#I fixed myself by throwing myself headlong into it

[xproskeith]

"When you hear about a virus spreading overseas, somewhere really far away, it feels foreign. There's this really weird feeling that it some won't affect you - that it won't get you."

- Josh Dun

Man he nailed it. That's how me and so many friends and especially fellow coworkers felt and joked about it. We had no idea the fresh hell that awaited us.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

y'all i DID it i MADE it i FINISHED A NANO and ACTUALLY HAD FUN THIS YEAR!!! learned MANY thing!!!! formal wrap-up post to follow (tomorrow)(when i can get a decent pic on my desk in daylight)

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: A Smattering of Random Valicer Headcanons

Mostly relating to the standard Modern AU, of course, but the more general ones could apply to any iteration:

-->You know how I have January 8th as “Smiler’s Creation Date” on the Valice( r) Calendar? Well, in thinking of what I wanted to do for it in the shower a couple of days ago, I referred to it as “Smiler’s birthday,” corrected myself with “no, wait, Smiler’s birthdate is the opening date of the coaster, May 31st” --

And then remembered “my human Smiler is ADOPTED -- maybe that’s their adoption day?”

So yeah -- Smiler’s actual birthday is 5/31, but the Altons have another little celebration on 1/8 because that’s when the paperwork all became official and Smiler was fully and legally their kid. Smiler was actually sad when they first learned that other kids just get the ONE birthday.

-->Smiler has a real talent for mixing drinks, both alcoholic and non -- they just seem to have a knack for eyeballing measurements and knowing how much stirring is enough. Any party they throw, they play bartender and knock their guests’ socks off.

-->Related to the above, Smiler’s job while attending college is as a barista in a coffee shop, where they develop a reputation for somehow getting even the most complicated order perfect. They like it when people’s faces light up after having one of their drinks! (Though that does make the “Karens” stand out even more, sadly. . .like this one couple who came in, the wife with a really complicated order that she kept criticizing them on as they tried to make it, and the husband with a simpler order that he refused to leave a tip on, saying it was unnecessary. . .guess how Smiler first met Victor’s parents.)

-->In keeping with the tech theme of the actual coaster, I’ve decided that Smiler, like Victor, enjoys building little robots from kits! They generally do more complicated projects than Victor does, though (hell, maybe they’ve done a mini-toy-like take on the Marmalizer, jokingly calling it their “brainwashing bot”), and they’re better at learning code and programming them. They’re also decent with HTML, as evidenced by the fact that, you know, they have a website with videos and suchlike. :p

-->Victor, for his part, gets into repairing and modifying things -- he finds he enjoys learning how things work and how to fix them, or make them work better, or even just look cooler. And he becomes a “right to repair” advocate after he discovers just how fiddly fixing electronics in this day and age can be, and how expensive it is for most people to replace them.

-->Constantly sending them to practice yoga in Sims 4 when I wasn’t sure what else to do with them has cemented in my head that Smiler just does yoga in general! In that same “crop top and short shorts” outfit that they so often wear as a Sim. Victor finds it very distracting. XD

-->Also, as mentioned in the tags of another post, I’ve recently realized that Smiler’s favorite animal is frogs! Probably as a result of all the breeding and collecting I had them do in Sims 4. They just think they’re neat. :) They also like dragonflies too.

-->Some new food headcanons for the trio -- all of their favorite fruits are also involved in their favorite desserts! Victor likes apples, and absolutely loves a good apple pie; Alice favors strawberries, and really enjoys a strawberry cake; and Smiler likes bananas, and will devour a banana split (they also like bananas foster). I think “chocolate cake” would rank as a second-favorite dessert for all of them though -- and I can see them working their way together through one of those big old “bucket” sundaes you can get at Ben & Jerry’s. (Though that would probably best be handled with the help of Victoria and Emily, and/or Oblivion, Th13teen, Rita, and Galactica. . .probably be a good date idea for the Running Headlong Into The Bullshit mega-polycule too XD)

-->As hinted at in the Christmas headcanons post, I’m tempted to have Alice pick up her father’s love of photography to capture special moments. It seems a fun way to carry on the family legacy! Though, yeah, this is something a modern Alice would be more keen on than a Victorian Alice for sure -- less dangerous chemical bullshit going on!

-->This one is a headcanon-in-progress -- part of me feels like Smiler should have or get a tattoo, but I’m not sure where or what. Something fun and colorful, sure, but beyond that. . .I’ve experimented with adding a tattoo in Sims 4′s CAS to my Smiler Always, but nothing really looked right. (Possibly because all of them are tied to such specific parts of the body -- I’d really like it if you could move certain tattoos to different locations!) Hmmm. We’ll see if this one goes anywhere as a result!

[philliamwrites]

Stay Where You Are And Then Leave (prologue)

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Zhongli / Reader

Tags: #yaksha! reader, #historical references, #yaksha war, #unreliable narrator, #angst and hurt/comfort, #enemies to friends with xiao, #found family trope, #you know until they start to slaughter each other, #chuckles nervously, #female! reader, #tho i want to write it as genderneutral as possible

Words: 1.1k

Summary: When Rex Lapis picked your soul to serve him as Yaksha, nothing could have prepared you for the suffering and hardships waiting on your neverending journey to bring peace to Liyue.

But you are not alone. A hot-headed Ifrit-Yaksha who loves flowers but cannot collect them for every living thing fears fire; a gruff D'ao-Yaksha who has a hard time letting go his mundane life; a dishonest Raijū-Yaksha with an addiction for gambling; and a lone Garuda-Yaksha they call "Conqueror of Demons" who doesn't care about any collateral damage on his purge of all evil.

And you in the middle of everything, the only Yaksha who cannot remember her past—and if it were up to Rex Lapis, he'd rather it stays that way.

Note: The title is inspired by John Boyne’s book with the same title: ‘Stay Where You Are And Then Leave.’ In the books, this was said to the soldiers waiting in the trenches until it was their time to leave for the battlefield.

Prologue: Where The Dream Ends And The Nightmare Begins

Farewell, ye woods! Headlong from some towering mountain peak

I will throw myself into the waves; take this as my last dying gift!

— Vergil

The earth shook, the air pulsed, and you felt a thousand needles puncture you from all sides. A force took hold of your mind and twisted it, squeezing it and kneading it like dough into an entirely different shape. You screamed into the darkness.

Pain washed the world white. When you blinked away the dazzle, your eyes opened to a cavern ceiling twinkling with gems shaped like stars, mapping constellations you didn’t recognize, and an unfamiliar voice calling your name.

“Menogias of the Aqua Morte. I summon thee to this mortal plane in service of Liyue and its people. Wake up.”

A ban broke. Your muscles, tight and hard like stones, relaxed, finally allowing you to become their master. You were lying in water, nearly horizontal so only your face broke the water’s plane. Like a magnet needle pulled towards the northern skies, your body rose to your feet. Exhaustion tried to coax your weary bones back into the quiet; the safety of the water but the voice was a chord strung tightly around your mind, commanding one step after another towards its source.

A young man was waiting for you, balancing effortlessly on stones protruding out of the water. He wore a white tunic without sleeves that showed muscular, bare arms that shined with golden lines, leaving the blue gleam of the stones set in the cavern’s walls bleak. A hood concealed most of his face, only showing a sharp jawline and thin, pale lips.

You didn’t know who this man was exactly, but you knew what he was. Gracefully, you sank to one knee, still inside the water, and dropped your head in devotion.

“My Lord.”

Rex Lapis considered you for a moment, his golden eyes were stern, yet not unkind. With a slow gesture, he allowed you to get back on your feet.

“I know you have many questions,” he said, and just as the words left his mouth, questions flooded your mind like a tidal wave. Who were you? Why were you here? Before you could ask any of them, the Geo Archon continued, “About your past, about the present. None of them are important, for you shall have one purpose only.” He offered you his hand and helped you out of the water. Even though you felt the Geo energy flow through his body, his skin was soft and the golden blood running through his veins warm. He held on for a second longer than necessary, averting his gaze when you looked up at him in question. Instead he nodded towards a small shrine built from the same stone as the rest of the cavern that presented a beautiful white bow. They called to you like a lone wolf calling to its comrades, and without waiting for Rex Lapis’ approval, you closed the distance and pressed your fingers to the smooth ivory and elegant curves, built by a true master of their craft.

You plugged its string and closed your eyes at the familiar sound. Blurry pictures flashed before your eyes. A little village tucked away inside a mountain pass. Standing with arms spread wide on bridges shaking dangerously between clouds like a wingless bird ready to take flight. Greedy flames climbing towards the wooden ceiling of a house. Your eyes snapped open when the taste of smoke and ashes settled on your tongue. You looked up at Rex Lapis.

“Someone came to destroy my village. I remember anger. I remember fighting to survive. Is that why I am here?”

Rex Lapis turned away, his gaze following the gems lining the walls up to the cavern where an opening showed the moon glimpsing down at you two from up high, a silent watcher sworn to keep conversations like these secret to the sun.

“I have called upon you because your heart is noble and your courage sharper than your bow’s arrows,” he said. “Your past life is of no concern to the journey lying ahead of you.”

“But I—” I still want to know. It was like the desire to know how the end of a story turned out, the want to turn a book to its very last page to make sure the heroes received their well-earned happy ending. You wanted to know if you had your happy ending as well.

“The war goes on,” Rex Lapis continued. “The relentless fighting between the warmongering archons takes its toll on Liyue. Those who die with bitterness and rage become evil monsters who ravage the land and turn it into a wilderness, into a pandemonium. Hence I am calling upon the yakshas to protect this country. Liyue needs every single one of you.” He dropped his gaze from the moon and fixed his eyes on you. Looming above you, it was easy to finally get a good glimpse of his handsome face and the piercing amber eyes with an edge harder to them than freshly cut Cor Lapis. “I need every single one of you.”

A shudder crawled up your spine. You looked to the ground. “I solely exist to follow your command, my Lord.”

Rex Lapis hummed in agreement and took a step closer, his approach quiet as his barefoot feet didn’t make any sound on the cool stone. A warm finger brushed against your forehead, the touch conjuring the picture of a moonlit lake on top of a mountain.

“I await all of you by the end of the next moon at this place.” Rex Lapis’ voice was barely a whisper. “Mount Hulao. Until then, be fierce, my yaksha. Fierce but good.”

Something about the way he said my yaksha made you raise your gaze back up, expecting … to see what exactly in his eyes? Anything else besides the cold calculation of a deity worshiped as the God of Contracts? This was no different from a commerce, your serving the bargaining chip to a second chance on the mortal plane even though you are unsure about the fine print.

Rex Lapis’ face was unreadable like a board wiped clean. His hand hovered over your face a second too long before he quickly pulled it back, withdrawing completely as if touching your burned him. A last inquiry emerged like the tip of an iceberg from your mind. You said, “Wait. This anger … were they angry with me? Did I do something wrong?”

But he had already disappeared—without any flourish, just like a village swallowed up by an earthquake, there and then a second later gone.

[janeofcakes]

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again  Chapter 5

Hello, my lovelies. Another post on Saturday?? You spoil us, Jane! I know it's crazy, but I love you all and being in touch again means a lot to me. Hmm. Well, that was more heartfelt than I'd planned. Suffice it to say, I'm in a bit of a mood. I got some bad news yesterday and will know more on Tuesday. I don't want it to keep me from posting because you all DO mean a lot to me and your support does to. We'll just have to see how things go.

---

Sunday morning is awash with breakfast and icing and wrapping Olive’s gift for Mycroft. Sherlock struggles to keep his mind off John at first, but he is quickly caught up in their preparations and Olive’s constant chatter. Soon they are in one of his brother’s sleek black cars and on their way to a luxury flat all too near their own. Of course, another country wouldn’t be far enough away for Sherlock. There were only two reasons Mycroft had become more tolerable over the last eight years and one of them was sitting next to Sherlock asking questions and telling him her plans for the party. When Olive came into Sherlock’s life Mycroft finally believed, once and for all, that his little brother would not use again and would take care of himself. For all the modifications he made for raising a child, his life was significantly more simple without Mycroft’s interference.

Sherlock stares straight ahead, not really seeing the back of their driver’s head or the rear view mirror. He hears Olive as she continues talking at top speed, but is not listening at all. He would never ignore her, of course, and he will pay for it if she realizes he is distracted. Sherlock will risk it though to review the particular thoughts running through his mind.

John is back in London. He does not live far from Sherlock and has a daughter in Olive’s class. Mycroft knows it. He must know it and yet, he said nothing to Sherlock. Not even so much as a hint or, more likely, horning in to advise Sherlock to stay away from the doctor. He said nothing, did nothing. Mycroft could have stopped Sherlock from ever meeting Gracie’s father if he had wanted to. Why hadn’t he?

Sherlock rolls this around in his mind as they turn a few more corners, traversing the busy streets of London. Mycroft has always meddled in Sherlock’s life, always tried to control things. In spite of the improvements to the situation, Sherlock knows his brother would never pass up the chance to keep him away from John. We wouldn’t want you to be reminded of the past and return to old habits, would we, Sherlock? That’s what the pompous ass would say. Sherlock glares ahead unseeing, his grey eyes narrowing and the delicate skin beneath them contracting. Mycroft has done nothing that Sherlock would have expected in this scenario and the most likely conclusion is also the most ludicrous. Can it be that Mycroft wants Sherlock and John to meet again? If he is not actively trying to keep them apart, has he somehow orchestrated John’s move back and their subsequent meeting? The world is seldom so careless.

“Dad?” Olive’s irritated tone breaks Sherlock’s concentration and he looks to her instantly, trying to keep a guilty expression from his face.

“Hm?” Sherlock hums a reply, picking apart what words he had heard her speaking.

“Are you even listening?” Olive asks, her eyes narrow slits of suspicion. Knowing there is no escape, Sherlock opens his mouth to confess, but Olive barrels on before he can say a word. She obviously cares less about what he was doing before than she does about having his attention now. “I’m going to tell them all about Gracie and our pirate adventures in the park and that she likes Nancy Drew and what’s going on with Samantha Jones and…”

“You have so much to tell that they won’t get a word in,” Sherlock interrupts her with a light tease in his tone. “You may have to wait for another time. It is his birthday, after all.”

“Pfft,” Olive blows out a dismissive breath that makes her lips vibrate. “Dad, you know how much Uncle Mycroft likes my updates.”

Sherlock inhales slowly as he quickly considers the truth of her statement. He tilts his head and nods, his lips pressed together and brows arched.

“We’re here!” Olive squeals suddenly as the car comes to a stop in front of a very stylish 19th century building. The little girl throws open the door and leaps out of the backseat, making a b-line for the front door. She has barely taken her fingertip off the bell before the door opens and she dashes inside to find her uncles.

