy costume to it’s source.

That only left Wade--

“If I get my head stuck in a bag again I’m gonna be really pissed off.”

Wade was directly behind her, apparently head first in a bag.

So who...was in front of her...?

The mask’s eyes continued to bore into hers, it’s mouth open as if silently challenging her to scream, to say something, do something, but every instinct Monica had was fighting against that urge. She felt fear wrap around her silent heart like ice, and fight or flight was kicking in and fast--

And that was when it moved.

Slowly, the head inclined to one side, the arms of the suit coming up, up, then twisting, as if the elbow joints were being wrenched to the side. There were no hands coming out of the sleeves but there was definite sound like bone breaking as the arms twisted--which caught Usopp’s attention first, and he let out a bellow of surprise, all but leaping the distance between himself and Monica to push her behind him.

Some might consider Usopp a coward, but he never, ever hesitated when it came to Monica.

“What, is my ass hanging out agai--WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Wade’s surprised bellow was accusatory, angry that someone was scaring his babygirl and bestie. His bulky body came into Monica’s line of sight but she caught the back of his suit, keeping him from fully approaching the mask--it had fallen still again, it’s face still staring straight at the group but it’s arms were still horribly twisted.

“W-Wade, don’t,” Monica managed, her instincts screaming at her not to let him get any closer. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know what they were looking at, dealing with, but she wasn’t going to let Wade get hurt--whether he would come back from it or not.

“Look, Dummy McDumbass, you better hope like hell you’re not anyone I know because you’re going to get spanked with the sharp end of my katana for scaring my wife and bestie like this,” Wade shot out, only held in place by Monica’s hand clutching the back of his suit. He was standing directly in front of her and she was grateful for that, but she couldn’t resist leaning around him just to keep an eye on their silent “companion”.

It just stared back at her with that same screaming expression.

Usopp kept Monica in his hold, just a little bit behind him, but when the mask didn’t speak, when one of their Family members didn’t yank the mask off with a laugh, he felt the first shivers of true fear race down his spine.

This wasn’t someone they knew and loved. This was something else.

Wade just got angrier, slipping his gun from his thigh holster. He didn’t like the way he could feel Monica’s fingers trembling. He didn’t like that at all.

“All right, even better. You’re a literal dumbass who broke into this Haus to die. Congrats.” Wade cocked his gun, sights perfectly positioned right at the forehead of the silent, staring mask. “Gonna say, I don’t know, fucking anything before I shut you up forever?”

The mask still didn’t speak, but it did move.

Slowly, just like with it’s arms...the head began to spin around. The trio watched as the doll’s head slowly, creaking as if made of wooden bone, turned toward the right and then kept turning. As the neck started to break, the eyes remained locked to the trio, and it wasn’t until it snapped that the mask and suit fell to the floor in an empty, crumpled heap.

There was no one there.

Monica turned away from the reality of what they’d just seen, burying her face against Usopp’s chest and was relieved when his arms closed around her, his own face buried in her hair.

“I-It’s okay, it’s okay,” Usopp comforted, his voice quiet but trying to be strong for Monica. “I’m here, W-Wade’s here, we’re okay.”

Angry and with nothing to do about it, Wade unloaded an entire clip down into the mask that had somehow fallen face up, those blue eyes staring at the trio until Wade shot them out.

But a full clip shot into the floor couldn’t erase the truth--there had never been anyone there, at all.

Day Two, Recording End.

The silence of the office was deafening.

Monica was resting her head against Atamu’s chest, absolutely dwarfed by the Patriarch and grateful for it; he was surrounding her, physically and emotionally, his strongly beating heart an anchor for her relieving the fear she’d felt in that room. A full day had passed since the incident but she still didn’t know how to feel about it except scared, but Atamu was doing his best to keep her from feeling that way. His large hand was rubbing her back, his other arm draped across her body and his bicep alone was wider than her middle; she felt safe here, knew that he wouldn’t ever let anything happen to her and she basked in that feeling, letting it wash over her to drown out the prickling uneasiness and fear. Luvon was still standing guard over her, his orange eyes hard enough to break glass, but that oppressive anger was a comfort to Monica, too. She knew her Big Brother would never let anything happen to her, either, and she knew that was why he was in here. As an Alpha and a Soldier, Luvon took a heavy hand in the security of the Haus. He trained the wolves that stalked and protected the grounds and he was one of the direct reports that any of the Staff came to with any security issues. He actively reviewed security footage from the Haus and all it’s properties, especially any that concerned Monica, and that was why he was front and center, now. He wanted to know what was being done to ensure this never happened to Monica again.

“You were so very brave, sweetheart,” Thomas finally broke the silence, his tone reflective of the sunshine title he’d carried for a long time--warm. He was offering Monica a soft, proud smile. “It wanted your fear, your screams, and you didn’t give in to it.”

Helen didn’t say anything, that wasn’t her way, but the gaze she affixed to Monica let the younger woman know she felt exactly the same way.

“Thank you,” Monica offered quietly, before laughing a little. “I-I was scared, though.”

“Anyone would be,” Atamu met her attempt to deflect the praise in stride. “But you were very brave, little one.”

As Monica turned to nuzzle closer to Atamu, Helen looked up at Luvon. “Have any of your security teams found anything? How about the wolves?”

Luvon slowly shook his head. “So far, nothing.”

It was not the answer anyone wanted to hear.

“And it isn’t a poltergeist or demonic entity?” Thomas had already asked this and truthfully, he’d know if it was. But he was nothing if not the ever hopeful optimist.

“No. I’ve been reading the Haus for the past three days and have not detected anything demonic or spiritual at all. It isn’t a ghost and it isn’t a demon.” Helen’s sharply accented voice was matter-of-fact. “What Monica and the others encountered was a smokescreen. Something else projected that at them, for the purpose of inciting terror, but that wasn’t truly it.”

There was quite a gaping hole left on the table of options when one removes a ghost or demonic entity and it was felt by all in the room.

Thomas’s blond brows knotted in thought. “What else could possibly be doing this?”

“I’m afraid it might be too early to tell.” Helen’s long fingers folded in her lap. “Some hauntings, possessions, disturbances, can take days, weeks, or even months before the source is identified. Vigilance is still our strongest defense.”

“And in the meantime?” Atamu asked, fingers massaging lightly against the roots of Monica’s hair.

“In the meantime I will continue to consult with the others knowledgeable in such matters here in the Haus, monitor incidents as they happen--we had other minor disturbances yesterday but Monica’s far out-weighed any others--and Luvon will keep me informed on anything the security teams find.”

Luvon nodded, once.

“And what about the Halloween celebrations?” Thomas turned to face Helen more fully from his perch at the edge of her desk. “The costume party tonight, should we cancel it?”

That was a fair question. Helen glanced at Monica, wondering if she even felt like celebrating--not to mention, an entire Haus with people in costume was like a breeding ground for whatever this thing was, to pull another stunt like it had with the dummy mask. But...wasn’t that letting it win? It may not be a demon, but it clearly enjoyed fear and manipulation through terror.

If the Family bows out, gives in to fear, whatever this thing is could win.

Before Helen could voice any of this, the office door swung wide open and something far more disturbing than any dummy mask came sauntering in.

“Look, Pops, I dressed up as you for the party tonight!”

It was Cavon Dreadful, dressed head to toe like his Patriarchal Father. He had on a dreaded wig full of ringing dread charms, one of Atamu’s outfits, but the true genius of Cavon’s costume? The tribal patterned apron that Atamu was known to wear; it was quite obviously too big even for the Alpha, the bottom of the apron nearly touching Cavon’s boots, but the Wolf looked absurdly pleased with himself, a wide grin on his face as he spun around in the doorway. The apron had it’s pockets full of spatulas and tongs, even one of Atamu’s cleavers and the utensils all clanked together noisily as the Alpha spun around.

Everyone was left staring, but Monica was the first to truly react, erupting in a fit of adorable little giggles that widened Cavon’s grin. Atamu was next to crack, his thunderous laughter something of a notorious sound throughout the Haus, now.

Luvon shook his head but couldn’t help his grin--but if anyone asked, it was solely because Monica found it so funny. “You look fucking ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, Fam, I make this look good,” Cavon leaned back, doing a shoulder shimmy.

Thomas had his hands over his face, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, and Helen had her eyes closed, just shaking her head.

“Unbelievable. To answer your question, Thomas, yes I believe we should cancel tonight’s event but solely because Cavon’s costume is so terrible.”