Sherlock follows at a more leisurely pace, making his way to the kitchen. He knows the two men will be there preparing lunch for four together. John’s face invades his thoughts again as he walks. He has more grey than Sherlock remembers, but the blonde is still more prominent. John would disagree, no doubt, but it suits him. He looks very dignified, which is a good look for a doctor. John looks good in general. He is still fit, his eyes still bright and clear, and still the eye-catching blue Sherlock saw in his dreams for years after John left. There are a few additional lines around them, but they are still gorgeous and so is John. God, how Sherlock has missed him and in so many ways.

Finally reaching the kitchen, Sherlock pushes the swinging door open and is greeted by a sight that warms his heart every time, in spite of Mycroft being one of its major players. As per usual, Olive ran headlong into the room and jumped into her uncle’s arms. The result is a penny-clad Mycroft holding her off the ground in a tight embrace as she hugs him to within an inch of his life. Sherlock has to admit he could never imagine his brother as an uncle and certainly not a good one, but Mycroft has adored Olive and his role in her life from the day she was born. The man certainly has changed. Of course, having a lighthearted partner has helped considerably.

“There he is,” Greg Lestrade says loudly with a smile on his face. Olive twists around to look at her father, eyes sparkling silver.

“I told you he wasn’t far behind,” she beams as Greg approaches the detective, reaching for the cake holder in his hands. She turns to Mycroft and tilts her chin up proudly. “I put the icing on your cake myself, Uncle Mycroft. I even tubed happy birthday on it.”

“Piped, sweetie,” Sherlock corrects her as Greg takes the covered container with a hello and a ta. The detective trails behind and places the two bags he is holding on the table against the wall. Greg looks up after depositing the cake on the same table.

“You did?” Mycroft asks with as sincere a smile as he will ever have. “Thank you, my sweet. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Daddy says we have to wait until after lunch,” Olive states in a serious tone laced with excited energy.

“He’s right, you know,” Mycroft says, lightly touching her nose.

“What?” Sherlock cocks his head, wearing an expression of mock surprise. “Would you mind repeating that? Greg, where’s your mobile? I want this documented.”

“You are entertaining as ever, brother mine,” Mycroft says wryly as he returns Olive’s feet to the ground. “Come on, Olive, you can help me check the ham.”

“Can I wear the oven mitts?” she bubbles on the way to the oven.

“Of course,” Mycroft says, motioning for her to hold up her hands like a doctor who has just scrubbed in for surgery. He puts one large mitt over her right hand and another on the left, then tugs on his own and adopts a similar posture. “Ready?”

“Ready and waiting,” Olive replies. Mycroft picks up a meat thermometer and hands it to her. They nod once at one another and bend down to open the oven door and peer inside.

Greg and Sherlock can neither one stifle their chuckles as they watch. After eight years, Sherlock can still scarcely believe it. He turns back to Greg in another minute, observes the man’s curious expression and cocks a brow.

“What’s all this then?” Greg motions toward the bags. 

“Olive insisted we bring gifts and candles,” Sherlock tells him and Greg begins to laugh. “I told her fire alarms may sound if we actually light 59 candles, so we agreed the orange ones represent ten candles each.”

“Fantastic,” Greg laughs, patting Sherlock’s shoulder with one hand. Meanwhile, Mycroft gives his baby brother a perturbed look that vanishes as soon as Olive asks if she can fill everyone’s glasses with ice and water in the last few minutes before the ham is finished. She goes to the freezer as Mycroft fills a pitcher and they both push through the swinging door to the dining room. Greg drops the smile as soon as they are out the door and fixes Sherlock with a serious gaze that genuinely startles the detective, but cocking his brow again is the only hint of the emotion.

“So you saw him,” Greg says without preamble. It is not a question and confirms what Sherlock has suspected since the moment he laid eyes on John Watson in Regents.

“Why?” Sherlock snarls. He might have saved his ire for Mycroft alone, but Greg going in on the deception stings and more than a little. The CDI glances toward the door and squares his shoulders with Sherlock’s, looking into the detective’s death glare without wavering.

“I didn’t know until last night,” Greg’s tone is urgent and in much the same style it is on a crime scene. “Myc told me when he got home. How are you?”

“Why?” Sherlock repeats with no less anger.

“He thought it best you not know,” Greg tells him with a shrug that is somewhere between apologetic and my life partner is an idiot, “but knew he couldn’t keep the secret once Gracie turned up in Olive’s class.”

Sherlock is silent. His anger does not lessen, but Greg no longer shares its focus. That honor belongs to his brother alone once more. Greg eyes his glowering face and shifts his weight back for a better view of Sherlock’s body language. What greets him are muscles stiff with fury and a clenched jaw. Sherlock has told Mycroft many times what will happen if he continues his attempts to control Sherlock’s life. Obviously, Sherlock has not yet made his position clear.

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” Greg cringes, watching the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw work.

“Yes,” Sherlock glares, not mincing words. Greg squares his broad shoulders and raises his hands, palms out.

“Okay, but let him explain why,” he begins.

“You told me why,” Sherlock snaps, growing tired of the conversation. He blows out a petulant breath and straightens his spine to stand at his full height. For all his posturing, Greg does not even seem to notice. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t say anything about his reasoning,” Greg presses. Sherlock fixes him with narrowed eyes and a look that screams ‘You must be kidding’.

“His reasoning,” Sherlock repeats, annoyed and incredulous. “Oh, for god sake.”

“You’ll want to know what it is,” Greg says lightly, arching his brows. “It makes sense. Well, by his way of thinking.”

Sherlock’s whole face drops into an expression of indignance that says it all.

“I’m not saying I agree with him, or that he isn’t being an ass AGAIN,” Greg admits with a shrug of his shoulder, “but it makes sense. To his…”

“Way of thinking, yes,” Sherlock finishes with a growl. He opens his mouth to launch into a tirade on his brother’s incessant interference when Olive suddenly bursts through the swinging door, followed by the man himself. If Mycroft notices the tension in the air, or Sherlock’s thunderous expression, he does not show it as he and Olive walk straight to the oven.

“It is definitely ready to come out now,” Mycroft is saying while putting oven mitts on Olive again, one by one. “We’ll take it out and transfer it to the platter. Then I’ll slice it while you hold it steady with this.”

He holds up a long, two-pronged meat fork and Olive’s eyes go wide. She nods enthusiastically, chanting ‘yes, yes, yes’ and hops from one foot to the other.

Sherlock and Greg break away, taking side dishes and rolls into the dining room. Within minutes, the four of them are seated at the table and passing around food. Sherlock pushes down his anger and engages in comfortable conversation with the others, although Olive does most of the talking. She answers her uncles’ inquiries about school and the most recent experiment she and Sherlock have done. She tells them about the seeds they planted in a window box they had just installed in the kitchen as part of a science unit, but she mostly talks about Gracie and all of the things they do together.

“Wow,” Greg leans back in his chair, slightly pushing away his plate. “She sounds like quite a best friend. Almost like the perfect one for you.”

Greg turns his head slowly and stops on Sherlock with a pointed expression. The detective meets his gaze and gives a nearly imperceptible twitch of his head in response. Mycroft does not so much as glance at Sherlock, just as he has done throughout the meal. It isn’t that he is avoiding Sherlock’s eyes and with it, his ire, he merely knows his little brother and his “moods” well enough to wait for the appropriate time and place. In the past, Sherlock would have been more than happy to press the issue no matter who was in the room, if for no other reason than to humiliate Mycroft, but not now. Not with an excited child in the seat next to him and especially not on his brother’s birthday when said child is practically falling out of her chair from fidgeting for cake, songs, crackers and presents. 

“She certainly does,” Mycroft says in his usual tone. It sounds condescending when he speaks to Sherlock, but is fond and pleasant when addressing Olive. “You two have so much in common. Have you had your playdate yet?”

His voice rises at the question, but in the way he uses only when he already knows the answer and is actually prodding Sherlock. The detective blinks slowly, not rising to the bait as Mycroft finally glances his way with a knowing expression. Damn him.

“Not yet, but we’re working on it,” Olive replies with a significant nod and raised brows. She tries to wink at him, but only succeeds in contorting her face and deliberately blinking both eyes very slowly. Greg just stifles a laugh, but cannot hide the grin on his face. He clears his throat to cover and begins to rise while reaching for his plate. 

“Why don’t we get the cake, Olive?” he suggests. “You can put all the candles on.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Olive chants, jumping out of her seat. She grabs her own empty plate and turns to Sherlock. “Can I take yours, Dad?”

“Yes. Thank you, sweetie,” he hands it to her and she follows Greg through the swinging door. Sherlock inhales deeply, gathering himself so his annoyance does not spill forth now that he and Mycroft are alone. He lets his gaze slide over to his brother, who is already watching him expectantly with narrowed eyes. Sherlock looks at him coolly and says nothing. They can hear Olive and Greg giggling in the kitchen as they ready the cake and dessert plates. Mycroft keeps his eyes trained on Sherlock, waiting for an insult or snide question. The detective’s face remains neutral as he continues to sit in silence. He will not give Mycroft the easy out of beginning this conversation with a fight, not to mention he has no intention of starting something Olive could walk in on.

Mycroft finally sighs loudly and shifts in his seat to lean forward, resting his forearms on the table. Sherlock cocks a brow and narrows his eyes, lips pressing together in a thin line.

“Sherlock,” the elder Holmes’ tone is back to condescension. 

“No,” Sherlock’s hand shoots up with the command. Mycroft’s brows arch in response. He looks as though he might try to continue speaking, so Sherlock pins him with a glare that demands Mycroft keep his mouth shut. Nevertheless, he parts his pursed lips and draws a breath.

The swinging door flies open as Olive and Greg burst in.

“Happy Birthday, Uncle Mycroft!” they cry together with big grins on their faces. Greg carries the cake, complete with burning candles and Olive holds a tray with a stack of four shallow bowls, spoons and a container of vanilla ice cream. Before either Holmes can react, the merry duo is singing Happy Birthday and placing their wares in front of Mycroft. Sherlock does not join in, but they don’t seem to notice.

“Blow out the candles,” Olive exclaims as soon as the song is over. “Wait, wait! Make a wish.”

Mycroft blows out the breath he sucked in noisily for show and makes quick work of the tiny flames. Olive cheers and claps while Greg leans down and drops a quick kiss to Mycroft’s lips.

“Happy Birthday, love,” he murmurs, his gaze soft.

“I want to pull off the candles,” Olive declares, climbing onto her chair and sitting on her knees for more height. She yanks one out of the icing immediately and places it on the tray at Greg’s direction. Once she is finished and licking icing off her fingers, Greg cuts a piece for each of them. Mycroft gets the first one, but he waits until everyone has been served before his first bite.

“Oh, Olive, this is delicious,” Mycroft smiles at her grin and bright eyes. She shoves her own fork in her mouth and chews. “You and Sherlock really have outdone yourselves.”

Sherlock bristles at the sound of his name on Mycroft’s lips. He ignores his brother’s attempts to draw him in, unsure he will be able to keep the anger from his tone, and eats in silence.

“Thanks,” Olive beams, taking another bite. “I know how much you love chocolate cake and Daddy suggested the icing.”

“Did he?” Mycroft’s gaze turns to Sherlock. The elder watches carefully as his brother makes every effort to maintain a mask of indifference. “How nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Olive inhales the last of her cake and drops her fork on the table. Still sitting on her knees, she hops a little as she watches her uncle daintily slip his from between his lips. “I want to give you my present! Did you get any presents yet?”

Olive shifts her dancing eyes to Greg, who promptly grins like an idiot and glances at Mycroft. Sherlock shifts in his seat uncomfortably as he analyses the expression. Greg ducks his chin down and gives a slight shake of his head, along with a quiet laugh. He appears almost bashful. Oh, god.

Sherlock can barely hold in a disgruntled huff. He is not a prude by any stretch of the mind. In spite of what Mycroft may think, sex does not alarm him. However, that still does not mean he wants to know anything about what happens in his brother’s bedroom.

“As a matter of fact, Greg gave me his present this morning,” Mycroft smiles sweetly at his partner. It is an expression Sherlock never thought he would see on his brother’s face, but seemed instantly natural once he and Greg began dating. Mycroft is still sharp as ever, especially on the job, but Greg smoothed out a lot of the edges in his personal life. Greg had even helped mend fences for the Holmes brothers, a daunting task if ever there was one. He is the other reason Mycroft has become more tolerable.

Sherlock brings his glass to his lips for a drink as he considers his friend, a man he took for an ordinary idiot when they first met, and lets out an amused breath through his nose at how far they have all come since then.

“You mean like sex?” Olive’s voice asks and Sherlock spits his water onto his own cake, fortunately missing anything of consequence. Everyone stares and Olive jumps off her seat with a start. Sherlock grabs a napkin and dabs at all of the droplets he can see on the table around him, mumbling apologies until Greg finally catches his hand to still it.

“It’s okay,” Greg tells him. “No worries.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen at the softness on his friend’s face and immediately dart to Mycroft’s left hand. No ring. That doesn’t make sense. He glances at the pockets in Mycroft’s waistcoat and sees the slight bulge of a small box. There it is. He leans back in his chair and extricates his hand from Greg’s, setting aside the napkin as he moves. 

“I see congratulations are in order,” Sherlock remarks. Greg’s eyes brighten and he claps the detective’s arm.

“I knew we couldn’t hide it for long,” the CDI laughs. “Thanks, mate.”

“Brother,” Mycroft nods somewhat smugly, no doubt because it remained a secret for as long as it did.

“What?” Olive asks as her gaze shifts from one man to another. “What’s going on?”

She puts her hands on her hips and stamps a foot when no one answers, her brows knitting on her wrinkled forehead. Taking pity, Mycroft turns toward her and fishes the box out of his pocket. He holds it out to the girl, who is frozen where she stands, face lit up like it is Christmas. Her palms fly to rest on either side of her face, pushing together until her lips are bunched up comically in between them.

“Actually, he gave me this,” Mycroft says in a tone of quiet anticipation. Olive reaches for the box inquisitively and takes it only when her uncle nods his approval. She pops open the lid as soon as it is in her little hands and gasps loudly at the simple platinum band. 

“It’s perfect!” she squeals, jumping up and down. She thrusts it back at Mycroft, still hopping wildly. “Put it on. Put it on!”

All three men are laughing at this point, Olive’s glee filling the room with light and energy. Mycroft takes the ring from the box and slides it delicately onto his long finger where it rests comfortably like it was always meant to be there. Olive yelps happily and leaps into his arms.

“I’m so happy for you!” she cries and turns to Greg, not loosening her grasp on her uncle. “And you too, Uncle Greg!”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Greg answers, reaching for Mycroft’s shoulder and touching it warmly.

“I want to be in the wedding!” Olive nearly shouts. “Can I be in the wedding?”

“Of course you can,” Mycroft assures her with an uncharacteristic grin, “and you can even pick out the dress.”

“With ruffles?” Olive gasps, hands covering her mouth.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yahoo!” Olive is off his lap in a second and dancing around the room. Greg and Sherlock laugh as they watch her twirl and spring from one spot to another. 

“We were actually hoping someone else would be in it too,” Mycroft says guardedly, eyeing his baby brother. Sherlock’s smile falls instantly and he freezes in place with his gaze on the elder. “Would you stand up for me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock does not even twitch with an answer. Even Mycroft, with all his secrets and intelligence, seldom surprises the detective, but at this moment, he is speechless. Nevermind he had not expected his brother to ever marry. Hell, he honestly never thought Mycroft would fall in love. Sentiment is a weakness and all that, but the last few years with Greg had certainly changed Mycroft’s opinion on that. This though. This implied his feelings toward Sherlock had changed as well. He had always claimed his meddling was out of concern and Sherlock had seen it for the lie it was, but now. The possibility seemed impossible, even with the evidence right before his eyes.

“Yes, Daddy, you have to!” Olive runs for her father and dives into his lap. Sherlock’s heavy limbs catch her clumsily as she wraps her arms around his neck. “You can wear one of those tax-idoes and stand next to Uncle Myc and I’ll stand next to you. We’ll be beautiful.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies slowly, not wanting to spoil her mood with his true answer, “it will be lovely.”

“Yay!” comes her cheer, only to be silenced with another gasp. “My present. You have to open my present!”

Olive gestures toward Mycroft as she runs out of the room, dodging furniture and throwing the door open. She pops back into view as it swings back into the dining room, a twelve by fourteen inch box in her hands that is wrapped in paper covered with brightly colored balloons.

“I wrapped it myself,” she says proudly, straightening up tall. “Daddy only gave me the pieces of tape this year.”

“My, my. You are growing up, aren’t you?” Mycroft says in admiration and takes the box when she thrusts it at him. 

“Go on,” she flashes a toothy grin, minus the one she lost the week before. “Open it.”

Mycroft smiles mischievously, throwing a glance at Greg and Sherlock, and tearing at the paper. He used to open packages carefully, sliding his fingers along the tape, but Olive made it clear the practice was unacceptable when she was four. 

With the paper gone, Mycroft opens the box and pulls a tall cylinder with sticks glued around its outer surface. The sticks are clearly ordinary twigs one might find on the ground, but each one has been relieved of its bark and stained a lovely medium brown. They are cut to the size of the cylinder, which is actually more of a glass, and glued on vertically so no part of the glass shows through. Small knots are visible on some of them, but the quality of work cannot be denied. Surprise showing on his face, Mycroft looks over the table to Sherlock and then to his niece. 

“It’s a pencil holder,” Olive tells him with pride in her voice. “You always have so many laying around on your desk.”

“Yes, I do,” Mycroft replies airily. “It’s beautiful, Olive. It really is. You made this yourself?”

“Dad helped,” she answers. “We collected the sticks in the park and he showed me how to make them pretty.”

“Well, you have done excellent work, my dear,” Mycroft pulls her close to kiss her forehead. “I love it.”

“There’s more,” Olive hops a little at his side.

He puts the pencil holder on the table and fishes into the box again, pulling out a drawing of three men and a little girl standing around a table with a cake sitting in its center. The cake is brown for chocolate icing and absolutely covered in candles. A few even stick out from its sides and every one of their tops is colored with orange marker. Mycroft can easily tell which man is which by the clothing and can’t help the small smile forming on his lips. His character wears a waistcoat with matching pants, Greg’s has a dark green shirt with short sleeves and blue pants, and Sherlock simply wears his signature long, dark coat. That is what tickles Mycroft the most. He turns to look at the little girl again.

“It’s us celebrating your birthday,” Olives says and points out who everyone is. She points to the cake too. “There’s 59 candles on it. That’s what I wanted it to look like, but Dad said we had to pretend some of the candles were really ten candles instead. I still think this is better.”

“Be that as it may, I think I agree with your father,” Mycroft remarks pleasantly, in spite of her frown. He hands the paper over to Greg who laughs heartily.

“It’s perfect,” Greg agrees. “You have your dad’s coat and hair down to a science.”

“Thanks,” Olive rushes over to hug him.

“And what’s this?” Mycroft asks, pulling what looks like a brown tail cut out of paper. Olive scurries back to his side and starts pulling out more. Mycroft has a blue scarf in one hand that is twisted into a long coil like a blindfold. With an uncertain look on his face, he directs his attention to Olive, who holds up a paper with a brown horse drawn on it in crayon. 

“It’s a game. Pin the tail on the donkey,” Olive explains happily. “People play it at parties. We can all play. I made lots of tails.”

Everyone is still for a moment. Mycroft’s eyes find Sherlock’s and broadcast the need for a conversation before Olive gets too carried away. Sherlock’s face hardens, but he makes no other movement.

Greg, ever the peacekeeper, is the first to move when he rises from his chair and takes the box from Mycroft.

“Let’s put all the bits in here,” Greg begins collecting tails. “You and I can set it up in the lounge, so these two can talk for a minute.”

“Aw, but I wanted all of us to play,” Olive whinges.

“Olivia,” Sherlock begins in a stern voice, but Greg cuts him off.

“We will. Uncle Myc and your dad just need a minute,” Greg takes her hand and starts leading her to the door opposite the swinging kitchen one. He leans over slightly to speak in a fake whisper. “We’ll play once or twice and have the advantage.”

Olive inhales quietly through her mouth and looks back at the Holmeses with shifty eyes. She presses her lips together as if trying to make sure she doesn’t spill the beans and give away their conspiracy.

“We’ll be right in there,” she points to the door and what lies beyond, “just setting up, but NOT playing.”

Sherlock and Mycroft both raise a skeptical brow in unison. Olive giggles, not trying to hide her intentions in the slightest, and looks back at Greg. He flashes a knowing smile at the brothers and steers Olive to the door again.

“Come on. They won’t know what hit them,” he and Olive chuckle together as they pass through the door and out of the room.

Not looking at his brother, Sherlock’s face hardens immediately and he lifts his chin defiantly. The fury fueled by Mycroft’s attempts to hide John from him boils to the surface quickly. The detective parts his lips as he chooses from the words running through his mind. How he has tired of Mycroft’s need to control his life, to “protect” him. He has a tolerance for it no longer.

“You have questions,” Mycroft states in his damned, know-it-all voice. Sherlock inhales sharply and bites off the urge to curse.

“One,” he replies in an even, but strained tone. “Why?”

There is a moment of silence. Enough that Sherlock turns his head to look at his brother. The elder’s eyes are dull and his face bland. 

“I thought that rather obvious, don’t you?” is Mycroft’s only response. 

“You have let me be for years,” Sherlock ignores his words. Growing more and more angry at Mycroft’s carelessness in shattering the peace between them. Of course, he is just as frustrated with himself. Sherlock had been a fool and should have known Mycroft would jump at the chance when the right situation presented itself. Old habits are hard to break and meddling in Sherlock’s life is as central to Mycroft as his nervous system.

“John Watson has stumbled into your path again,” Mycroft’s voice is stern and commanding. Sherlock recognizes it from when he has issued orders to underlings and it makes the detective’s blood heat within his veins. “Even more dangerous than the last time.”

“Dangerous?” Sherlock barks furiously. “I put him in danger. It was not reciprocal.”

“We both know that’s not quite true,” Mycroft says quietly, purposefully. Sherlock nearly flinches at those words. The words of his mortal enemy that had so opened his eyes.

“You bastard,” Sherlock’s voice is hoarse with emotion. He wants to rise, punch Mycroft right in his smug mouth and stalk out of the room, but cannot make his body listen to the signals from his brain. A wave of frustration washing over him, Sherlock tries to gather himself. He pushes out everything other than his anger with Mycroft, but his efforts are derailed completely by his brother’s next words.

“You love him,” Mycroft’s face is stony. “You did then and you jumped off a building. You still do now. You always have.”

Sherlock stares blankly. His lips part with no words, his mind racing.

“But Olive needs you now,” Mycroft continues, his tone growing more forceful. “You do not have the liberty of giving up everything for him again, should the need arise. I thought it best he not be a part of your life.”

“And then Gracie met Olive,” Sherlock says in barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Mycroft murmurs. “It was a possibility I had not considered. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock straightens, rising from his chair. He walks to the window and looks out, seeing nothing but a pair of blue eyes. “John wants nothing to do with me. He won’t even let Gracie come for a playdate.”

“I can’t believe that won’t change soon enough, Sherlock,” Mycroft tells him doubtfully. Sherlock rounds on him and clenches his fists at his sides.

“What would you have me do?” the detective demands. “I will never shut him out. I did that once and it cost me everything.”

Mycroft looks into his brother’s determined grey eyes and sighs.

“Be careful, brother mine,” he says in a sage tone. “Guard your heart. Let me help when you need it. Please.”

Sherlock notices Mycroft said when and not if, but chooses not to comment. That conversation is not one he wants to have now. Instead, Sherlock merely fixes him with sharp eyes and nods once.

---

I had a lot of fun with this chapter! The image of Mycroft interacting with Olive in exactly this way fills me with such happiness. Olive holding her hands up for the mitts like a scrubbed-up surgeon and Mycroft playing right along tickles me. And then there’s Greg's line "You're going to kill him, aren't you?" as he cringes at Sherlock - I can see the actors playing this scene to perfection! Lol. I hope it gave you as much pleasure as it did me.

Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

[libsterslobsters]

I'm Gonna Crawl: Post 2

Post 1

Summary: Five years. That's how long the reader and Bucky have been apart (although for him, it was only five minutes) Now with Thanos defeated and both of them taking up the mantle of Avengers, can their relationship return to what it was? Or will they have to discover a new normal?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! super-soldier! Reader (Reader can see pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language, smut (IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN, DON'T READ!!!)

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One of the perks of being “enhanced” or in this case, a super soldier, is that you heal quickly. Within seventy-two hours, the bullet wound in his leg (not to mention the cut and black eye he sustained from several sharp blows to the face) and her matching one in the shoulder are almost completely healed, only a vague pink mark to show they were ever injured. The downside is-

“Do you want to punch sandbags until they fly off the hook, or run thirty miles around the compound first? I’ll start with whichever you don’t pick.” -they’re back to training as well.

He almost answers that he really doesn’t want to do either, it’s Sunday morning, for fuck’s sake, but it’s not like this is her first choice for what she could be doing this morning either, so he goes with-

“Punching things first. Think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, so I’d best get it out of my system.” She nods and, squeezing his arm, takes off at a jog.

“See you on the other side.”

His instinct is to tell her to take it easy, she lost a lot of blood the other day and who knows if there’s been some bone or muscular damage that hasn’t quite fixed itself yet, but again, he swallows it down and focuses on the task at hand. Namely, taking out his bad mood on a punching bag.

Usually, when his body is in motion, his mind is at least somewhat at rest, but this time around, the exertion is just adding fuel to the flames. He’s too pissed off to just zone out and concentrate on hitting the target, still too busy trying to process what the hell happened three nights ago.

It was their first mission together. She’s been on a few separate from him, and he and Sam get called out together on the regular. Stupidly, he assumed that, since her specialty is translating or gathering intel, maybe being the little voice in someone’s ear to direct them through a maze of assailants and twisting corridors her visions had allowed her a glimpse of ahead of time, she’d be out of the line of fire. At the very least, most of the attention would be on him and Sam. But no, she was the bogey. She drew fire while he waltzed through a military fortress, recapturing stolen tech. When Rhodey so much as mentioned that possibility, he should’ve told him no, hard no. If anyone’s drawing fire, it’s him. Still, in his arrogance, he assumed it wouldn’t come to that extreme. Sam’s good at his job, and as much as he hates the reason behind it, so is he. They should’ve been able to hold the line without her painting a target on her back.

That, of course leads to yet another issue. He’s also pissed at himself for instinctively seeing her as more fragile, something that needs to be protected. Even before the same chemicals running through his veins infected her, she’d proven that she’s a damn capable person. He knows that she’s smart, both strategically and academically. Add onto that the fact that she’s fast and strong, not to mention she has visions (less than helpful ones most of the time, but they have their moments), and she’s a powerful ally. He certainly wouldn’t want to be on her bad side. And yet, when he saw that she’d been hit, his mind completely emptied. He wouldn’t have been able to remember which end of a gun to use if his life depended on it, because all he could think was, “Oh god. She’s hurt.” It’s old-fashioned, outdated. He should be past this mindset, at least when it comes to work. Out there, she’s his fellow soldier, not the woman he lies awake next to in bed, sometimes for hours, just to listen to her breath and know he’s not alone. Did Steve ever put Peggy in that box, he wonders? No, of course not, because Steve’s a better man than he ever was or will ever be. So yeah, he’s pissed off at himself.

And finally, although he can barely admit it to his own mind, he’s pissed off at her. Logically he knows it’s mostly fear, some primal instinct to protect what’s his, but every time he imagines her being shot, having a bullet pass by her lungs and arteries by a very narrow margin, and then telling Sam not to let him know that she was hit, it irks him. Did she think he’d come unhinged? Screw up? Or is she stuck in the mindset she seems to have adopted as a response to the last five years of “Screw looking after myself. It doesn’t matter.” A small part of him realizes that he didn’t call in either when he took a bullet, but that’s him! And, now he’s circling back to guilt for treating her like she’s weak.

All in all, he’s so damn furious that he doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until she grabs hold of his arm just as he goes to swing again.

“Jesus, Bucky. I know you’re grouchy, but don’t you think destroying five punching bags in thirty minutes is enough? Save some aggression for the run.”

He looks up to tell her something (I’m sorry? Damn right I’m grouchy? Let me take you home and wrap you in blankets so that nothing will ever hurt you again?) and catches sight of her sweat-soaked face. He hates how far she takes things with the running. It’s like she’s trying to see what the limits are, how much she can punish her body before it gives out and she drops. That’s what it was in the very beginning after the snap. She’s told him that. Now he wonders if she’s really as recovered from everything that’s happened as she claims.

“Have you had anything to drink? Water, or-” She groans and reaches to detach the punching bag (there’s a decent sized rip in it where he was hitting it over and over), making her shirt ride up. Her clothes were already so tight that just seeing her out of the corner of his eye was making it hard to think, but now they’re completely adhered to her in a way that’s nearly obscene thanks to all the sweat. Dammit. Think about something else. He needs to think about something else.