“Y’all a bunch’a haters. Gramps loved my costume.”

Luvon snorted. “Well of course he did.”

Cavon gestured. “And babygirl obviously loves it!”

“Of course she does, too, idiot. Gramps and babygirl both love Dad.” Luvon shot back.

“HATERS.” Cavon pointed at everyone except Monica before looking smug. “I’mma win the contest tonight.”

“Contest?” Helen arched a brow. “I was unaware there was a costume contest.”

“Yeah, Wilson sent out a mass text ‘bout there bein’ some sorta contest.”

Helen took a sip from her wine glass in lieu of replying, but Cavon picked up what she didn’t say.

“You still got his number blocked?”

“There’s a chain of communication that can reach me if Mr. Wilson truly needs my assistance for something.”

Monica found herself laughing. “Does he really text you?”

“Sweet girl, that man will talk to an empty room. He was sending me so many text messages, that i was not responding to by the way, that it was either block him or send him to a different dimension where he cannot harass anyone anymore.”

“I once got stuck listening to him for three hours uninterrupted because I was too polite to tell him I had work to do.” Thomas chimed in, staring far-off into the distance as if reliving the nightmare.

Cavon threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, that fuckin’ sounds right comin’ from you.”

“Yeah, they’re in here, c’mon!”

Heads turned toward the voice from the hallway, and Helen was beginning to think she might need to move her office to another dimension to get any real work accomplished.

“Y’all, guess who dressed up as the Von Triplets for the costume party tonight!”

It was Jax and Lucca, side by side, both clearly dressed in Cavon and Luvon’s clothes. Jax was decked out in Cavon’s biker gear and Lucca was wearing Luvon’s camo, with Jax having shaved his blond hair into Cavon’s trademarked mowhawked ponytail and Lucca wearing bright orange contacts. The younger pups were surprisingly spitting images of their Alpha Big Brothers...but hilariously different at the same time; Jax had Cavon’s grin and Lucca had Luvon’s deadpanned, almost bored expression.

And it definitely incited a fresh round of laughter, leaving Cavon staring slack-jawed and Luvon actually looking impressed.

“Wait, wait,” Atamu managed, holding up one large hand. “Who one of you is Savon, then?”

Jax turned as if just noticing their third was missing, and he was scowling out of the room.

“C’mon man, you gotta come in too or it don��t work an’ we won’t win the costume contest tonight!”

Three seconds later and in came Tod, dressed up just like Savon--right down to the fake horns and tail and the long, styled black wig. The Omega looked a little more sheepish than his younger brothers and it became very obvious, very fast, that he’d been roped into this idea.

Fresh rounds of laughter shake the very room, and it was as if yesterday’s events hadn’t even happened. The fear and unease were gone, replaced by Family love and laughter, as the Haus was known to be bursting with.

Atamu turned his head down, catching Monica’s attention with a proud smile. “What do you think, little one, do you think Wade and Usopp will be making use of the Peanut Butter and Jelly costumes? Because if not, Poppy wants to wear it with you.”

Monica didn’t even care if they didn’t win the costume contest; all that mattered to her was that she was going to spend the whole night dressed up with her Daddy!

Day Three, End.

[theteaisaddictive]

oooh how about... Florist AU and Green-Eyed Epiphany?

this is straight-up just the confession scene from jane eyre, but modern femslash. enjoy!

Jane fiddles with the ribbon, trying to get it lying perfectly flat. It’s a garish shade of purple, which honestly reminds her more of Cadbury’s than anything else, but it’s what Rochester wanted. The aquilegia droops threateningly low, and she gently forces the stalks further down into the water. The whole bouquet is a mix of purples, greens, and yellows, which honestly surprises Jane; she’d privately thought that Rochester had better taste than that. Of course, it’s not like Jane is one to talk; the only reason she’s front-of-house at all, and not doing the books like she was hired to do, is because Mrs. Fairfax is off sick. 

The aquilegia no longer in danger of spilling out the front of this monstrosity of a flower arrangement, Jane sidles back behind the cash register, drumming her fingers absently on the counter. It’s a Thursday evening and Thornfield Florists officially closed two minutes ago, so she sidles over to the door and flips the sign (which, funnily enough, she also helped to design. Graphic design isn’t exactly her passion, but it helped pay bills here and there. It was positively serendipitous that she was working with a previous client; Jane knew the importance of networking very well). She takes out her book, a brick-sized copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, and begins reading more of the dense material. It was a recommendation from Adele, and while Jane didn’t normally take book recs from anybody (least of all her boss’s daughter), she was forced to admit that Adele had accurately gauged her taste. 

The little bell jingles as the door swings open. 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Jane starts, quickly setting the book aside, but she cuts herself off when she sees who it is. “Oh, Rochester. About time.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, unwinding her steel-grey scarf and setting it carelessly on the hatstand near the counter. “There was a huge traffic rush, and Adele’s Parent’s Night was running late, and on top of that –”

“It’s alright, Rochester,” she chuckles. “I was only teasing.”

A flash of a smile sparks a jolt of electricity in Jane’s heart, and Rochester sags against the window. Her fringe falls into her eyes; it’s been needing a cut for roughly three weeks, but with the season Thornfield has nobody’s had time to do anything normal. Hence, Jane doing customer service when she is, in fact, in charge of making sure that all their stock is where it needs to be. “You have an exceptional poker face,” she continues, brushing the hair away. “It’s positively dangerous.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t play poker, then,” Jane says. As soon as the words are out of her mouth she feels a sting of guilt. She’d had a stern mental talk with herself the whole way back from Gateshead; flirting with your coworker is a bad idea. Flirting with your boss is even worse. Flirting with your probably-already-engaged boss who has a seven-year-old kid, and who keeps asking you to make flower arrangements for her fiancé? A terrible idea. And yet, Jane keeps doing it; when Rochester looks at her the way she is right now, it’s impossible for Jane to stop playing whatever game is between them. 

Rochester chuckles again, the white of her teeth almost shocking underneath her blood-red lips, and Jane melts, like she always does. “It’s funny, seeing you in makeup,” she says without thinking. 

“Oh? Like at the Christmas party a while back, with the sad spirit?”

Jane simply stares at Rochester, and she obediently cuts the bullshit. That Christmas party still haunts Jane, sometimes; the strange lights and sound effects Rochester had strung up in the library, and the sudden appearance of the Victorian ghost who claimed to see into everybody’s souls. It had just been Rochester playing a trick, of course, and Jane hadn’t … hadn’t really fallen for it. 

“I don’t know,” Jane says, focusing on Rochester now. “You seem … sharper around the edges.”

She hums thoughtfully. “I feel that way myself.” She fiddles with her fingers for a moment, and darts a glance up at Jane. “But you – you’re sharp enough without needing eyeliner or lipstick to kill a man.” Jane lets out a half-smile at the reference, but Rochester still seems dejected. “Are you sharp enough to know where the wind is blowing?”

Oh. So it’s time for this talk. 

“So it’s true? You’re marrying Bran Ingram?” It’s too confrontational and Jane knows it, but she can’t stop herself. 

“I suppose so,” Rochester says. “We’ll merge the shop with his business, and his workers will take charge. I’ve found other places for you and Mrs Fairfax, although if you don’t want to take it I understand.”

Jane looks down at the ground. The floor needs swept; green leaves and half-dead flower cuttings are all over the floor. “Where?” she asks, with a steadier voice than she imagined. 

“Ireland,” Rochester says. 

Jane’s head flies up. “Ireland!” she repeats. “But – but that’s so far away! From – from England, and Thornfield, and – you.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she turns away from Rochester so that she can’t see the tears forming in Jane’s eyes. 

“It’s funny,” Rochester says, and how is her voice so calm right now? “But I’ve had a strange feeling for a few months now – that there’s a sort of connection between us. A little string between our two hearts. And if we wander too far away from each other, it’ll just snap in two; I have a feeling that I’d take to bleeding inwardly.” Jane hears her take a step towards her. “As for you,” she says, her voice somehow hollow, “you’d forget me.”

And that thought, that she could just forget Rochester, makes Jane spin around in righteous fury, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. “Forget you! How could I forget you?” Rochester takes a half-step back, her hands palm-up to Jane in a gesture of self-defence, but she seizes Rochester by the wrists to stop her. “You’re the most intelligent, single-minded, infuriating woman I’ve ever met! Nobody I’ve known has come close to you and no one ever will, and you think I’ll forget you?” Rochester must be in pain from the vice-like grip Jane has on her wrists, but she doesn’t move. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but whatever this is between us,” and she shakes Rochester’s wrists for emphasis, “it doesn’t happen to me. I don’t think it happens to you, either.”