“Yes, I’m on my second water bottle, thank you Barnes. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Just self-destructive.” It slips out before he can stuff it down. Her mouth falls open in shock momentarily, but then she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eyes.

“You’re one to talk. Always running straight towards the fire instead of putting it out first.”

“That’s my job.”

“It’s your hangup.” She laughs bitterly. “Bucky Barnes, the big, bad Winter Soldier. You’ve decided you’re so fucked up that the only way you can make amends is to run headlong towards whatever’s trying to kill you, without backup I might add, and keep to your mission no matter what your personal damage is.”

“Says the woman who took a bullet and stopped Sam from announcing that you’re hit.” They’re teetering closer and closer to a fight with every nearly snarled word, but he’s powerless to stop it. In fact, he’s ready to go. Have it out. But not right now, because-

“Hey.” He catches her arm just as she starts to hoist another punching bag onto the hook. “Be careful! You’re still healing.” -she’s hellbent on hurting herself. Again.

She whirls around as if he’s slapped her.

“Oh my god. You have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop treating me like I’m going to break!” Her voice is shrill, rising higher and higher with each syllable. “I love you, but you are driving me insane. I am not your child-”

“No, you’re the person I want to marry!” He takes a deep breath, preparing to follow up with, “-and you keep acting like you have a death wish”, but before he can-

“You won’t even fuck me anymore!” Immediately, her eyes go wide and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

If her declaration surprised her, it absolutely stunned him so, not quite sure what else to do, he takes a few steps back and sits down. A few seconds pass before she approaches and, with a heavy sigh, sinks down next to him.

“Bucky, I am so sorry. I don’t know where any of this is coming from-”

“I think you do, Doll.” Her eyes dart nervously between his face and the floor. On instinct, he reaches over and takes her hand. “And so do I.” He takes a few moments to rearrange his thoughts before pushing ahead. “A lot has changed since-”

“The world ended. We lost. And then we won.” He nods.

“Yeah, and I don’t think either of us have quite wrapped our heads around it. I know I haven’t.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then, voice trembling, she tells him,

“After you went away, I was completely lost. Didn’t know why I had to stay. What kind of cruel trick is it, just when everything was starting to go right-” He finally had the poison of HYDRA sucked out of him, she’d found a safe place where she didn’t have to run and hide because of something she was born with, he’d worked up the nerve to ask her if she’d maybe one day be his wife. “-and then it’s wiped out? You finally went somewhere I couldn’t follow.” He still can’t imagine what those five years must’ve been like, not just for her, but everyone else who survived the snap. “I didn’t want to keep going. But I had to.” She chuckles. “Steve wouldn’t let me throw in the towel.”

A smile forms on his own face. “Yeah, he had a habit of doing that.”

“I guess…” She sighs. “I don’t know. I got harder, rougher around the edges. I thought I could just go back to normal once everyone came back-”

“But old habits die hard.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“Yeah, and as much as I chip away at it, I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to who I was before.”

“You won’t.” She peers up at him, eyes wide in shock, maybe a hint of sadness. “I can tell you that right now from experience. You won’t go back, but-” He’s had a lot of time to consider this, so he can say it and absolutely believe it. “-I love the girl that’s here now. She’s pretty amazing, rough edges and all.”

She’s sitting so close. He could pull her into his lap, just hold her for a minute. So, that’s what he does, and just like the first time, they fit together perfectly, like she was made to fit in his arms, or maybe he was made to hold her. Either way, it leaves no doubt in his mind that they belong together.

“You changed. Everyone does. You got stronger and tougher, because that’s who you had to be. And I wasn’t there to change with you.” He can feel her shoulders shake, and even though she’s facing away from him, he knows she’s fighting back tears. “But I’m gonna catch up. It’s just taking me a while to get it through my thick skull that my girl’s a badass, and I need to ease off the bodyguard routine a little.” There. That’s more like it. A laugh, even if it’s a small one. “I just worry about you, is all. I don’t know how to stop it, and I’m not sure I can, but I’m working on it.”

“I worry about you too, you know.” She sniffs, swiping at her nose with her hand. “I’m fucking terrified because, now that I’m like you, I know what your limits are. I’m scared you’ll forget them, or you’ll ignore them because you’re trying to be a good man.” She cranes her head, meeting his gaze. “But you are a good man, Bucky Barnes. You never stopped being one, no matter what you think.”

“I think your picture of me might be more flattering than who I really am.”

“Shut up.” She presses her palm over his mouth. “I have visions, so seeing is never my problem. And it’s not the way I’m picturing you. We’ve known each other long enough for the shine to wear off.” Never. It’ll never be possible for him to know her so long that she’s not absolutely golden from where he’s standing. “It’s who you’ve shown me you are. And if the rest of the world doesn’t see it, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

He’s not sure if he buys all that, but it’s enough that she does. She sees him as that man, so he’ll try every day of his life to be just that.

“Come on.” Gently pushing her off of him, he stands and offers her his hand. “That’s enough training for today. We’re still wounded.”

She chuckles. “Is that your excuse for calling it early?”

He nods, barely suppressing a grin. “That, and you’ve gotta change into something that doesn’t fit you like a second skin before my brain permanently short-circuits.”

“Showers, then?”

“Showers.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

The compound sustained heavy damage thanks to Thanos crashing a ship into it, but in the past few months (helped along by Pepper’s billions and the entire galaxy’s appreciation towards the Avengers in equal parts), enough repairs have been done to make it partially usable. In this case, the locker room. Just the one, though. Which, of course means co-ed showers.

She won’t admit it, but she’s particularly appreciative of that little detail today. As she circled the compound on her last lap, she saw that the only two cars there are hers and Barnes. They’re the only two people here, and she fully intends to use that to her advantage.

“Join me? I don’t want to overextend my shoulder trying to wash my hair or back.” It’s a blatant lie, and from his expression, she can tell that he knows it too. But, he nods.

“Yeah, doll. I can do that.” Part one of the plan has been executed beautifully. Onward to part two.

She purposely leaves the travel sized bottles of shampoo and body wash on the floor so that, after rinsing off for far longer than is really necessary, she has to bend over to retrieve them. If it weren’t for her enhanced hearing, she’d completely miss the sharp intake of breath in response to her little show, but she catches it and can’t help grinning to herself. Part two: get him as worked up as she is. So far, so good.

The feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, working the shampoo through her hair, is almost enough to make her forget that she’s a woman on a mission. Almost. As soon as she’s rinsed the soap out of her face, she turns to him.

“Your turn. Bend.” It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and as always, she has to fight back a laugh as he inclines his head towards her, the entirety of his hair falling forward to cover his face. “This used to take a lot longer before you decided to chop it all off.” He chuckles, eyes closed against the soap.

“What can I say? Seventy-three years without a haircut is my limit.” She can’t blame him, and although it was a shock at first, she’s come to like this new look. It makes him look…younger, somehow. More boyish. Like his life hasn’t contained as many horrors as they both know full well it has.

“You checking for lice or something?”

“Huh?” That jerks her out of her sentimental daze. “Looks like you’re clear.”

There’s no way to put it politely. She’s straight up ogling him as he rinses off. Five damn years…

“Ready to get your back?” And, she just got caught staring.

“Sure.”

His hands are gentle, putting as little pressure on her injured shoulder as possible, growing firmer as they work down her back. She holds her breath as she feels his palms ghost over the swell of her ass, but then he’s back to safer territory. At least, that’s what she thinks until the metal arm snakes around her chest, just below her breasts, holding her in place. His free hand runs down from her sternum to her middle, stopping just above her hips, then- fuck. Nothing. He’s backing away.

“Do you need help with your legs?” No, what she needs help with is located between them. Suddenly, the shower feels far too hot, and she’s desperate to cool off.

“That’s okay.” Her voice is shaky, and she mentally berates herself as she steps under the spray, rinsing away the soap.

She’s not at all sure that her excuse for leaving the shower and going to towel off made any sense, but with a few feet between them, she’s able to breath again. Alright, scratch the whole “shower seduction” idea. It wasn’t that great to begin with. She gets him as hot and bothered as she is, and then what? Shower sex is a slippery affair, and plus there’s the height difference… in the steamed up mirror, she catches sight of him climbing out of the shower and toweling off. Fuck it. What does she have to lose?

“Come here.” As he turns around, she hops up on the counter top (thank fuck Stark went all out and got the sinks that can easily hold the weight of an adult), allowing her towel to slip further down her chest.

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit down to her cleavage before settling back on her face as he stands in front of her.

“Yeah, Doll?”

“Let me get your hair. You’ll never get it dry yourself.” She’s really running low on excuses, but if she plays her cards right, she won’t have to keep up this ruse for much longer.

“You know-” She murmurs against his ear as she starts working a towel over his tousled locks, “-if you don’t take me right now, I’m gonna be really offended.”

His head snaps up, and she nearly drops the towel.

“Well, I can’t let that happen, can I?”

She has a smart-ass remark all planned out, but then his lips are pressed against hers, hard, insistent, and her brain completely empties of anything other than pure need. She’s not completely sure how, but somehow the towel wrapped around her torso (it’s so short, it didn’t even cover her ass sitting down) disappears, leaving them chest to chest, both still slightly damp from the shower. On instinct, her legs wrap around his back, bringing them so close together she can feel his cock twitch against her thigh.

“The floor, or-” It’s murmured against her ear between nibbles.

“No. Here.” It’s all she can do to hold back a moan as his whole body rumbles with quiet laughter.

“Someone’s eager.”

She leans back far enough to peer into his eyes.

“And you’re not?” The response is a thumb against her clit, and she has to bite down hard on his shoulder to muffle a yelp.

“If I’d known you were ready, you wouldn’t have gotten any sleep for the past two months.” That would’ve been a very small price to pay.

Five years is a long time, and her body tenses up at the intrusion of his finger inside of her, but she immediately forces her muscles to relax, and within seconds, it’s all she can do not to writhe against him.

“That’s it. Relax. I’ll take care of you.” It’s a lost cause. This is going to be noisy. She hazily thinks to herself that it’s all his fault.

He’s always been one for foreplay, making sure she’ll be comfortable once they actually get around to the main event, but finally enough is enough and, reaching between them, she stills his wrist.

“Get inside me.”

“Are you sure? You’re still tight-” Disentangling one of her arms from around his neck, she gives his hair a sharp tug.

“I’m like you now, remember? You’re not going to break me.”

He pulls back from her, hesitating, eyes darting between her face and the door.

“What?”

“I don’t have-” Oh. She quickly runs the calculations in her head. Given which day of the month it is, the likelihood would be-

“It’ll be fine. Just pull out.” To her relief, he doesn’t argue.

Her breath catches as he pushes inside of her, and if the panting against her neck is anything to judge from, she’s not the only one affected.

“It’s been too damn long.” Despite the situation (or perhaps because of it), she laughs breathlessly.

“You think it’s been too long? Try five fucking years!” His laugh tickles her neck.

“You’re never gonna stop using that one, are you?”

“Nope. I think I’ve earned the right.” After all, he constantly reminds her that he had to wait 98 years to meet the love of his life, so fair is fair.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

“Sounds like you just set yourself a challenge.”

“Guess I’d better get to work then.” As he says it, he pulls nearly all the way out only to slam back in again.

It’s primal, the way their bodies move together, desperate for a connection that’s been missing for so long. There’s no room or need for words to be spoken; their gasped breaths and strangled moans say it all. His hand sneaks between them, toying with her nub, and that’s what sends her over the edge. It’s the tipping point for him too because, muffling his cries against her shoulder, he pulls out just in time.

“We shoulda done that before the shower.” She’s still gasping for breath, but it forces a laugh from her. He follows suit, offering her a spare towel to clean herself up.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Barnes.” He shoots her a questioning look as she hops down on shaky legs. “I thought it was good before, but damn.”

He laughs, pulling on his jeans. “I didn’t want to risk breaking the bed. I’m a gentleman like that.” She knows the real concern was her safety, but if she concentrates on that too hard, she’ll start going mushy, and in this instance, crying after sex seems like it would kill the mood.

“You know-” She pulls her t shirt over her head, not bothering with a bra. “-I never really liked the bed I have now anyway.” It’s also really too small for two full-grown adults to share comfortably.

Sliding his duffle bag over his shoulder, he takes her hand. “Then maybe we should go home? Give you an excuse to get a new one?” Before she can answer-

“Go home. Please, I’m begging you, for the love of god, go.” Her eyes dart towards the source of the noise. The door, or more specifically, the other side of it. “Hearing you and the bionic man fucking once was enough. I’m gonna shoot you both and then myself if I have to listen to round two.”

Bucky catches her eye and mouths “Oops!”, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“You know Sam, you could’ve just walked away. You didn’t have to wait outside the door like a creep.” She has to bite her fist to keep from laughing out loud.

“Yeah, trust me. I could hear you from all the way down the hall.”

“Sorry.” She gasps it out between bouts of laughter, and she must be pulling a funny face, because he snickers to.

“No, you’re not.” No, she really isn’t. Just that they got caught.

“We’re heading out. You’ve got the place to yourself.” Giving his hand a tug, she pulls open the door, revealing a flustered Sam.

“I hope you remembered to wipe down the counter, you nasties!”

As they make their way down the corridor, Bucky calls out,

“See you Monday?”

“Yeah. And you’d better be wearing pants!”

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Ch 1

Because I couldn't help myself. This was inspired by a piece of fanart i saw. This is also on AO3

After the events of the last week it felt strange to just go back to school like she hadn’t gone up against Belos and everyone hadn't seen her rescue Eda and escape from the Emperor's coven and petrification. 

It was weird, to say the least, but then again, there was never a day in the Boiling Isles that wasn't weird in some form or fashion if she were honest, she'd gotten pretty used to rolling with the punches in the last month though if she did say so herself. 

This was a little different of course.

Gus and Willow had come by the very next day to check on them and get the rest of the story they’d missed after they’d gone to get Eda.

She could tell that her friends were disappointed that she hadn't come to them or even talked to them about it before throwing herself headlong into danger as she had been want to do as of late, but she had already dragged them into this mess with her once and she’d decided that was to many times, especially now that she had a better idea of what kind of real danger the Emperor posed.

She'd managed to pull one over on him and prove he wasn't invincible, but she also knew he was just messing with her, despite her giving it her all and pulling some rather dangerous stunts to boot.

She couldn’t decide if she was becoming more reckless or if she always had been and the Isles just really brought it out in her what with all the… well, dangerous stuff. 

Eh, unimportant right now.