Rochester’s eyes are just a disc of grey around her dilated pupils, and she gasps out, “You’re right.” 

“About?”

“My feelings for you. They’re real, and true; probably the truest thing about me, I swear to god.”

“Don’t – don’t mock me,” Jane says flatly. 

“Jane –”

“I knew – I knew you were flirting with me, I’m not completely dense, but you don’t have – have feelings for me, and to say that you do is fucking low.” Her breath comes quickly, and Jane can feel her temper, that long-dormant thing, begin to stir within her chest. “I’m not some – some puzzle, or fucking MPDG fantasy – and just because I’m not some tall, thin, leggy blonde doesn’t mean I don’t have my pride!” She’s crying again, to her eternal humiliation, and Rochester is looking at her like she cares about Jane’s emotional state, which is just – ridiculous. “So you know what,” she says, dropping Rochester’s wrists, “why don’t you just go back to Bran, and marry him, and be perfectly fucking happy together?”

“I don’t want to marry Bran, for fuck’s sake!” Rochester shouts. “I don’t give a single solitary fuck about Bran, I’m in love with you, Jane!” She lunges for Jane’s hand, presses it against her racing heart. “I swear, Jane, I wasn’t trying to hurt you – I’m a fucking idiot, you know that. Everybody knows that, but you’re the only one who pushes me to be better! You call me out on my bullshit. You make me laugh. You make me happy,” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve been in love with you the moment you saved me from burning to death in my own bed, Jane.”

Jane grabs Rochester’s shoulder. “Come under here; under the light.” Rochester obediently goes where she’s prodded, although her fingers still form a strong manacle around Jane’s wrist. The shitty overhead light (Thornfield Florists is largely dependent on natural light) casts an orange glow over Rochester’s striking features, but does nothing to disprove the earnestness over her face. “Jane?” she says quietly. 

“Let go of me, please,” she replies, equally softly. “I’m not a bird. I’m not going to fly away.”

Rochester drops Jane’s hand. She keeps it on Rochester’s chest, feeling her hammering heart, the expansion of her lungs as she breathes. Her thumb brushes the inside curve of her breast. Rochester sucks in a breath at the movement, but otherwise doesn’t move. 

“You love me?” Jane asks quietly.

“With all my heart,” Rochester replies. 

Jane reaches up for her neck, gently tugging Rochester’s head down. Their lips meet, and Jane presses herself fully against Rochester’s body. Her hands splay across Jane’s back as she crushes Jane to her, opening her mouth to the gentle investigation of Jane’s tongue. Rochester gasps, a harsh sound in the otherwise silent shop. 

“I love you too, Rochester,” she murmurs against her lips. 

“Ebba,” she says between short, light kisses. “Please. Call me Ebba.”

“Ebba,” Jane sighs, and Rochester groans as Jane takes her earlobe between her teeth. 

The next morning, they find that a lightning storm had split apart the old oak tree at the bottom of Rochester’s garden.

[owlsshadows]

Sculpted Memories (Akaashi x Kuroo)

There’s nothing Kuroo Tetsurou has in common with art galleries. He’s not a huge fan of modern art – or rather, he has absolutely no idea how to interpret it. Still, he stands in front of a gallery exhibiting exclusively contemporary pieces.

It is the debut of Akaashi Keiji, the sculptor, after all.

10 years after canon timeline, an adult Kuroo Tetsurou decides to face his teenage crush.

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Kuroo Tetsurou

Audience: T+

Huge thanks for @brokuro and @skiecas for their help with proofreading!

Keep reading, or find the story on AO3!

PHANTOM PAIN

There’s nothing Kuroo Tetsurou has in common with art galleries. He’s not a huge fan of modern art – or rather, he has absolutely no idea how to interpret it. Still, he stands in front of a gallery exhibiting exclusively contemporary pieces.

Going to an exhibition is not really Kuroo’s cup of tea. It was originally Kenma’s idea to come, yet he bailed out on Kuroo last minute. He has always been a master of not going anywhere. This time, he said it was diarrhoea; Kuroo guesses it was the release of a new game. Not that he minds… he could never really get angry at Kenma for skipping out on social activities (apart from that one time Kenma stood him up and left him alone when they had promised to have a double tennis match against Bokuto and Akaashi, because Bokuto was not convinced that it’s a bad idea to play 2-on-1, and that one game nearly killed Kuroo). He simply feels awkward, standing here alone, in a place he knows he doesn’t belong. It would be good to have Kenma with him, to have some of his silent reassurance, or his deadpan comments which can miraculously ease Kuroo’s nerves. But Kenma is at home, curing his non-existent diarrhoea with a video game console.

Kuroo Tetsurou is envious of the kindergartener who walks past hand-in-hand with his mother in front of him on the pedestrian walk. This is the difference between a child and an adult: the latter is the same as the former, only more panicked without the familiar hand to hold on to.

Kuroo swallows hard, gathering his courage to enter the gallery. Since he has already arrived, he decides to enter. It is the debut of Akaashi Keiji, the sculptor, after all.

He didn’t hear about Akaashi for at least three years.

During university they still had their regular get-togethers, with Bokuto being the glue holding their friendly cycle together, but since the ex-ace’s shotgun wedding, their casual gatherings became rarer and rarer, and finally they died off around the time Kuroo won a scholarship abroad.

It’s been two years since he has been back in town now, but apart from Kenma, he doesn’t really meet with anyone on a regular basis. The Nekoma kids scattered: Yaku moved to the countryside, Lev has been playing in Russia, Fukunaga applied to a university in Sapporo, Taketora moved to Sendai to run a restaurant with the Tanaka siblings of Karasuno, and Kai was off at sea on some fishing boat to observe marine life.

It is not so much different with Bokuto either.

Naturally, they have been in contact, going out for drinks every second month or so, catching up on life. They still favour the same brand of beer, have the same sense of terrible humour, and have a common affection for volleyball. Yet, there is an untraceable, slight shift, caused by time and the wind of events, slowly drifting them apart.

Bokuto by now is a father of three, his proudly announced “second son” turning out to be twin daughters. He has stories of kids going wild, complaints about the Shirofuku in-laws, and the price of diapers.

Kuroo holds a degree in international business, and has a well-paying job and a nice apartment in Ikebukuro. Occasionally he talks about his job and sometimes about his black cat, whom he has rebelliously named Shiro.

In high school, they had a lot in common. Nowadays Kuroo has the feeling that he has less and less to talk about with his friends, and that life is going at a much faster pace than he is, with all his friends running past him.

Even Kenma, the forever gamer, extreme-shut-in Kenma plans to marry the fiery mandarin of Karasuno.

Here he stands, drifted away from his friends, like a sailing boat that has lost its anchor – floating further and further from reality, he feels – standing all alone in front of an art gallery, hesitating to enter.

It is the now he is lost in.

He has been standing here for what feels like ages since the taxi dropped him off. He wavers, even though he had made up his mind before. Walking in the lion’s den all on his own seems more and more dangerous with every passing second.

The door opens just as Kuroo is about to change his mind and turn on his heels to run. Through the door comes a man, sharp and spry and so breathtakingly beautiful that Kuroo freezes in motion.

The man doesn’t notice him, turning away from the door to light a cigarette. In the orange light of the gas lighter, Kuroo can see dark shadows cast over deep set eyes and hooded lids. Akaashi seems tired, but ever so stunning.

He blows out the smoke. His forever lazy looking eyes glance up the sky.

Kuroo has nothing in common with art in general, but in this moment he thinks of Akaashi Keiji as a masterpiece.

Memories flick through his mind, and the sudden feeling of guilt drives him into the building.

The first room he walks into makes him want to turn back instantly.

In the center of the hall, lit with a myriad of lights, stands a sculpture of an amorphous torso with no head or arms but at least twelve legs casting shadows to the walls.

Fear strangles Kuroo, gluing his eyes on the abomination. It looks like a centipede – and God knows Kuroo is bad with those – or a huge spider with human legs, and Kuroo knows it will haunt him in his dreams. Still, he finds the sculpture intriguing. There’s something in it – behind the layers of gross and grotesque – that he can resonate with.

He cautiously walks closer, ready to flee the moment the sculpture does something usual matter is not supposed to do.

“Pursuit,” he reads the tag under the abomination.

His insides churn with whatever unidentified feeling this is, which connects him to this huge mess of legs.

Kuroo stares, now up close, at the toes and ankles and knees and the curves of muscles and the thin lines of popliteal tendons, and he wonders how many models Akaashi had used to shape all these forms with such detail.

Kuroo feels drawn even closer, face bare centimeters away from a toe. It looks almost alive. It’s almost like a wicked living-breathing thing. A sudden urge awakens in him to lick it, but he suppresses his dirty impulse for the much more innocent poking of a finger, still an act unfavourable towards pieces of art.

The sculpture is not cold to the touch, not warm either. It’s smooth, even too smooth. It feels artificial.

Kuroo lets go of the toe, hurriedly glimpsing around, but no one has noticed him touching. He releases a deep breath – he didn’t notice he was keeping it in – and steps back from the sculpture.

The title troubles him.

Pursuit… of what?

So many legs.

Kuroo walks through the second room, with smaller sculptures, all pure white under red lights, all with the motif of legs.

There is a sculpture of a horse, which has human legs.

There is one of a tree with legs clutching around its trunk.

There is another with footsteps half washed away.

There is an installation by the wall; nothing much but a door swung open by a leg on the doorknob.

As he walks from sculpture to sculpture, the suspicion that Akaashi Keiji has a leg fetish is growing stronger and stronger in Kuroo.

The third room is small. The walls are covered in black drapery, the floor is carpeted likewise. On a well-lit pedestal stands a pure white sculpture in this darkness. It doesn’t take long for Kuroo to make the assumption that he has arrived to the most important piece of the exhibition, no matter how little interest or knowledge he has in art or galleries.

Kuroo has a feeling he is peeking in on someone’s secret as he steps closer, examining the sculpture. This one is much smaller, almost tiny compared to the abomination showcased in the first hall, yet it feels bigger, with all the darkness and the placement on the pedestal.

A kneeling male figure – the first entirely humanlike creature Kuroo has seen at this exhibition – is holding a lifted leg to his lips. The leg ends in large frills mid-thigh high, forming almost a flower in full blossom. The scene reminds Kuroo of Cinderella and the prince who puts the glass slipper on her foot, with the exception that the leg in the sculpture is undeniably that of a man’s, and instead of an odd shoe, a kiss is planted on the foot.

It looks romantic. A bitter feeling sinks into the pit of Kuroo’s stomach. This here is different from the fantasy nightmare in the other rooms. It’s very much a memory. A secret shared by no one else, but him and Akaashi.

They’d had a moment together; a split second they silently agreed to not talk about.

It happened during the summer camp of Kuroo’s last year in high school, when they had 3-on-3 matches with Bokuto, Lev, and the Karasuno first years.

“You’re bleeding, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi pointed out mid-game.

“True! There’s blood!” squeaked Hinata, and Tsukishima joined in with a murmured, “This is what you get, when you dive in so carelessly to reach the ball.”

As Kuroo looked down, he noticed the scrape on his knee. “Oh, this is nothing big,” he said absent-mindedly, “and you should be thankful I saved that point for us, Tsukishima, rather than grumbling to yourself.”

“You can’t play like this,” argued Akaashi. “Let’s clean it at least.”

“Let’s take a break?” Tsukishima offered.

“Yeah, five minute break!” Lev announced.

“Want me to teach you something fun?” Bokuto asked Hinata, and the two stormed off in an instant, shouting wildly at the other end of the gym.

Akaashi murmured something before turning to Kuroo. “Come,” he ushered Kuroo to the bench, rummaging through his bag.

“What are you looking for?” Kuroo asked, smearing blood off of his shin.

“Water and disinfectant. Don’t touch your leg with your dirty hands, please.”

Kuroo halted his movements and let Akaashi handle things. The boy looked quite adorable, dead serious and deeply in focus, as he started his ministrations on Kuroo’s knee. He has squatted down and rinsed out the scratch, washing away the dirt from the scraped skin, and then blotting the water softly with a tissue. He put disinfectant on the wound skillfully, then his hand slid down Kuroo’s leg to stop by his ankle. He held Kuroo’s foot up, examining it with squinted eyes.

“Your ankle seems fine,” he said.

Kuroo instinctively rolled his foot around. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he replied, voice hitching as Akaashi’s hands touched his foot.

“Thank God,” the boy murmured, lips so close that Kuroo could feel his breath between his toes.

It was a brand new feeling, strange yet impulsive, which ran over him like lightning or a summer storm, and Kuroo wanted to squat down to reach Akaashi to touch him and to hold him in his arms.

It was a frightening thought.

As if on cue, Akaashi looked up and their gazes met.

Kuroo knew that if not for the others in the gym, Akaashi might have  kissed his  foot already. The thought intrigued him. It caught him off guard. He wished, he realised, for it to happen. This realisation was alarming.

He yearned to lean down and kiss the boy himself.

As if they had popped out of time, Kuroo felt as if their surroundings all slowed down and blurred, the noises of the others  fading. He felt Akaashi’s fingers on his sole slightly tremble, but he didn’t break off eye contact.

It was desire. It was some weird flame engulfing them, burning them to ashes and leaving them for the wind to blow them away. It was a sudden physical aspect attaching itself to their well-established bond of mutual respect and friendly bickering. It gave a whole new dimension to their story, an element unknown to Kuroo before.

He had never considered this as a possibility.

His face flushed red, flustered.

He freed his leg from Akaashi’s touch, pulling his socks and shoes back on in the speed of light.

“It’s not good for your face to be so close to my feet, I sweat a lot and you may faint from the smell,” he jabbered, looking away.

“I see,” Akaashi said. Kuroo glanced back, and as their eyes met, a silent agreement formed between them.

They would never talk about this.

Then, Kuroo was seventeen, and he was afraid.

Now he is twenty-seven, and he searches for the title of the sculpture fervently like a stranded man looks for water in the desert.

“Phantom pain”, he reads.

It’s a medical condition he has heard of; it’s when the sensation of pain is coming from a body part that's no longer there, experienced by people after amputations.

“It’s quite roundabout,” he murmurs.

“You think so?” asks the man standing beside him. “Thank you for dropping by, by the way.”

Kuroo gets a small heart attack when he realises that he is not alone, but Akaashi’s smirk is not something he is willing to give in to. At least, not so soon.

“That leg has never been part of your body, to start off with,” he says.

Akaashi lets out a small chuckle.

“True,” he admits. “It still hurt, when we got separated.”

“Don’t you have a bit of a leg fetish, dear Akaashi?” Kuroo turns to the man.

Akaashi’s lazy eyes wander off, as if contemplating the answer.

“People tend to say so, but I have no idea why.”

“Are you sure?” Kuroo gestures around.

“I have no interest in legs in general, but I have a pair of legs I am particularly fond of. I’ve been searching for a replacement for them, but I failed to find anything so perfect.”

“So that’s what the Pursuit is about,” Kuroo whispers, almost mockingly.

“That’s a feverish nightmare.”

“But so many legs…” Kuroo teases.

“People can get eager,” Akaashi agrees.

“I hope you know that people’s legs change in ten years.”

“If I were you I would be careful with my words, Kuroo-san. People might take them as an invitation.”

Then, Kuroo was seventeen, and he didn’t dare to cross the line. Now Kuroo is twenty-seven, and he realises that there has never been a line to begin with.

He looks at Akaashi.

“You should take it as an invitation,” he says.

A/N: written as a Christmas (and birthday) present for @immodea!

Let’s say I am fashionably late...

Thank you for reading!^^

[chasingthecosmos]

By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: T Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 31/33 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? The 50th Anniversary will be included in this story.

Rose felt fear and adrenaline spike through her veins as she and the Doctor faced off against the glowing, gold crack that stretched upwards like a sinister, crooked smile along the wall before them. She wasn't quite sure if the terror that she felt in that moment was coming from her or her bondmate, but it didn't really matter as they both silently held their breaths and examined the strange anomaly.

"Doctor ... what is that?" Rose asked warily as she narrowed her eyes at the gleaming yellow light that ominously lit up the room around them.

Rose could feel the way that his hearts sunk in his chest as a wave of bitter defeat swept through the Doctor's thoughts and instantly flooded her mind. "I knew," he muttered quietly in response. "I always knew it wasn't over." He dropped her hand, then, so that he could shrug off his jacket as he bent down to get a closer look at the crack in the wall.