They decided it was probably better for Eda and Lillith to lay low for a while and stay inside the house for now, not draw any attention to themselves, difficult as that was for Eda. Lilith would help keep her wrangled, and maybe King.

Though he was just as likely to egg her on as anything else.

Since they weren’t leaving the house Eda couldn’t take her to school on Owlbert, so it was just her and her trusty legs walking to school that morning. She was a little nervous at the prospect of facing… well, everyone.

Everyone had seen her and as the only human on the Isles she wasn’t exactly hard to miss on a regular day much less when being broadcast by crystal ball to everyone.  

Her fingers played with the strap of her bag nervously. 

She met up with Willow halfway and some of her fears were temporarily relieved as they walked the rest of the way, chatting animatedly. She almost completely forgot about her worries until the school came into view and she could see all the students moving about outside and on the front steps. 

Her grip on her bag tightened again and her shoulders bunched up around her ears. 

“You ok?” Willow seemed to quickly pick up on her tenseness. 

“Yeah…,” she started slowly, eyes darting around the field out front of the school, no one seemed to even be looking at her, anymore than usual that is, even as they walked right up to the school steps where Gus was waiting for them, waving. “I guess I just thought… I dunno, that after what happened more people would be… talking about me?” She wasn’t really sure what she had been expecting.

“Well, you had your cloak up the entire time and the Emperor did say the titan told him to free Eda, so you’d be included in that.” Gus shrugged. 

"Gus and I recognized you, but we're together all the time too," Willow added.

“Yeah, I guess…” She wouldn’t say she was disappointed by the lack of attention, it was just so, anticlimactic she supposed. Luz didn’t mind being in the spotlight, but she didn’t actively seek it either. 

The bell screamed its first warning toll and all the kids roaming around outside the school began making their way inside.

“See you guys later!” Luz waved as Gus and Willow headed off to their perspective classes, waving to her over their shoulders as they disappeared in the crowd of students.

Tapping a finger against her cheek she had to think for a moment to remember what track classes she had today. There wasn’t enough time in the day for her to take all nine tracks a day so it had to be split over the five weekdays. 

It was Monday, so she had beast keeping and potions. She grinned at the thought. She loved learning about all the tracks, but beast keeping was especially fun.

She never got to practice manticore taming or griffin riding back home after all!

She paused mid-step.

Home

The thought made her frown but she tried to shake off the heavy feeling that had settled over her, there was no point in moping about it right now. She did what she had to do, for the good of everyone… and it was her fault that they had been put in that situation to start with, it was only right that she fix it.

Eda was already looking into it but there were other things going on that needed her attention to, and that was fine! Luz knew what she was doing when she’d done it. 

She guessed these were just the consequences of her actions catching up to her that her mom had always been warning her about. Maybe now she’d start learning to look before she leaped.  

She had started back toward the steps only to be stopped again.

“Luz!?” 

She immediately recognized that voice as she turned around to come face to face with Amity as she jogged up to the steps, her abomination trailing behind her as it carried her books. She stopped a few feet from her. 

“Hey Amity! You're out of your cast!” Luz grinned at the sight of her friend finally out of bed and back at school.

“Huh? Oh, yea, a few days ago.” She seemed to fidget as she tucked a stray strand of mint colored hair behind her ear. “Forget about that though!” she seemed to focus again, looking at Luz with a frown, face set in a stern look. “What happened?!” she demanded.

Luz frowned, fingers twitching over the rough canvas strap of her bag, she didn’t need to ask what Amity was talking about, she could only mean the whole petrification, escape from the emperor’s coven thing that had been broadcast across all of the Boiling Isles, she’d no doubt seen it.

“Ah well, it’s kind of a long story…” she rubbed her arm and laughed nervously. Amity did not look at all impressed by that answer. “If you want to meet at the library after school I can explain it all,” she offered. She felt bad that out of all her friends Amity was the only one completely in the dark since she didn’t even know about Eda’s curse or had gone with them on the trip to the Emperor’s castle.

Amity didn’t look satisfied with the answer but just as she opened her mouth to speak the bell screamed again, it’s last call for students to get to class before they were tardy and if Luz knew anything at all about Amity, it was that she loved Azura and was never late.

“Alright, I’ll meet you there,” she agreed, though she still didn't look happy about it. 

Amity quickly hurried off to class with her abomination, leaving Luz standing there before she smacked herself in the forehead with her palm.

"I'm gonna be late!" She helped before taking off in the direction of beast keeping 101.

~ ~ ~

The day seemed to fly by after she actually made it to class. 

It was nice to have something else to occupy her mind other than impending doom in one form or another. 

Potions always took all her concentration, unless she wanted to accidentally turn a potion for curing mild rashes into a literal bomb.

...It had happened before...

It had only been a small explosion and her teacher had quickly put out the fire though.

Now that she thought about it, that would have been so much more useful last week.

She pondered the merits of magical bombs in convenient, throwable glassware as she walked quickly through the Bonesborough market toward the library.

She'd been a little slow cleaning up after her potions class and had ended up staying a little long. Amity would probably be waiting on her already, she was punctual to a fault.

She skipped up the library steps two at a time and quickly snuck by the librarian at the front counter when he wasn’t looking. 

After the time she had gotten kicked out with the Blight twins, she wasn’t sure she was exactly welcome in the library, so it was better to just not let the librarian see her really. 

She snuck quietly through the halls to the romance section. It was devoid of people as it typically was.

She scanned the shelves before smiling as her eyes settled on a book. ‘The Lone Witch and the Secret Room.’

She pulled the book out and shoved it back in, there was a loud click as the shelf slid away to reveal Amity’s secret room. 

Amity was already waiting inside for her, curled up in the corner on some cushions, a book splayed across her lap as she stepped in, letting the shelf slide back into place behind her.

“Hey” She held up a hand in greeting. “Sorry it took me a little longer than normal. I had to clean up after potions.” 

“It’s alright, Luz.” She closed her book and motioned to the other cushion several feet away. Luz dropped her bag and plopped onto the floor,crossing her legs as she looked up at the youngest Blight and smiled.

Gold eyes flitted away and cheeks took on a rosy hue. Luz wondered if Amity was hot, it wasn’t bad in here but some people ran warmer and colder than others. 

“So…,” Luz started, unsure. 

Amity seemed to jolt as her eyes were once again on the human and her expression morphing into one of serious expectancy. 

"What happened last week?" 

Straight to the point then. Luz nodded as she started with Eda's curse and the field trip to the Emperor's castle.

Amity's face seemed to shift through a myriad of emotions over the course of the story, especially when Luz talked about how Lilith had kidnapped her and tried to kill her.

The horror on her friend's face and those intense gold eyes focussed on her made Luz self conscious and she pulled her knees up to her chest but didn't stop her tale. She squeezed her legs as she got lost in thinking about it. 

Amity wasn't the only one experiencing a lot of emotions right now.

The fear as Eda sucame to her curse and later the rage she felt anytime someone so much as uttered Lilith's name or she saw one of those dumb posters made her whole body shake, and finally the helplessness and sorrow as she'd handed over the portal and then had to burn her world away in a flash of fire. All of it came back to her so easily, still fresh on her mind even as she tried not to think about it too hard. 

"So, you can't go home?" Amity finally asked quietly after a brief silence following Luz’s explanation of everything that had happened. 

She shook her head sadly, eyes downcast and quiet.

Amity hesitated a second before reaching over to set a hand on one of Luz's, resting on her knees and making her look up, brown meeting gold. 

"I'm sorry, Luz…" She squeezed gently.

The small touch and the look on her friend's face caused a comforting flash of heat in Luz's chest.

"Thanks… Eda's working on it so…" She shrugged. 

Eda who was also without magic, which Amity knew now.

“I’ve seen the owl lady do some pretty impressive things, I’m sure she’ll figure something out.”  Amity gave a final squeeze before pulling back, trying to will away the touch of pink on her cheeks, now wasn’t the time for it and she scolded herself for the automatic response.

“Yeah…” Luz nodded to herself, a small smile managing to pull at her lips, which made Amity smile in turn.

“I can’t believe how selfless you are sometimes… destroying the portal to save Eda…,” Amity said, fiddling with her hands now sitting folded in her lap.

“It was my fault she got caught in the first place, I had to fix my mistake…” Luz shrugged, a little flustered by praise she hardly deserved. “She didn’t leave me… I couldn’t leave her.” 

“Most people wouldn’t have done that, even if it was their fault,” the young witch insisted. 

“Maybe…” Luz shrugged again but couldn’t help the widening of her smile.

Amity glanced at the clock on the wall, her smile turned into a grimace, they had been here longer then she had planned. 

“I need to head home…” Amity stood and Luz followed suit as they headed out of the secret room, checking quickly to make sure no one was around to see them as they headed out.

“I have abominations and illusions tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you in class.” Luz smiled as they stepped outside the library.  

“Of course…” Amity nodded but she seemed distracted as they paused at the top of the library steps. 

“Amity?” Luz called and again she was focussed on her, but the look on her face was one Luz had seen before, she was thinking.

She hesitated a second, looking around the empty area outside the library before closing the two feet of distance between them.

Luz could only blink as Amity's arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace, chin tucked into her neck, mint green filling the latina's vision. 

"I'm so glad you're okay."

It was said so quietly she almost missed it, hardly a whisper, breathed against her neck. 

Warmth immediately flooded her chest at the quiet murmur. 

Before Luz could reach up to return the embrace Amity was already pulling away.

“See you tomorrow, Luz.” she called as she hurried down the library steps, never looking back and leaving Luz standing there, stunned, in her wake. 

“Bye…” she held up a hand in farewell at the retreating witch’s back.

Why was her face so warm?

Shaking it off, Luz adjusted her bag as she hurried back to the owl house before Eda could wonder where she was.

The heat in her face faded quickly but the warmth in her chest lingered all night. 

~ 

The minute Amity set her things down on her desk she caught sight of the Emperor’s coven poster, with Lilith Clawthorne staring back at her with a smug smile. 

With a frown Amity ripped the poster from the wall and stuffed it into the trash can next to her desk.   

[edda-grenade]

Everything.

Adaar finds a strange elf in the woods.

#feral verse, 1100 words. on AO3.

The elf gave Adaar a look of sheer panic, then vaulted himself across a fallen tree. She gave chase, her heart hammering with exhilaration.

“Wait!” she shouted, “wait, I just want to ask you—”

They broke through underbrush, both of them heedless. When the resistance suddenly gave way, Adaar had a split second to regret the carelessness, ever so slightly, before both of them barreled headlong into a pond. The water splashed, drenching her. But she couldn’t care, didn’t care, because she had caught up to the elf. She grinned breathlessly.

“You’re a mage, right? Teach me!”

“What?” He scrambled backwards, churning up the mud of the pond’s bottom. “No?! Absolutely not!”

This was already going almost as badly as the Circle mage a few years ago. The woman had thought her a demon at first, and nearly broken a leg trying to get away. Undeterred, Adaar went on—she’d gotten a spell out of Lucille, too, despite their disastrous first meeting.

“I saw you use magic,” she insisted. “I promise I’m not trying to get you in trouble!” She summoned a little light between her dripping hands. “See? I can use it, too. I just want to learn.”

“No,” he said, voice wavering, “I cannot—”

She felt the water surge with cold, the crackle of magical energy, and suddenly he was gone, a smear of fog and ice crystals across the pond. At the far bank, she saw the shape of him fall into existence again, before disappearing again into the forest.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

Stars, she had to find a way so he’d teach her how to do that.

A few hours later, she managed to spot him again, near the cave where she had first seen him. He ducked behind a tree almost instantly, but she couldn’t hear the tell-tale sounds of escape through the woods, and neither did she feel the wave of cold that had accompanied his earlier disappearance.

Maybe a different tactic was in order.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” she yelled to the forest at large. He had to be half-starved, he was so scrawny and ragged. And he didn’t have vallaslin, which meant he most likely had no clan to help him. “How about I bring you some food, and we can talk?”

To her surprise and delight, it actually worked—after a fashion. The next morning, he edged out from the foliage, eyeing the pack of salted meat and bread in her hands. She watched him scarf everything down at breakneck speed, then find his self-control just in time to offer her the last scrap of bread. She tried not to laugh.

“It’s fine, eat it.”

Slowly, he took it back and chewed it, watching her right back now, his expression guarded.

“Thank you,” he said afterwards, his voice scratchy. She had noticed it the day before, too, but now in this quiet unmoving moment it was all the more blatant. Worn-out like the rest of him.

“You’re welcome,” she said gently. “My name’s Adaar—well, my given name. I haven’t chosen my own yet. What’s yours?”

He stared at her.

“What? Did no one ever give you a name?” He looked away, mouth tight, and then he got up and stalked a few yards away, like the question was too abhorrent to even allow in his vicinity. The skin at the nape of Adaar’s neck prickled.

“Or just make one up,” she offered. “Choose anything you want. What do you want to be called?”

She watched his back and shoulders tighten, his ears tilting down from some terrible emotion.

“Solas,” he said after a long silence. “Call me that, if you must have a name for me.”

Adaar grinned, inordinately pleased.

“Teach me magic, Solas.”

There was that stare again, surprised and wounded. And then, his expression turned… wistful, almost.

“I… I am not suited for the task.”

“Bah, that’s nonsense. You can learn teaching, too. We can figure it out as we go along. Here, I’ll start: that disappearing thing you did, how does that work? Why is it so cold? Does the ice matter? Can you do it without, too?”

He disappeared. She felt the tug of the Veil, that shift of power. So the ice wasn’t essential—but still…

“See, that’s not very efficient teaching,” she called out. “Could have just told me I don’t need to throw frost everywhere to jump like that.”

“I am not teaching you,” came the tight-voiced reply from somewhere in the underbrush.

“Sure,” she said airily. “Same time tomorrow?”

Around her, the forest was silent except for the wind and the birds. Not a yes—not yet.

The day after, the idea for a new tactic had apparently occurred to Solas as well. He ignored the food and before she could even get the words out to ask again, he fixed her with a dark glare, his posture like an animal poised for flight—or for lashing out.

“Do you not know how to take no for an answer?”

Her cheeks and throat flushed hot. “Of course I do,” she snapped. “But magic’s different. You think people are lining up to teach someone like me magic? In ten years I managed to wrangle three people into it, and yes, I figured some out myself, but it’s still a drop in the ocean.”

That grim expression crumpled, and he turned away, pulling up the hood of his cloak. Hiding. Adaar grit her teeth and followed him.

“There is no one else to teach you?” he asked, like some terrible truth was finally dawning on him.

“No!”

“What of your—your parents? Magic runs in bloodlines for your people, does it not? Why are they unable to give you instruction?”