"It's a split in the skin of reality," he explained as he slowly let his fingers trail over the edge of the jagged line. "It's a structural weakness in the whole universe. Someone's trying to get through it from outside our universe, from somewhere else."

"'Somewhere else'?" Rose repeated dubiously, but the Doctor ignored her as he turned and stalked towards the empty cyberman head that he had brought along with them onto the planet's surface.

"You said 'Gallfirey', why did you say 'Gallifrey'?" the Doctor demanded roughly as he grabbed the robotic helmet and glared deep into its black, unseeing eyes. The name still sent a shock of fear and heartache through them both as the Doctor repeated the words that they cyberman had announced earlier in the day, before they had ever set foot on the snow-filled, wintery planet.

"Analysis of message composition indicates Gallifreyan origin, according to TARDIS databanks," the robot replied matter-of-factly.

The Doctor gritted his teeth together in silence for a moment before he shoved one of his hands into one of his trouser pockets and pulled out a flat, round circle. "Seal of the High Council of Gallifrey," he explained quickly. "Nicked it off the Master in the Death Zone." He slapped the seal onto the cyberman's forehead without any further explanation and tightened his grip on the helmet as he commanded, "There is an algorithm imprinted in the atomic structure - use it to decode the message."

"Message decoding," the robot replied in its flat monotone. "Message analysis proceeding. Information available. The message is being projected through all of time and space on a repeating cycle."

The Doctor's face went pale and Rose felt her fingers clenching into fists at her sides as their combined terror swept through their bond once more and made her heart skip a beat in foreboding.

"Warning: translation will be available to all lifeforms in range," the cyberman continued hollowly. "Translation follows: Doctor who?"

The two words seemed to fill the small room of the tower and echo ominously around them as the robotic voice of the cyberman twisted and distorted, continuing to repeat the question on an endless, repetitive cycle.

"A question only I can answer ..." the Doctor muttered quietly as he hung his head in utter defeat and shuffled back towards the glowing crack in the wall. "A truth field to make sure I'm not lying. If I give my name, they'll know they've found the right place and that it's safe to come through." He sighed wearily as he leaned one shoulder against the wall and began fidgeting nervously with his hands as his gaze stared hard at nothing and his mind began to run through the many terrible possibilities that lay before them.

"Doctor ..." Rose murmured quietly as she stepped close and laid her hands gently over his twitching fingers in an attempt to calm him. "Isn't that a good thing? Don't you want Gallifrey to come back?"

The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut tight as he let his arms drop to her waist and pulled her forward to rest his forehead against hers, but she could sense that her solid presence in his arms was doing nothing to ease the sharp, panicked anxiety that was coursing through his mind.

This is dangerous, Rose, he reminded her silently over their bond. More dangerous than you can possibly imagine. "Any chance I could convince you to go back to the TARDIS where it's safe?" he added out loud, his voice a mere whisper between them as his mind reached for hers and silently begged for her to allow him this one, last comfort of knowing that she was alive and secure while he faced off against this looming, unknowable danger.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Rose sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, "but there's no way I'm leaving you now."

Rose could sense that the Doctor's thoughts were still racing ahead of them both, searching for a different solution or a way to trick her into following his wishes, but they both knew how he had tried and failed at that before, and with a direct line to her thoughts and a truth field hovering all around them, there was no way that he could lie to her now.

Rose knew that she should probably be more upset that he was trying so hard to get rid of her, but she could feel the panicked urgency of his thoughts and she would have been lying if she had tried to say that her own restless anxiety wasn't making her itch to get away from this place as fast as possible. However, they both knew that she had made her choice long ago, and there was no way that she could leave him now, no matter what either of them might have wished.

"Doctor!" a familiar female voice called out suddenly, her voice booming through the entire town and echoing through the dark chambers of the tower around them. "Doctor, face me now!"

The Doctor stepped back and flashed Rose a tight-lipped, pained smile as he begrudgingly accepted their shared fate. "To work, then?" he asked, all of his usual eagerness completely gone from his tone as he fought to meet her eyes.

Rose placed her hand firmly in his, giving his fingers a tight squeeze as she nodded resolutely and stated, "Together."

--------------------

"Trenzalore."

The simple name seemed to ring out across the entirety of the planet as the hologram of Tasha's face stared down at them intently from the night sky above. The Doctor had asked her for the name of the planet, and the answer had instantly turned Rose's blood to ice as the declaration hung ominously in the air around them.

"If you speak your name, the Time Lords will return," the Mother Superious continued gravely.

"If they return, they will come in peace!" the Doctor protested desperately, his grip on Rose's hand turning painful as he faced down the giant projection in an attempt to defend his entire race.

"It doesn't matter," Tasha insisted resolutely. "They will be met with a war that will never end. The Time War will begin anew. You know that, Doctor."

"They're asking for my help!" The Doctor cried in reply, his free hand cutting through the air in anger as he continued to argue with her. For the first time since Rose had paired her mind with his, she could feel what the daleks referred to as the "Oncoming Storm" beginning to rage within him. The cold, harsh reality of it made her shiver.

"And if you give it, war will be the consequence," Tasha snarled darkly, completely heedless to the Doctor's growing frustration. "I will not let that happen, at any cost. Speak your name, and this world will burn."

"No," the Doctor replied, his own conviction just as dangerous as hers. "This world is protected."

He dropped Rose's hand just long enough to grab his sonic and point it at the large brass bell that hung from the top of the tower behind them. As soon as it began to swing and its loud call began to vibrate through the cool, dark air of Trenzalore, he grabbed Rose's hand again and dragged her quickly back down the tower stairs they way that they had come.

"So what now?" Rose asked breathlessly as she struggled to keep up with him. "Doctor, what are you going to do now?"

"Weren't you listening?" the Doctor asked, tossing her a smile over his shoulder that didn't quite match the dark look haunting the rest of his expression. "Now we protect them - the whole planet, all of them. Christmas has a new sheriff."

--------------------

Rose tried very hard to stay hopeful after that, but the days turned into weeks, and when the weeks began to multiply, she quickly began to lose track of just how long she and the Doctor had been in the small, sleepy town of Christmas. The nights seemed to go on for ages with only short glimpses of daylight in between to mark the time by.

And always there were the aliens - most of them small attack forces sent down from the ships above and meant to infiltrated and wipe out the townsfolk in an attempt to get to the Doctor. However, every plan was thwarted in one way or another, and soon it just became something that Rose and the Doctor did - a strange, unconventional way for them both to pass the time. They even made a game of it, sometimes - who could stop the cybermen quicker? Who could dodge the most sontaran lasers? Who could shoot down more dalek drones out of the sky?

The Doctor never once stopped trying to convince Rose to leave, though. Every waking hour that they were together, he was quietly pricking the back of her mind and reminding her that the TARDIS was parked in the center of town and could be used to escape at any time that she chose. Every time, Rose's answer was exactly the same - "Not unless you come with me, Doctor."

And so they both remained - because the Doctor could not choose between the innocent town of Christmas and his own people, and Rose could not leave the Doctor to make the decision on his own.

Without having to discuss it between themselves, the few short minutes of sunlight that the planet received every day quickly became another part of their strange new routine as well. Every morning, as long as there wasn't some danger attempting to sneak its way through the town's border, Rose and the Doctor would meet at the top of the bell tower and watch the sun rise and set together.

"After all these years, I've finally found somewhere that needs me to stick around," the Doctor mused quietly one morning as they sat close to one another at the top of the tower, a single, wool blanket wrapped tight around them both to keep out the planet's wintery chill.

"You're not serious, are you?" Rose asked, scrunching up her nose at him as she handed the Doctor the large bag of marshmallows that he had brought up with them. When she received nothing more than a sad, blank stare in reply, she rolled her eyes and grabbed the Doctor's arm, hugging it tightly between her own as she pulled him closer to her. "People have always needed you to stick around, Doctor. It was you who never wanted to give them the chance."

Rose pressed a kiss to his cheek and silently filled his thoughts with her quiet sympathy. She knew why the Doctor always felt as though he had to run - he was afraid of consequences, afraid of goodbyes, afraid of attachments that he knew would always have to break at some point or another. She supposed that his fears were well-founded in some respects, but she needed him to know that he was loved and needed by more people in this universe than he would ever possibly be able to understand.

"Everyone gets stuck somewhere eventually, you know," she reminded him quietly, "even you."

"Suppose so," the Doctor murmured noncommittally. He plucked a large marshmallow form the plastic bag in his lap and flashed her a small smile out of the corner of his eye as he added, "Stuck with you, that's not so bad."

Rose recognized the quiet declaration from their previous life together, and she rewarded him with a bright, pleased smile as dawn began to glow along the horizon before them.

"Sure I can't convince you to leave?" he asked quietly, immediately diminishing the conviction of his words as he pressed a kiss to Rose's temple and wrapped one arm around her waist to bring her in closer. She turned to rest her head affectionately on his shoulder in response as she gazed out at the pale blue and yellow sky that they had come to call home.

"Never gonna happen," she stated firmly. "Are you ever going to stop asking me that?"

"Nope," the Doctor replied with a soft sigh, his fingers trailing absently along the line of her hip. "Everything ends, Rose. I'm determined not to see yours."

She supposed that there was the one good thing about living in the town of Christmas, at least - with the truth field keeping them all from lying, they had eliminated the need for the use of Rose's second name whenever she and the Doctor were out in public. He hadn't called her "Clara" once since they had first arrived, and no one on Trenzalore seemed to be able to mark the difference.

"Not everything," Rose reminded him quietly, "not you."

"Yes," the Doctor insisted, his grip on her tightening, as though he needed to make sure that she was still real and sitting there with him. "Yes, even me. I can only change twelve times. Thirteen versions of me - thirteen silly Doctors."

"What are you trying to say?" Rose asked, turning her head on his shoulder so that she could meet his sad, gloomy expression. She knew the old Time Lord rule as well as he did - she had questioned her husband about it extensively in their parallel world in an attempt to better understand him and his people. However, she had always just assumed that the Doctor would find some way to circumvent that rule, just as he did with so many others. She had never known that the number of regenerations concerned him at all.

"You're, what, number twelve, including the Doctor I met from the Time War?" she continued hesitantly. "So what are you worried about?"

"Are you forgetting about the Metacrisis?" the Doctor asked pointedly. "I kept the same face, but it was still a regeneration. That means I can't ever do it again. This is where I end up - this face, this version of me. We saw this planet in the future, remember? All those graves ... one of them mine."

"Yes, but I remember Gallifrey, as well," Rose insisted stubbornly. "There were thirteen TARDISes there, Doctor, I counted them."

"That doesn't prove anything," he grumbled with a wary shake of his head. "That could have been anyone, we never saw his face. There's no way of knowing if that was me."

Rose opened her mouth to argue, but her words were cut off as a giant hologram of a familiar face suddenly filled the skies over Trenzalore.

"Doctor!" Tasha called out, her gaze appearing frantic as she quickly scanned the landscape and eventually narrowed her eyes on Rose and the Doctor. "The Church of the Silence requests parlay. Your rights and safety are sanctified."

"I'll be right up!" the Doctor called back warily as he moved to stand, wrapping their shared blanket tighter around Rose's shoulders.

"'Parlay'?" Rose repeated dubiously as she hugged the blanket tighter around herself and moved to follow him. "What's that all about? How long have we been down here, with no word from her or her lackeys, and now, all of a sudden, they want to talk?"

"Yes, it is a bit suspicious, isn't it?" the Doctor replied, narrowing his eyes on the dark, starry sky above them as the sun finished its decent back into the horizon. "Is it dangerous enough that I could convince you to stay behind?" he added, flashing Rose a bright, hopeful look.

"Not on your life," Rose replied instantly. "This one, or the next," she added, giving the Doctor a weighty, pointed look. He ignored her stubborn insinuation and simply sighed in defeat as he led her back down the stairs towards where the TARDIS was parked. They both silently agreed over their bond to save that particular argument for another day.

[sometimesiwritetoo]

Tales of Carbuncle Farm - Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/?

Pairing: Noctis/Prompto/Luna

Rating: T for immature humor

Warnings: None

Summary: Luna, Noctis, and Prompto may not have thought whole “let’s run away” plan all the way through. But either way they had a farm, some seeds, and no where else to go so they might as well try to make Stardew Valley their new home.

Check it out over on AO3!

In midsummer Noctis laid down the sandfish down into the box near the broken fish tank. He’d patiently worked at the fishing bundle as Luna requested, asking Prompto for money when he spotted one for sale, and managed to fulfill every request. He expected a junimo to pop up from the hole, somehow carrying a furnace or a precarious stack of seeds as a gift. A junimo did pop out dragging a stack of dish o’ the sea piled on top of one another, but after he collected the stack several popped out of the woodworks right under his feet. Turning the dangerous floor into a carpet of grass like creatures. Noctis panicked, almost dropping the stack in shock.

Just as quickly as they appeared they disappeared, leaving Noctis confused. After a moment he decided that it was a strange, thirty second long hallucination. He carried the plates out of the center happy that he’d managed to find dinner.

In Insomnia, Regis went to bed as he always did. Sitting heavily down and struggling just a tad in getting the sheets up over his chest. He’d hadn’t slept as fitfully since Ignis and Gladio returned without his son, but that night he fell into a deep sleep quite suddenly. As he lay resting a trail of apples slowly crossed under his door into the room. They trailed up the bed and into the sheets where they gathered around the ailing king. A group gathered around his knees and began repairing the bone. Another group patched his frail lungs. Several purified the bile that slowly ate away at his blood, and others soothed his aching back.

When they were done they trailed back outside, leaving the room exactly as they found it. Several hours later, as the sun began to rise, the king woke up feeling very strange. He didn’t feel the mind numbing soreness he typically felt when he typically woke. When he stood up he didn’t need to reach for his cane. His knees did not buckle under his own weight. Pain did not shoot down his spine. He checked to confirm that the wall was still up. That his city was safe. Walking quickly to confirm with his glaive that his city was safe.

Noctis was completely unaware of what transpired that night. He laid on the end of the bed furthest from the wall and slept heavily. In the morning he was the last one up and came out as both Luna and Prompto were harvesting tomatoes.

“Guess what?” Luna said. She bounced up when she saw him, “We have enough for the expansion!”

“Really?” Noctis was almost excited enough to bounce as well. He’d been eating meatball subs once a week since they’d arrived months ago. It was about time they got a kitchen even if it was only to microwave meals.

“We’re going to go up and order it at nine. And then we’re getting beers!”

“Finally, I’d been waiting for a drink since we started.” He teased. He stepped in to help harvest the melon.

Robin was absolutely thrilled to see them again. And she was even more thrilled to note down their preferred expansion and Prompto’s appliance list. It was quite long and Noctis didn’t know exactly what most of them were. He wondered if the expansion took so long because it was actually expensive or because Prompto needed a walk in fridge. But he didn’t say anything, because he’d long accepted that Prompto was the only person equipped to actually manage the whole operation.

“Perfect. I’ll get on it straight away.” Robin said. She snapped the book closed with finality. Prompto passed over the cash and gave her instructions on where their hoard of supplies were on the farm. They then headed down the mountain to the saloon for one of the last few meals they’d need to eat there.

Gus poured them all a beer before starting on making their pizzas. He had a selection of craft brews available, but they stuck with a generic, big name brand. The end of summer was approaching and they did have to save for that period of fall when they had nothing to produce.

They talked through lunch occasionally about the expansion, but also about other things. Willy had invited him to a big fishing trip during the winter, and Luna was slowly learning how to identify mushrooms to forage. Pleasant conversation. Conversation that made Noctis realize how much he enjoyed living in Stardew Valley. He didn’t think he’d enjoy living in a small village in the middle of nowhere.

They split up after lunch, Luna went to forage for berries and mushrooms up the mountain while he and Prompto headed back to the farmhouse. On their way back Prompto went into Pierre’s for a few giant bags of malt, oats, hops, and yeast. Pierre had a worker deliver it to the farm in an hour and from there Prompto started working on something with one of the large kegs he’d built. Noctis didn’t know what it was exactly. It seemed to involve a bunch of the stuff they bought and boiling a bunch of water. Noctis tried to keep himself entertained by watching the weather forecast for the week. In the rain big catfish came to the surface, and he wanted to catch a couple to fry up in their new kitchen.

“What were you doing?” He asked when Prompto came in later that night.

“Making beer.” Prompto said. “I kinda want to see how it’ll go.”

“So we can have beer every night?” He asked hopefully.