She blinked. For what people did magic run elsewhere?

“No,” she said again, slowly. “My tama—it’s not—they can’t.”

Solas stilled, although he didn’t turn around. “Why not?”

“Because it got poisoned for them,” she spat. “Believe me, I wish on every last star it was different. But there is no one, and I want to learn everything.”

He said nothing, silent and frozen. He didn’t look at her—but he also didn’t flee.

“I can get you more food,” she tried. “If you have nowhere to sleep, you can sleep with us. We can give you shelter.”

“You’re too generous.”

“I’m trying to bribe you.” She touched his ragged cloak, gave it a gentle tug. “But even if you won’t teach me, we’ve got enough to share. Then again, maybe some spiced meat will change your mind. It tastes amazing.”

He shivered visibly. Before she could decide whether that was a good or a bad sign, he faced her again, giving her an inscrutable look from beneath the hood of his cloak.

“Do you truly wish to learn everything about magic?”

Oh. Oh.

She tried not to smile too widely, and instantly gave up.

“Yes.”

[kemendin]

10 and 17 for Cas? 👀✨

10. What is your character's sense of humor like? Do they respond to inconveniences with humor or anger?

Generally very dry. He finds irony amusing, though sometimes in a rather grim way. He used to be a lot more into dirty humour like dick jokes until life beat him up, and then very little was actually funny anymore. It's likely that as he grows more comfortable in the Commonwealth, he'll be able to laugh at darker things again. But he also can't help but laugh at the incredibly absurd, so there's a range.

Inconveniences specifically are somewhere in between, usually irritation. Sometimes he can laugh at them, sometimes he can only sigh.

17. What is your character's breaking point? What would make them act "uncharacteristically?"

Unfortunately for Cas, he hit his breaking point well before the bombs fell, and has run headlong into it couple times since he got out of the vault. It's the senselessness of things that really gets to him - when he can't make sense of something, and can't do anything to fix it, that's when he falls apart. Senseless violence, senseless greed, senseless optimism - these were all abundant in his pre-war experience and he was helpless to do anything about it (he tried, and made it worse for himself). He was already in pieces when the world ignited, so it's been a real long slog so far to put himself back together in such changed and unfamiliar surroundings.

(Just throwing a blurb from a previous writing in here 'cos it's relevant:)

I woke up in a world that was broken. I’d been broken, too, but that was my own doing, not the world’s. The pieces of myself that were left, the worn out fragments of identity - those belonged in the past, so I left them there. But when you’re starting with nothing, it’s hard to avoid colouring the rest of the world with that view, the sense that nothing can ever be whole again.

If nothing else, Cas is pretty self aware, and has a definite moral code that he sticks to. He's actually a better thinker, more in control under pressure - up to a point - so it would either take something incredibly dire to make him deviate from his normal behaviour, or someone manipulating him into doing so without his noticing.

Ask me character things for Cas, Kemendin, or Dhamari!

[iraacundus]

STEALING

doyoung x reader - ceo!au

he had nothing to gain from stealing the snowman, he just wanted to feel totally alive, a feeling he didn’t get much anymore, he didn’t expect his employee to catch him

words: 5.7k

based on this poem i read in school (back when we had that whoo) - ‘stealing’ by carol ann duffy’

“Mostly i’m so bored i could eat myself”

----

It was two am and a cold as hell January morning. You had been lying for hours, trying to sleep but there was a storm outside. It wasn’t that you were scared of storms particularly, just that the wind was blowing so fiercely it would have unsettled the bravest of souls.

It was two twenty-six am when the blizzard finally stopped, the calm in the storm. It was the quiet that was unsettling now, you still couldn’t sleep. After tossing from side to side you decided to peak and see what damage the storm had done to the garden outside. You tugged part of your blinds apart ever so slightly and stared into the street where the snow looked perfect somehow. The blizzard had covered the footprints of anyone who had previously walked by. It had made the snowman that the kid from next door had made look just that little bit fatter, which was a comforting sight.

Your eyes snapped open once again at eight forty-six am, even though you were not quite sure when they had shut. You stood up and went to look out of your blinds again. You opened them mindlessly only to be taken aback. The slightly fatter snowman that had been there only hours before had disappeared. There was no sign of melting, it was much too cold, it just ceased to exist in the location it once had. Only a track in the snow was left. The only explanation that came to your mind was that someone had dragged the snowman away. You thought this to be a particularly strange occurrence. Because it was a strange occurrence. Somehow it didn’t stay in your brain long enough for you to care though.

You trudged through the snow in your boots all the way to the underground train station. The storm had been loud but there still wasn’t enough snow to merit a day off from work. Your headphones blared music loudly enough to drown out the sounds of the world around you so that when you took a seat down on the train you failed to notice the snowman thief, partly because he didn’t look like one. Mostly because you didn’t know what a snowman thief looked like. Partly because in real life people like him didn’t frequent trains. But one-hundred percent because you hadn’t seen the theft so how would you have known.

Work was work it dragged by, meeting after meeting. The only excitement in your day was when CEO Kim came to give you the sales files personally. He had never spoken a word to you on a non-work issue and he always had a sort of forced smile upon his face. Yet you still had the most massive crush on him. He was undeniably one of the best looking people you had ever seen... but that wasn't it. It wasn’t what drew you to him. He just did everything so carefully, like his life was controlled and like he had a purpose. It sounded strange but you just were enthralled by Doyoung’s sense of purpose. Maybe it was because it was something you had never had yourself.

“The spending needs to go down, current marketing costs are just unsustainable,” Doyoung summed up for you. You nodded, thanking him for the papers. You just had to make the full report and then, as always, you could leave for the day. But it turned out the marketing problem was huge, just as Mr Kim had said and by the time you had made it home it was ten forty-one pm. The kids from your apartment building had made a few new snowmen. Three to be exact. One was fat and short, the other tall and wobbly and the third seemed almost perfect. The smoothness of the snow all balled up was almost mesmerising to look at - so satisfying. However, you didn’t stop to gaze for long. It was just a snowman after all.

By the time you had made coffee, eaten what little leftovers you could find and showered it was nearing midnight. You took one last peek out your blinds to check there wasn’t another storm coming. You never trusted just the weather app. When you gazed out you saw no signs of a storm in the freezing air, however, there did seem to be a man in front of your house wearing a blue bobble hat. And that man did appear to be dragging the perfect one of the three snowmen towards the street.

You pulled harshly on your blind cable, pulling them upwards, allowing you to press the button and swing your window open to get a better look. You stuck your head out but you still couldn’t quite see the mans face. Fortunately, due to the fact he was lugging a large snowman, you reckoned his pace wasn't that quick. This allowed you time to throw a coat and wellies on before running down the back staircase and out of the front door almost tripping over your own feet. You hadn't cared much about the snowman before, but now witnessing the theft you felt oddly aggrieved by it.

You hurtled over to the man and stopped right in front of where he had taken a pause to check his phone for the time. This slight pause meant he had missed your headlong dash across the pristine white lawn.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” you asked him not so politely, you didn’t take kindly to people who stole from children, even if it was just snow you had decided. You crossed your arms and made your best attempt at a reproachful look. One that the guy didn't even see.

“I’m taking this snowman,’ the guy replied without even looking up from behind the stolen object. He said it as if stealing a snowman at midnight was a perfectly fine thing to do. Which for the record it was not.

“That’s.. like seriously what the?” was all you managed to say back. You were not really sure how to deal with this situation but you really wanted to understand what the actual hell was going on. You wanted to say you were defending the kids but really it was just the most exciting thing that you had seen happen all year.

You stared at the snowman until you suddenly saw the man look up from his phone and look you dead in the eyes. Upon seeing his face you expected panic of some sort or even embarrassment followed by a sudden hasty explanation but his eyes just seemed blank. You had also expected some college or high school kid out on a dare but instead, you saw CEO Kim staring back at you. With eyes as dead as ever yet right at that moment, you could have sworn they had a small spark in them despite the lack of soul.

You were at a loss for what to do. On the one hand, you just had to know what was going on, you were so invested at this point. On the other hand, you didn’t feel like interrogating your boos on his rather interesting free time activities. It almost stopped you from saying something, you almost dashed back inside. They always say curiosity killed the cat. Still, you just had to find out. And defend the children of course.

“Why would you steal snow?” was the first question you asked him, quickly followed by, “Do enjoy the pain of children?” and then “what's wrong with you” all in succession as if you couldn’t decide what you wanted to know first.

“I’m bored.” was all he said. No one spoke for a few seconds. When you managed to talk yourself into looking him back in the eye you noticed the wild spark had gone. The purposeful mundane had returned to Kim Doyoung’s face and he honestly looked like a ghost. You suddenly realised how sad the man you saw every day really looked. It didn’t stop curiosity though, you needed a better answer.

“Most bored people like watch a movie or something.” you pointed out.

“And I steal worthless objects.” Kim Doyoung retorted. He had let go of the snowman but he didn’t leave or say anything else. He just continued to stare you down, only moving to blink and only blinking very occasionally. The silence was once again unsettling and the cold was really starting to get to you.

“Don’t steal from kids it's really not very nice,”

“I am not here claiming to be a model citizen,” he replied. He then said nothing more. You knew he probably never would so you turned on your heels and walked away, hoping he wouldn’t fire you tomorrow.

When you pulled the blind in your window down, you glanced out to see if he was still there, but the only thing left was footprints in the snow - he had taken himself back home and the snowman with him.

************************

When you sat down at work, to say you were nervous would have been a gross understatement. Even the simple sound of a stapler set you on edge. You were kicking yourself for confronting Mr Kim last night in such an extreme way. The apartment building you lived in was kind of pricey and finding any accommodation you could afford was difficult so you really couldn’t afford to lose your job.

So when you heard the footsteps coming towards you, the footsteps of whoever would deliver the key report information that day, you were praying to any god that it wasn’t CEO Kim, you also were praying that you didn’t get called to his office. When the footsteps stopped you didn’t dare look up to see who it was. It was only when the person cleared their throat you managed to drag your eyes up to look at them.

You had never been a particularly lucky person and that luck certainly didn’t seem to be starting today for when you looked up the dull eyes of Mr Kim looked right back at you. At this point all you could do not to run away was to repeat please don’t fire me over and over in your brain. Unfortunately, you came to the realisations that one or two of your please don’t fire me’s must have been said aloud as Mr Kim gave you a rather confused look.

“Why would I fire you, what you do or say in your free time is up to you, just as what I choose to do in my free time is up to me.” You had no clue what to reply to that so you settled for staring blankly at your shoes. “Anyhow, the marketing strategy seems to have improved slightly but it still needs work to fix the deficit. His face remained emotionless before he turned and walked away.

He was the strangest person you had ever encountered and you would have given all the money in the world to know what he was thinking and why he acted the way that he did but for that moment you were mostly satisfied with the fact that he hadn’t fired you. You started working on the report right away. Because while Mr Kim said what you did outside of work didn’t matter, you knew your work performance certainly did. He was a notoriously harsh man.

*****************************

The next time you saw him out of work was almost two weeks later. You had been out at a bar with your friends. It was one thirty-six as you strolled through the cold night air back towards your apartment. You were lost in thought until you saw someone approaching you in the opposite direction.

It was CEO Kim, yet this time he wasn’t dragging a snowman with him. Instead, in his arms, he had Shakespeare’s head. Not the real one, that was long rotted away buried deep under the earth, but a statue. Stealing a snowman that was one thing, the snow didn’t really belong to anyone you supposed. But this statue, you didn’t know where he got it from but it must have been acquired from an art gallery of sorts. To you that was a whole different ballgame, that wasn’t just messing around that was actual theft.

You didn’t know what to say to him when he stopped in front of you, his dull, lifeless eyes once again staring at you. The fact he hadn’t fired you earlier seemed to give you a surge of confidence as you decided to once again confront him about his odd dealings.

“Why did you steal the head?” you asked him.

“Why are you out so late?” he countered.

“I went to see some friends, why did you steal the head?” you refused to relent.

“I’m bored,” he said. It was the exact same answer as before. He frowned slightly, as he looked down at the statue in his hands. “You don’t understand a word I’m saying do you?.”

“I feel like what you’re saying is pretty self-explanatory, I just think that if you are bored you should maybe go out with some mates or join a sports team or something, instead of committing crimes.” Doyoung shook his head in response.

“That’s what I mean, you don’t get it,” he replied. He started to continue walking but he motioned for you to follow. You knew you should have just headed on back to your apartment but for some reason, you felt compelled to follow him. So you did. You fell into step alongside him.

“You see,” he began, “all those things you're suggesting, playing sports hanging out with friends, I don’t find them fun, they become onerous for me.”

“Maybe you need better friends then,” you suggested to which he laughed at. You had never seen a positive emotion on his face until that very moment. Which you decided was a very sad thing. “Maybe I don’t understand, you are young, rich, successful, you have all the things you need for a happy life.”

“And yet I don’t even really feel alive.” He looked down at you, “apart from when I’m stealing.” And you saw it again, the gleam in his eye as he spoke of his crime and he smiled at his Shakespeare head. Except it wasn’t his.

“It's illegal though,” you said. Doyoung shrugged slightly.

“Not what I do. Last time I checked snow didn’t belong to anyone, this head,” he said lifting it up slightly, “I stole from the COO’s office, the COO of my own company, who I pay so I don’t feel bad.” That relieved you slightly. Until that point, you had been afraid the police would come out of nowhere and arrest you as an accomplice to his crime.

After a while, he stopped walking. You realised you had stopped in front of a rather fancy house. Doyoung nodded to it.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked politely, it reminded you more of who you had once perceived Doyoung to be – the overly polite and cautious, pedantic boss. You were in two minds, this could go very badly, he clearly didn’t have a lot of morals so there was a small chance he may murder you. But you were also enthralled by him, you just wanted to find out more. So murder was a chance you somehow were willing to make. You also had a strange feeling that if he had to murder someone he wouldn’t pick you.

“Can you hold it?” he asked, referencing the statue as he placed it into your arms. It was heavier than expected but you only had to deal with the weight for a few moments before he opened his front door. The inside of Doyoung’s house was pristine. It looked like a showhome, but you didn’t know what else you had expected.

He set the statue down on his kitchen table. Before turning back to you.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, once again very politely, “I’m going to make some tea, it's so cold outside.” You nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” you added, suddenly feeling like your politeness needed to match his, your previous need to confront him was lost.

Now you were inside you became acutely aware of how cold you were, you took a seat at Doyoung’s kitchen table, shivering ever so slightly. He seemed to notice this because as the kettle boiled he opened a separate cupboard to reveal a blanket. He took a few steps over to you before draping it carefully over your shoulders. You smiled at him in thanks. The smile replaced words that were not forming in your mouth. You reckoned this was because you realised where you were.