“No, so we can make money. I’m taking Luna’s advice and expanding our “brand”.” He flopped down on the bed next to Noctis and turned the tv to livin’ off the land.

“So you sell it,” Noctis rested his head on Prompto’s shoulder. “First here and then further and further. Then in eight months half of the glaive is spending fifteen luciennes on Carbuncle farm beer.”

“Maybe.” Prompto laughed, “It would be funny if the Kingsglaive got drunk on our beer and started a bar fight again.”

“Finally, we can be the reason Gladio walks around with a black eye for two days.”

“Yeah, get him so numbed up he doesn’t even notice the pain.”

“He doesn’t notice pain normally either. He told me himself. He only feels hunger. It’s why he almost ate Crowe’s hair that night.”

“Who ate who’s hair?” Luna asked. She toed off her shoes at the door.

“Gladio ate Crowe’s hair.” He answered.

“I can see why all the women love him.” Luna said sarcastically. “I put some spice berries in preserves jars. We’re not selling them they’re mine and I will eat them all.”

She flopped into bed and they all quickly fell asleep to the sound of the TV. Noctis, like always, looked forward to waking up late and going out fishing. But he quickly ran into a hurdle when he was woken up before the sun even rose to an incessant hammering sound. He heard a creak and a tear as a wooden plank two feet from him fell to the ground outside.

“Wow. She was eager to get started.” Noctis complained. He rolled out of bed to head outside only to trip on a pot that was on the floor. “What the hell?”

“It’s that damn pot again!” Luna complained she grabbed it without helping him up and threw it back in their closet. “I swear we are haunted.”

Noctis pushed himself up and followed Prompto outside to see Robin happily hammering away at the west side of their home.

“Oh don’t mind me!” She said. “I’ll be done in a few days.”

“I forgot exactly what an expansion would entail.” Luna sighed. “Come on, let’s grab our watering cans. We should follow her example.”

Noctis focused on watering the vegetables while Luna checked on her preserves and Prompto checked on his beer. Luna quickly canned one of the jars that was full of a berry mix then set them aside to label later. Prompto didn’t seem happy with whatever he saw with the keg and left it alone.

They headed out to buy seeds at nine. Prompto bought some radishes and significantly more wheat than before. They then they grabbed food and headed back to plant the seeds. Noctis separated from them to chop down some trees and make room as their farm expanded, but his axe was not nearly sharp enough to make it through the giant stumps nor was his pickaxe strong enough to smash through the boulders. Some rows ended up getting planted in a separate area that he cleared.

Robin did not let up or take a break from her work. She carried on well into the evening when Noctis would’ve gladly been in bed. He appreciated her work ethic but did not enjoy waiting for the hammering to stop so he could sleep. When she was done there was a large hole in the wall and a foundation for the expansion had been laid. Which meant that when they went to bed there was a nice, cooling breeze.

“We should ask her to leave it like this.” He said. “It’s kinda nice.”

“Say that in the morning.” Prompto said, before he ducked under the covers.

Noctis didn’t understand what Prompto meant by that until he woke up in the morning with thumb sized mosquito bites littering his arms. They were annoying and he had to immediately resist scratching at them. Luna was not so wise. By the time they made it outside her arms were very, very red from her furious itching. Prompto caught up with her and slathered aloe vera all over her before she could make it worse.

Prompto retrieved the syrups from the tappers he installed and set about building two separate bee hives. Those went to a far corner of the farm, a safe distance from their house.

“Do we really need those?” He asked.

Prompto shrugged. “If we’re going to have a kitchen it’d be nice to have some honey. It’s only a small one.”

“If those bees attack I’m blaming you.”

“Bees don’t attack Noct.”

“They did when I was five!”

Prompto laughed as if his childhood trauma of being chased through a garden by a single bee was funny. “They wanna eat you. I bet royal skin tastes delicious.”

“Shut up Prompto!”

Prompto got up close and poked at his cheek. “They want your skin Noct. They’ll surround you and gnaw at your flesh.”

“Shut up!”

Noctis ran to the other side of the farm and Prompto followed yelling about the bees coming for him. He attempted to get away from it by climbing a pine tree, but it was low and Prompto grabbed at his waist to pull him down.

“You’re going to hurt yourselves!” Luna yelled.

“The bees will hurt us Lu!” Prompto yelled.

“Get him off of me!” He yelled.

They got into a small scuffle before where Prompto pulled Noctis from the tree, making him fall flat on his ass. They went about finishing the rest of their chores then piled inside to watch the fortune teller predict misfortune for an unlucky viewer Robin left soon after the sun fell and by then it looked as if things were halfway built. Noctis could see several cabinets built out and outlets for the appliances were installed. He fell asleep with Luna laying on his shoulder, cutting off circulation to his arm.

When he woke up his arm had pins traveling up and down his arm that were fairly annoying. Both Prompto and Luna were gone and he rolled out of bed to get to work only to face plant when he tripped over the pot again.

“What the hell?” He yelled. Luna was close enough to hear him and she came in as he fumbled the pot back into the closet.

“Was that the pot again?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He shoved the door closed. It was starting to get on his nerves, tripping over that pot over and over again.

“We’re haunted I’m sure of it.” Luna announced. She reached into the closet and pulled out the bag she’d packed when she left. Noctis had thought it was emptied, but Luna instead pulled out some sage and lit it with an old, half empty lighter. “If this doesn’t protect us then we’re in trouble.”

Noctis ran out of the house and let her do whatever witchcraft she felt like needed to be done. Prompto was outside checking on his beer, looking content at whatever reading he got from the sample. He then got to the slow process of filling the individual glass bottles by using a small spout at the end. The filling went slowly and every once in a while it overflowed and spilled to the ground. But when Noctis checked back at noon Prompto had rows and rows of 750ml beer bottles.

“Oooohhh.” Noctis held one up. The color was a light amber through the clear bottle. “These look good.”

“I hope they are. I’m gonna do what Luna did and give it to Gus to sell locally for people to try. The next round I’ll sell through the bin.”

“Don’t give it all away.”

“We can keep twenty.”

“Fifty.”

“No.”

Noctis frowned and crossed his arms. He didn’t spend weekends in debate lessons to not get fifty, large sized bottles of beer from his brewmaster boyfriend.

“I promise I won’t wander away.”

“That’s not a promise you can keep.” Prompto firmly rebutted.

Noctis hunkered down, he had to make Ignis proud and win this. “It is a promise I can keep. I’ll lock the door and hide the keys.”

“I’ll let you keep twenty-five beers.”

Victory. A minor one, but still a victory. “Thank you, I love you.”

Prompto gathered the bottles up into his bag while Luna made him up some questionnaire cards and a few labels. Prompto then headed to town like a beer santa claus, ready to give all the adults their summer presents.

“You know Lu, if Prompto can make beer from the wheat then we can totally make wine from the fruit.”

“Noctis no. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. You don’t need to be getting lost in a forest.”

“Why do you two just assume that I’ll always wander off when I’m drunk?”

“Because Ignis found you in the dumpster of the Cactuar Sandwich Spot.” She deadpanned. “You don’t even like them.”

“There were extenuating circumstances!”

“No there weren’t!”

“Yes there was!” Luna rolled her eyes and walked away from him. “I just can’t remember them! Who do you believe, Ignis or me?”

He eventually had to flee to the great fishing frontier when Luna pulled out the melons to start on some melon jam. It was time for work and therefore time for him to do what he did best. He arrived at the pier just as Willy locked his shop up to prepare for a night of fishing.

“Got kicked out?” He joked as Noctis put some tackle on his line.

“You could say that.”

“Hehe. Been there. Datin’ ain’t easy. It’s why I’m married to the sea.”

“It’s not so bad. I needed to come out and catch dinner anyway.”

“Ya got that kitchen you wanted?”

“It’s in development.”

“Hmmm.” Willy unlocked the front door of his shop and headed back inside. Noctis waited comfortably outside for him to return. He pulled up a broken CD and some algae while he waited which he put to the side to throw away.

Willy came back after a few minutes and handed him a worn notecard. “Mah papi loved to cook. That was my favorite recipe. Make it and tell me what you think.”

The recipe card was faded, but Noctis could still make out the words that made up the simple recipe. Some butter, clams, milk, and flour. Noctis thought it actually might be a little good.

“Thanks!”