It was almost two am and you were sitting in your bosses kitchen. The same boss who happened to be both a snowman and statue thief. Yet weirdly you weren’t uncomfortable. Chilly yes, unsettled no.

“Here’s your tea,” Doyoung said, causing you to be drawn away from your thoughts. He sat down opposite you, moving his chair out very carefully, as not to scratch the floor. Your eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I don’t get,” you told him.

“What is?”

“How you can be so precise – about when you give me files, about how you order the office, your house and so on. But yet you also go out and steal meaningless things, and cause mini havoc.”

Doyoung shook his head, his eyes changed from bored to almost angry but not quite angry. You weren’t sure what emotion it was, but it was more than just bored.

“They aren’t meaningless. I live a privileged life, I have money and a good job. But I have nothing else – I can’t seem to find things that make me happy. To be honest I almost don’t feel at all. But stealing, stealing causes a rush in my veins, it allows me to capture a moment of happiness that someone else created. The snowman was made by children playing having fun, Shakespeare wrote about the most powerful loves. I don’t have any of those things so I steal them.”

You didn’t say anything back. You didn’t think you could. What do you say to someone so numb? You didn’t know. So you both sat there in silence drinking your tea. It was two twenty-three am. Fuck it you thought, before standing up abruptly. Doyoung barely looked up but that wasn’t going to stop you. You walked around the table to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“What are you doing?” he deadpanned.

“teaching you how to feel alive again, how to have fun.” You said, “I don’t care how long it takes, we will find something that makes you feel better than stealing does.”

“Impossible,” he said.

It was the challenge of the impossible that lead you and Doyoung to the middle of the city park long after it had closed. It leads to both of you standing before a rather large tree which you intended to climb.

“You’re kidding,” he said. You shook your head adamantly.

“Nope, there’s a good view, and even if there’s not maybe you could steal a leaf or two.” To which he chuckled. You smiled to yourself. It was already going to plan. You pushed up off the ground, ignoring the fact you were in your tights only as high heels hadn’t been optimum for this task. You pushed past any small pain, climbing from branch to branch, only checking now and again to ensure Doyoung was following.

You stopped at one of the larger branches probably twenty feet of the ground, it wasn’t super high but it was enough to feel dangerous, enough to see most of the park around you. You shuffled along the branch so that Doyoung would be able to sit next to you. And he did.

“Better than stealing?” you asked. Doyoung shook his head. “So you are not at all scared of falling?” you were incredulous.

“I don’t feel scared no.”

“So I cut my hand for nothing,” you sighed looking down at where the rough bark had torn the palm of your hand slightly. Doyoung’s eyebrows furrowed together,

“We shouldn’t have done it if you were going to hurt yourself.”

“Not a big deal,” you shrugged, “But it hasn’t worked so on to the next thing.” You motioned for him to start climbing down which he did, you followed on behind. Once you reached the bottom you started to walk back towards the city. Doyoung walked behind you, saying nothing.

You suggested many things and did many activities with him across the night, basketball in an abandoned court, pushing him in a shopping trolly, getting ice cream at four am in winter. But none of these simple things, that were just a bit wild for you, seemed at all interesting to him. So when you saw the sun peak up from behind the old firehouse you began to concede.

“Maybe you are right,” you said to him, as you sat in front of his house, back where you started. “Maybe you can’t feel apart from when you are stealing.” You looked at him sadly, but he wasn’t looking at you. “Please just don’t steal from my house in your future endeavours,” you asked, before standing up and smoothing out your dress. “But I wish you every happiness, Mr Kim.” You put your hand over his reassuringly. And then you walked away, you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to look back. Even when you heard him shout your name. Or maybe it was just the wind.

When you got home it was six twelve am and you just fell into your bed. You hoped that Mr Kim would forgive you from your absence at work. And you never got a phone call, so he seemed to have let you off the hook. Then it was the weekend so you didn’t have to face work until Monday. You were fine with that.

********************************

Monday came and you started filling out forms and replying to emails much like always. The day was exactly the same as it had always been. At least it was up until the time you usually received the report information. It was four minutes past the set time and nobody had arrived with the sheets of paper. This had never occurred in the three years you had worked for the firm.

You checked your watch one last time before getting up from your desk. You walked out to the front desk, suddenly realising you had no clue where Doyoung’s office was.

“Excuse me,” you said to the man on the front desk, “could you possibly tell me where Mr Kim’s office is?”

“I’m afraid he’s busy,” the man replied.

“It’s just this is important, I have to complete the company report every day and nothing has been brought to my desk,” you explained.

“Could I have your name and job title?”

“Y/n y/l/n Office Coordinator.” The man looked up suddenly.

“Oh right yes, I was just about to send someone to find you, Mr Kim has asked to speak to you, his office is on the fourth floor, speak to his secretary there.” You thanked him before hurrying off. Maybe this was it, he had finally decided to fire you. Once again you thought back to your past actions, kicking yourself for scolding your boss, what a stupid thing to do you thought.

The lift dinged open and you stepped inside. There was no one else in the lift so you took the moment to bang your head against the wall. The lift was somehow faster than you had expected because before you realised the doors had opened again. You were still banging your head against the wall as Doyoung stared into the lift at you, standing in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything but turned around and walked back to his office, and like you had the night he stole the Shakespeare head, you followed behind him. Followed into his office which was just as clean and minimalistic as his house had been.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing towards the rather avant-garde chair opposite his desk, “I’m sorry the chair is so odd, marketing said it would impress people, yet it tends to have a rather opposite effect.”

You smiled slightly sitting down into the chair, you could see why it was unpopular, it was ridiculously uncomfortable. You crossed your legs over but assumed you just ended up sitting as awkwardly as you felt.

“Here’s your information,” Doyoung said to you after a while. You turned your head to face him, slightly confused.

“You aren’t firing me?” Doyoung shook his head.

“I already told you I would only fire you based on what you do inside the workplace. What you do at four am is up to you.” At this you visibly relaxed, it felt like dejavu. He was right, you had already had this conversation before. Doyoung looked at you intensely without ever looking away.

“Why did you call me here then?”

“I have something for you, one second,” he reached down into one of his desk draws and pulled out a small box. He pushed it across the table, opening the top for you. Inside was a silver bracelet with small moon charms on it. As you reached out to take the box your fingers brushed against his lightly.

“Did you steal it?” was the first thing you asked, which may have been slightly rude but you had to know. You couldn’t accept a gift if it was stolen. Doyoung laughed. Not just a small smile or chuckle like before but an actual laugh. You were confused more than anything. You couldn’t think of anyone who had actually ever spoken of him laughing.

“No, I didn’t steal it. I went to a jeweller and I bought it for you.” He said with a hint of what you thought might be a blush.

“Why?” you asked. He chuckled again.

“I might as well have stolen it, I’m under interrogation.” It was your turn to go red.

“I’m sorry,” you lifted the bracelet out of the box, looking at it, ‘it’s really beautiful.” Doyoung’s shoulder’s seemed to relax slightly.

“To answer your question, it’s a thank you, for helping me.”

“Well trying to help you at least,’ you joked, “I couldn’t get you to feel, none of my thrill-seeking activities were exciting enough clearly.”

Doyoung shook his head, he seemed conflicted about what he was going to say next. He didn’t talk for a minute or two – you didn’t mind, the silence was calming, not uncomfortable.

“When I told you I didn’t feel, I talked about why I stole Shakespeare’s head, do you remember?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. You nodded.

“You said that Shakespeare was able to write about the greatest of loves, the kind of feeling you don’t experience.” Doyoung nodded.

“I think I felt that feeling, the excited one also in retrospect I think I had fun, but the Romeo and Juliet feeling, that’s the one I noticed.” He stood up from his seat and walked round to you, placing his hand on yours as you had his two weeks earlier. “It sounds stupid because it’s so simple, but this, this is making me feel alive.”

You were conflicted because what he felt, you could see yourself feeling it too, but right now, you knew it wasn’t what he needed.

“it’s not healthy,” you said to him, “what makes you happy should never be one singular person.”

“I know, but I don’t think that’s it. You only need one person to do CPR to bring them back to life, that one person doesn’t become the only thing you have. So I wanted to thank you, for making me feel alive – in a way that doesn’t require theft.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Would you be my friend?” Doyoung asked you, chewing on his lip. You broke out into a smile.

“I would love to be your friend Doyoung.”

*********************

You were meant to meet Doyoung and a friend of yours Jaehyun for a night out. It was nine o six when you stood outside the bar when you got a phone call from Jaehyun.

“I have to babysit my niece, it’s a family emergency,” he explained, “give my apologies to Doyoung.” You told him you understood and that you hoped it went okay. By the time you hung up the phone you turned to see Doyoung standing behind you.

You had been hanging out a lot with Doyoung over the past three months, introducing him to your friends as he told you about things he had done of his own accord also. You gleamed when you saw him standing in front of you. He was looking good, you had to admit.

“Jae had to cancel,” you told him.

“Just us then,” he smiled, placing his arm around your back carefully as you both walked into the bar. It wasn’t particularly busy because you had insisted you went out on a Tuesday because the drinks were cheaper. Doyoung had tried to disagree but you told him that he didn’t pay his employee’s enough for them to pass up on cheaper drinks.

You took a seat as Doyoung went to get you a drink, you had insisted you paid for your own one but he was trying to make a point after you had complained you were underpaid.

He came back only moments later with your drinks and sat down next to you.

“I haven't hung out with just you in ages,” he commented.

“I brought you back to life, my work was done,” you said sipping from your drink.

“You may not be the only thing that makes me feel happy,” Doyoung began, putting his drink back on the table, “But you’re the person that makes me the happiest.” He smiled slightly. “I’m sorry if that’s inappropriate to say. You shook your head.

“I want you to be happy, that’s why I helped you in the first place.”

“That’s just because you’re a nice person,” he laughed slightly sadly, “you didn’t know me.”

“I talked to you almost every day for three years even if it was just about work reports, I like to think I did know you, even if there wasn’t a lot to know back then.” Doyoung looked away. From then on your conversation drifted back to more normal things, work, gossip, holiday plans.

“I’m probably just going to watch Netflix for a week, I’m saving up right now so I won’t go away but I still want a week off,” you said.

“I’ll miss you at work because you’re my best office coordinator of course,” he added. You fiddled with your bracelet, It was weirdly awkward, something you had never felt between you and Doyoung before, usually, you got on great but today there was some unspoken tension.

“You still wear it,” Doyoung said, flicking one of the charms on your bracelet with a smile. You nodded.

“It’s really pretty,”

“So are you… shit sorry, I don’t know… I just kinda said it sorry…” You giggled slightly looking down at your feet, then back up at Doyoung. His inner conflict somehow made him look cute. You found yourself drawn to his lips. He leaned over and pushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, that had fallen as you looked down and up so quickly. But he didn’t pull his hand away again, instead he looked you straight in the eye. This time though his eyes were bright not dull, the sparkled despite the low light levels. It was the most beautiful thing you thought you had ever witnessed.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked ever polite, for no matter how much he wanted to kiss you, he would never put your friendship in jeopardy. You nodded and leaned closer to him as he did to you until your lips caught together. He kissed you slowly, almost like it hurt, like he was scared, yet you didn’t know what of. You pulled away, still leaving your hand on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him. He just shook his head and pulled you back close, kissing you passionately, his hands lost in your hair. Almost forgetting you were sat in the corner of a bar.

“I love you,” he mumbled between kisses causing you to stop moving altogether, you didn’t pull back, your lips just froze. Doyoung leaned away and stood up, taking your hand in his pulling you up with him. You both walked out of the bar, you still stunned to even say anything. When you stood outside in the slightly warmer air, you did realise that you were just metres away from where you stood the night Doyoung stole Shakespeare.

“I love you,” he said louder this time, “and you don’t have to love me back or say anything but I had to tell you. You may not be the only thing that makes me happy but you know you’re the most important and you make me feel the most alive. I have never felt more alive than when we kissed just now. You are the kindest, most fun person, the only person who helped me, who could help me. I was one step away from grand theft auto when I met you… but Shakespeare was the last thing I stole.”

“It wasn’t the last thing you stole,” you said finally, placing both of your arms around Doyoung bringing him into a hug, “because you stole my heart,” you looked up at him, pecking him on the lips. “I never thought I would end up loving someone who steals snowmen… but here we are,”

“Here we are,” Doyoung agreed before kissing you again and this time you could feel him smile as you kissed you, and both your eyes were shut but you didn’t need to look Doyoung in the eyes anymore to see that he wasn’t the only thief anymore, because you had stolen his heart to.

[mrs-dragneel-stark-solo]

Unforseen Chasm (Part 70)

Part 70 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together. Word Count: 2610 Warnings: Wedding day! fluff, Banner babies, emotional day, heart to heart, fluff all around,  Song for this part: I Love you Always Forever- Betty Who Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93 what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

___________________

“Do we have everything?” you asked, nervousness alive in your voice. 

“Yes, for the last time, Y/N, everything is perfect,” Shannon replied. 

You were looking in the mirror, clad in your gorgeous veil, stunning dress, and breathtaking shoes. Shannon stood to your left, just behind you, her baby bump gone. She had a healthy boy and girl just a few weeks ago. You specifically planned the wedding so that she could be all healed in order to stand with you. 

“Well that’s everything, Y/N.” She did minor fixes to your hair and the veil. “Aww, my sister off to get married. Oh gosh I said I wouldn’t cry but here come the waterworks.” She sniffled. “You have no idea how happy I am for you right now.”

“Aww. Thank you, Shannon. I had no idea you’d get this choked up over me marrying Loki.” 

“I just want you to know that no matter where this new chapter takes you, I’m always going to be there for you.” She smiled and fixed her makeup. “Now have you decided on taking the offer that Tony gave you about building a home on our land or if you have chosen a specific place in mind to help you guys get it built?” 

“Actually,” you responded, “I think Loki and I are gonna try it out here, on New Asgard. I’d like to get to know the community better, for real, you know? I really appreciate the offer. Maybe a little after the honeymoon?”

“Yeah of course.  You let us know when you’re ready after the honeymoon.” She held your hands. “I’m getting choked up because you're finally getting your happily ever after that you so deserve.” She teared up again.

You laughed. “You’re crying more than I am,” you teased. You pulled her into a tight hug. “I love you and I don’t know what I did to deserve a sister like you but I wish I knew. You are the biggest and best gift and miracle to my life that I’ve ever gotten.” 