He quit fishing to look for clams on the beach. They typically littered the shore near the main peer and the peer next to it. Noctis didn’t leave until he had a bagful of them and several rainbow shells. Before whatever valuable shells he found would end up being sold so he decided that he’d keep the few he found as he headed back home.

The house looked almost completely finished when he arrived, but there were still tools strewn about and partially cut wood on the ground. The appliances inside were still disconnected from the power supply and Robin had left for the day. He set the clams in a box for storage then headed inside.

After another night sleeping with no draft draft he woke up late to a complete lack of hammering noises. He sat up to see Luna fiddling around with the stove while Prompto unboxed some cast iron pans.

Noctis wasn’t expecting for there to be so much space. Their home was easily doubled, maybe even tripled, from the small cabin it once. The east most wall became a doorway the opened up out into the kitchen area with enough space between the door and the kitchen to be called a modest living room. The kitchen itself was spacious. The stove was a thick slab of stone over several burners and the fridge was a walk in that could fit all three of them. The wall opposite the oven had a counter made of two inches of wood. Noctis didn’t know what they’d do with so much space, but he was sure they’d all find a use for it.

He wanted to try everything out but there was too much work to do. Preserves had to be packaged and sold and Prompto had gotten the majority of the beer survey’s back. They were overwhelmingly positive so Prompto brought out two other kegs and got to work making another two batches of the amber brew he made and one of a white beer.

“You picked this up quick Prom.” Noctis commented as he tried to avoid doing chores. “I guess that’s to be expected? Since your parents were farmers.”

“Well that and they made beer.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but it was more of a basement project,” Prompto set a giant bucket of water over a makeshift fire he’d made.

“They had you help brewing basement beer as a kid?”

“Yep.” Prompto said casually. Lucis’ drinking laws were so strict that the maids had to fill his wine glass with grape juice at functions until he was twenty. A dignitary bought him wine for his nineteenth birthday and his father had immediately yanked it from his hands once they were alone. Noctis couldn’t imagine being allowed in the same room with unsealed alcohol as a kid. Granted he likely would’ve immediately drank himself sick.

“Did you ever partake?”

“Once in a while.”

“Why didn’t you invite me over?”

“Because my parents said that if I did then they’d disown me!”

“No they wouldn’t’ve!”

”Yeah, well, I didn’t want them to get pissed.” He said. “Remember, I had to live with ‘em.”

Noctis did not try and argue with that. Prompto’s parents were an interesting duo. He knew they had few rules, but those rules were stricted. Decent grades, no trouble with the law, nothing too shocking. He also knew that they had been refugees from a small village far north in Niflheim’s territory. They were different, but Prompto never complained about them.

After the work was done they all split up for the day. Luna wandered off to forage for some green onions and Prompto hit up the mines for more ore. Noctis decided to stay back and attempt to get a head start on dinner.

He sold a few foraged red mushrooms for a small pack of eggs and some oil. He figured that would make a decent meal with a melon that had yet to make it to the preserves jar. He took that back home and pulled out a small, thick pan from one of the cabinets.

Noctis had seen plenty of people crack an egg into a pan, but he’d honestly never done it himself. He attempted to crack it on the pan like he saw Ignis do many times and smashed one out of six of the eggs on the side. The yolk oozed out all over the new stove.

He cleaned it up best he could and tried again. The second attempt he cracked it and opened it up with both hands. It mostly ended up in the pan and he turned the burner on when he realized that the egg was in a cold. Soon the egg was stuck to the bottom of a ripping hot pan and no amount of scraping could get it up.

That pan went into the sink. He found another and he remembered to oil the bottom and kept it over the heat. The egg landed in the center causing hot oil to splatter and stain his clothes. It then quickly went from raw to charcoal black. Eggs four and five were down the drain before Noctis realized that he had the heat on too high.

The sixth egg was the only one edible. It’s yolk cracked on impact, but after some maneuvering he had a plate of partially scrambled eggs on his plate. He celebrated his victory by taking a big bite only to realize that he’d forgotten to season it.

He ended up sitting alone in an empty saloon as Gus cooked on his lunch. Watching Gus work on cooking, the easy way he handled so many complex things at once, made him feel more depressed about his complete inability to fry a fuckiing egg.

“What’s got you down kid?”

“Nothing important.” He sullenly sighed.

Gus slid a sandwich in front of him. Another daily special. Noctis almost actually did throw it away, but he was hungry and there was work that needed done.

“Don’t say that. If it’s important to you than it’s important.”

Noctis sighed again. “I tried to cook today and all I did was make a burnt mess.”

“Really now? What’d you try to make?”

“A fried egg.”

Gus tutted. “You kids today. No one taught ya how to cook an egg?”

“Nope. Someone was always around to do it for me.” He felt pathetic just saying that. How did he end up so unable to take care of himself? Well, he knew the answer to that, but it was even more depressing than the question.

“Well why don’t ya come ‘round and I’ll show ya?”

Noctis looked up. Gus looked serious. “Really?”

“Yeah sure. Eggs are the most important ingredient in cooking.”

Noctis shuffled around to the bar’s front kitchen. It was a modest size, there was a station with from vegetables already chopped up and some dough was portioned out in a tray. A small set of burners were in front and the pan used to warm up the meatballs sat in the sink. Gus pulled out a carton of eggs and set a clean pan on the stove.

“Now, cookin’ an egg is like makin’ love to a woman. You gotta be gentle.”

“Ok… I’ve, uh, never done that before?”

“Ah, don’t be shy. You three alone up on that farm, I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No I do not. Please use another metaphor.”

Gus laughed at that. Then he walked Noctis through frying a single egg and making a simple omelette. The impromptu lesson lasted half an hour and he got to eat some of the eggs and take the daily special home. When he arrived Prompto was smelting some steel outside. Through the window he could see that Luna  was in the kitchen, but he couldn’t see exactly what she was doing.

“I didn’t know there was steel down there.” He commented as Prompto pulled out a big steel bar.

“Oh yeah, I found loads of other stuff down there too.” Prompto nodded towards a pile of things. There was some quartz, a frozen tear, and a big hunk of topaz. “I hit the jackpot today.”

“Wow, this is great. We need to plan another trip together and get more stuff.”

“We should.”

“Hey, what’s Luna doing?”

Prompto’s face dropped. “She’s cooking.” Prompto’s voice was suddenly strained.

“What’s she making?”

“Roasted chicken…”

“Cool, it’s been forever since I’ve had that.” Noctis helped Prompto smelt the last bar and organize their little smelting station.

They puttered around a bit before dinner. Prompto checked his beer and the preserves Luna had going. Noctis checked the few tappers they had and found one full of pine tar that he kept to store. Neither of them really needed to do any of that, but it was a good way to spend time until Luna popped her head out the window and called them both in for dinner.

Noctis ran in first, then stopped at the door. The chicken that was on the table was not nearly what he expected. When Ignis made chicken it was always brown with the legs trussed up with mashed potatoes and some sort of vegetable that he never ate. This chicken that Luna made was none of those. It was pale near the top while the tips of the legs were somehow black.

“Looks interesting Lu.” Noctis tried to say convincingly. He didn’t sound convincing to his own ears but Luna seemed content to pull out a big knife and get to work carving. He and Prompto sat down as Luna clumsily hacked away. She separated the legs revealing a red inside that set off warning bells in Noctis’ head. But he didn’t know enough about cooking chicken to really say anything.

“Uh, Lu.” Prompto said. “How long did you cook this for?”

“An hour.” She said.

“Then why is it pink inside?”

“Oh, well I cooked it low so that it was rare. Since you said you liked rare steak. I’ve never had rare chicken before so I wanted to try it.”

That sounded wrong. But Noctis didn’t get a chance to say something before Prompto reached over and bravely took the plate of half cooked chicken while Luna still wielded her knife.

“Hey, what are you doing?” She demanded.

“You can’t eat raw chicken Lu.” Prompto said. He unceremoniously dumped the entire thing in the trash then placed the plate in the sink. “We’d all get really sick.”

“What? Since when.”

“Since salmonella. Let’s just go to the saloon and we can all attempt something tomorrow.” He said diplomatically.

Eating at the saloon wasn’t too bad again. It was a Friday and most of the town was inside dancing to the music and having a good time. They all bought some beer and tried to ignore the fact that this was likely the seventh pot roast dinner they’d had in a month. When they were done they were all able to play pool with Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam. And Luna seemed to have calmed down enough to actually enjoy it. They’d figure everything out tomorrow.