“Okay no more crying I swear,” she laughed. “I love you so much, Y/N. We’ve come so far from where we were twelve years ago and through it all we did it together. I know your parents would be so proud of you.” 

For the first time today, tears sprang to your eyes. “Damn it, Shan, your crying is contagious.” You laughed through the tears, trying to delicately wipe your eyes without smudging your makeup. “I hope they’re proud. I wish I knew them, or knew how any of my life turned out.”

“I’m sure they know how it’s been and are more than proud.” She helped you with your makeup. “Well, it’s time,” she announced as she glanced to the clock on the wall. “We’ll see you out there, okay?” 

You nodded, taking a deep breath. 

Here we go. 

Shannon picked up her bouquet and left the room gracefully. In swept Tom and Clint, who both approached you with a grin. 

“Hey, kid. Congratulations,” Clint said sweetly as he approached. 

“Thank you,” you said lightly. 

“You ready?” Tom asked. 

“I’ve never been more ready for anything,” you breathed. 

You put your arm through each of theirs as they offered, and the doors to the little suite opened. 

When they did, perfect rays of sunshine and warmth flooded around you. Shannon was working a little to make sure the air wasn’t too cold, or the clouds didn’t threaten to rain, to make your day perfect. The sand on the beach was warm and inviting. 

You were on the shores of New Asagard, a beautiful island with amazing beaches. It was an easy choice for you and Loki when you saw it. 

The quartet played the Asgardian lullaby that Frigga had sung to you all as children for the bridal party to walk down the aisle. As you approached, Strange put a spell on you that would hide you from everyone’s view. Meanwhile a stunning white french doorway stood where the bridal party couldn’t be seen until it was time. 

Wanda and Tony stepped forward from opposite sides of the aisle, linked arms, and walked down the aisle to the tune. Followed by Shannon and Thor. Once the bridal party was situated on the “altar”, Peter walked down the aisle with the ring pillow. It was emerald and gold for Loki. Just behind him, Morgan skipped down the aisle throwing orchid petals, until finally -- the wedding march began playing. 

A few small steps up to the entry of the archway, and you, Clint, and Tom were ready to walk down. Stephen lifted the spell, and as everyone stood, they gasped in awe. 

Your eyes hit Loki in his all black tuxedo and you weren’t sure whether to weep at his beauty and the beauty of the moment, or to run headlong down the aisle into his arms. He stared at you as if he was seeing an angel for the first time. Thor gave him a pat on the shoulder as Shannon shot you two thumbs up and a big grin.

As you moved forward down the aisle, you gave a smile of love to the face of every friend and family that you passed, but all Loki could look at was you. 

Finally, you reached him, your breath halting at his stunning gorgeousness.

How had you gotten so lucky? 

The preacher asked who gave you away, and Clint and Tom both gave short answers. Clint patted your shoulder as Tom kissed your cheek. Tom went to sit beside Diane, and Clint went to the second row with his family. 

You took Loki’s hands and you felt a sense of life flow through you once more. Loki stared at you. 

“I love you,” you mouthed and he smiled at you. 

You were trying to listen to the preacher, but honestly, you just wanted this man as your husband as quickly as possible. He finally got to the point of the vows and you gave a smile before starting yours. 

“Loki, I’ve loved you for all of my life. My life, our lives, have been anything but conventional. I spent most of my life wishing I had a home, some place I belonged. I always felt out of step with this world. So when I went back to Asgard, I thought that I’d found my home, that's where I found my strength and belonging, but it was never Asgard - it was you. Wherever you are, you’re my home. I know what it’s like to live without you, twice, and I don’t ever want to do it again. You’re my world, you’re my partner, your my life, you’re my home, you’re my everything. I’ve been through Hell and back just to find you, but I’d do it all again, a million times if I had to, if it meant you came back to me.”

When you finished, you could hear a few sniffles and saw some people wiping their eyes. 

Loki gave you a small, sweet smile, the one he reserved for being coy and loving. He began his vows after the preacher prompted him with a small gesture. 

“Y/N, we’ve fought battles and wars together. We endured torture to protect each other. You selflessly jumped off a perfectly good bridge, just to be with me. You’ve seen me at my very worst times and never looked away. You loved me, embraced me, and supported me through every hellish thing we had to endure. Thank you for never giving up on me.  When you fell into the abyss with me, not knowing what would happen, you said, ‘I need you in my life more than you may know. I’ll go wherever you are’ and I have the same sentiments, my dear. When you first arrived at Asgard, some of your first words to me were that we would navigate our pasts together, and I feel we’ve done that exceptionally well, yet, now I can’t wait to explore our futures together. I love you more than I ever thought was possible to love another person, but for once in my life, I was wrong.” He shot you a grin and you couldn’t help but laugh as happy tears streaked down your face. 

After the vows, the preacher announced the exchanging of the rings, then he said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.” 

Loki eagerly grabbed you, his slender fingers running through your styled hair as he pulled you close. You wrapped your arms around him, gripping him tight. In seconds, cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd. 

The two of you eventually let go of each other before you turned and faced everyone. 

“Everyone, I am pleased to present, Loki Odinson and Y/N Odinson!” the preacher called happily and everyone jumped up, shouting, cheering, hooray-ing. 

You two walked down the aisle as the photographers took several pictures before leading you to the area to get the portraits taken. Moments later, the bridal party was there to join you. After an hour of photos, you joined your guests at a quant area you’d had set up on the beach. The sun was still over the horizon, giving you plenty of time with everyone. 

There was a dancefloor put in, with the dining tables surrounding it, as fantastic food was being served. The band announced your arrival with Loki, and said you’d be doing your first dance now.

The two of you danced to a song you’d heard on one of your dates. Then Tony, Bruce, Shannon, and several others joined you on the dancefloor. All of you danced for several hours. You shared a dance with several men you cared for, some of them were Clint Thor, Tom, Stephen, Tony, and Steve. Remy even cut in at one point, causing you to feel a mingling of happiness, relief, and guilt. He assured you he was having a good time, that you looked the most beautiful he’d ever seen, and he was happy to see you happy. 

Thor and Shannon gave speeches, prompting both laughter and happy tears to go throughout the audience. Eventually, you threw your bouquet, to which Jean Grey caught it. 

Tony walked up to you two. “Hey Y/N, I’m gonna steal your groom for a moment if you don’t mind?” Tony smiled sweetly at you. “I promise he’ll be back shortly”

“Bring him back in one piece, Tony,” you requested. 

“Like I would harm a hair on my new brother-in-law’s head.” He winked.

The two men walked away to a quiet spot that overlooks the water and stood in silence before Tony spoke.

“Listen, Reindeer Gam--Loki, I just wanted us to start new,” he paused. “Like water under the bridge and to welcome you with open arms to this family.”

He made a face of suspicion. “I would actually like that. I appreciate it. I know how much Y/N loves Shannon and you, and I know it’d be easier on all of us if you and I could… Well, let the past stay in the past.”

“Yeah I think that would be best, especially with the kids who love you guys to death already.” He smiled, thinking of his two kids. “I’m not sure if Y/N’s told you this but I made a promise to her that I would do whatever it took to bring you back, She’s really important to Shannon and I know just now important you are to Y/N.” He pats Loki’s shoulder. “And believe me when I say this, it’s good to have you back man.”

“It’s extremely good to be back. You’ve raised some exceptional children. I look forward to getting to know them. Thank you for helping to get me back and keeping an eye on Y/N for me. I think I’ve had you pegged wrong for quite some time.” He patted Tony’s back. “By the way, I never got a chance to say I’m sorry about New York. Brainwashing and all that. It was never personal, you know that, right?” 

“To be fair neither of us knew what the outcome would be for that, I never took it against you.” He looked over at his Brother-in-law. “Yeah people tend to do that often they think there isn't much else to me besides billionaire playboy genius, I would do anything for the ones I love much like you have.”

“Could’ve fooled me with the not taking it against me, seeing as you had me housed in your basement for two years,” Loki joked with a half grin. 

Tony laughed remembering that. “It would’ve gone way worse if Shannon hadn't stepped in for you two. Those two years would have been in complete darkness away from Y/N’s side.” He got serious. “I know how much that would have affected you both.” He sighed.

Loki nodded. “You and Shannon are both… very kind people, and I am truly blessed to know you both and call you family. Thank you, for everything you’ve both done for me and Y/N, despite our pasts. I’m not sure how I’ll ever repay you.”

“No matter how bad things get for someone and whatever they had done it doesn’t change the fact that family is family. I’ve come to learn that myself through my life and we love you guys too”

The moment got interrupted when Peter ran up to his uncle, showing him some sparklers.

“Uncle Loki, look! I’m Doctor Strange!” He flailed his arms around.

Loki absolutely lost his mind seeing his nephew imitate the other man. He pulled out his phone, recording the boy and sent it to his former employer with a simple caption: “This is you”.Strange immediately received the message and just shook his head and continued to enjoy the festivity.

Tony knew in that moment that his son and his Uncle would get along great and would likely cause mischief together. Things were turning out better than he had imagined, never did the Tony Stark think he’d get married let alone settle down somewhere and have a family with the chaos that is his life. Even after everything that’s happened this was the least he deserved for risking his life to save everyone else.

Just before you and Loki were going to be sent off, Thor pulled you two aside, away from the partying. The three of you walked down the shore for a moment, before Thor finally said why he’d pulled you two aside.

“I have a wedding present for you, but I can’t give it to you just yet. You’ll have to wait until you get back from your honeymoon.”

“Mysterious,” you mused. “Have you taken a page from Loki’s book?” you teased, nudging Thor with your shoulder. 

“Perhaps I have.”

“Thank you, Thor. I’m sure whatever it is, is most kind,” Loki sweetly said. 

“It is, brother, thank you for noticing,” Thor replied and you rolled your eyes before linking arms with them to walk a little more.

Eventually, you three returned from your stroll, and at the end of the night the two of you were being sent off. Some people threw flower petals, others lit sparklers, the sorcerers you invited cast magical sparks your way. You and Loki ran under the send off, straight into a car that Tony had rented for the two of you. 

You rolled down the window, blew a kiss to everyone, thanked them for coming, told them you loved having them there, then that was it. The car was in motion.

Off you went, on your honeymoon. 

___________________

Unforseen Chasm Tag list- @reigningqueenofwords @oldfreakything @adefectivedetective @dontbetooobvious

Tag list- @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @winchester-writes @winchesterenthusiast @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog   @sammysbuttcheek @misz-adrii @sandlee44 @womanxofletters​ @natsuccs​ @childishhoebinoo​ @expecteddifferent​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @fanaticfanfiction​ @dakotapaigelove​ @sassy-spn-knight-of-hell​ @reigningqueenofwords​ @oldfreakything​

Marvel: @reigningqueenofwords​ @flowerbunbunny​ @zelda2248​ @misz-adrii​

Second Note: I just want to thank every single person who has followed along with us through out this entire series! seeing all of you enjoying this series has really brought my spirits up throughout this shitty time. a special thanks to my Best friend @thorne93 for putting up with my antics and procrastination throughout the writing time. by far the best time I've ever had writing with someone else. stay tuned in for the next cowritten series by us! 

[elysianrey]

what could be as lonely as love?

[part two of it’s a slow cinnamon summer. read part 1]

(a/n: Y’ALL. I JUST DELETED THE ORIGINAL POST. I’m so mad at myself... if you liked this or reblogged it sometime yesterday or today...feel free to do it again. The feedback i’ve gotten has honestly been the best. You guys are amazing. I will try to get part 3 up tomorrow. xoxo Content T+)

In the weeks following the secret lake party, Josie decided to throw a small get together at her house for their group of friends. Although Anne did not necessarily consider herself a friend of Josie’s, Ruby had begged and pleaded in the wake of Diana’s absence, especially since Moody was going to be there, and the two had been spending an awful lot of time together. Ruby was convinced that it would only be a matter of days before they officially began courting. Anne could find it within herself to be grateful that Ruby had given up her lifelong pining of Gilbert, however, the reasons why were still not entirely clear to her. 

But she knew it had something to do with that night at the lake, where she was beginning to see him as potentially more than a friend. And it frightened her.

Josie spared no expense in ensuring her friends had plates of food and many glasses of punch to help them enjoy the midsummer evening. After one glass, Ruby was giggling uncontrollably at a joke Moody had made and by glass two she was sobbing hysterically at a song he was strumming on his banjo. 

This was when she understood exactly just what kind of beverage this punch had in it, and she took it upon herself to drink enough until the movements of her body felt looser and her mind was a little less sad. Marilla trusted her judgement and Anne had grown far wiser when it came to drinking alcohol since the day when Diana and her consumed a whole bottle of raspberry cordial. She smiled reminiscently at the memory as she swirled the orange liquid in her glass and finished the rest with a silent toast to her bosom friend, hoping that she was savoring her time in France. 

Deciding she had enough of the girls’ dramatics, Anne slipped outside of the house into the clear, July evening that she was fixed on enjoying properly. 

She found herself trailing delightedly through the Pye’s enormous garden, the scent of blooming roses wafting through the twilight air and encompassing her slightly buzzed senses. Giggling lowly, she closed her eyes and attempted to follow the direction of that glorious smell with solely the use of her nose. She reached her arms out to feel for the delicate texture of a petal as she continued further into the maze of tall bushes. 

“Where, oh where, are you my lovely friends?” she called out joyfully into the nature surrounding her. For the most part, she was doing well to avoid running into the walls of bushes, but occasionally she walked headlong into one and had to use her vision by slightly squinting open one eye to redirect her path. The several glasses of punch she drank with her classmates seemed to be helping her discover the world in a new light tonight and she could not resist feeling grateful for it.

Eventually, her fingers found the source of her elation, and she knew she had made her discovery when she felt not only the feather-soft, smoothness of rose petals, but also the prickly thorns that accompanied them. Gasping from the slight ache on her pointer finger from the unexpected sharpness, Anne let her eyes drift open fully to appreciate the hundreds of red blooms that lay before her.

“Ah, there you are,” she grinned cheerily, sticking her finger in her mouth to stop the small drop of blood that had formed. “You are especially marvelous tonight with your velvety red petals and deliciously smelling perfume.” She dropped her hand to glide along the tops of the flowers and revelled in their feel.

“Anne?” 

The girl heard her name, yet her jubilant ministrations on the rose bushes continued. 

“Anne is that you?”

Pausing this time, she turned slowly to face the owner of the curious, low voice. Before her sat Gilbert Blythe, glass of punch in his hand, resting comfortably on an elegant wired bench that was almost humorously too petite for his large, broad form. At this realization, Anne let out an amused laugh, her mind still rather loose from the alcohol she had consumed.

Gilbert’s eyebrow raised in perplexity, his eyes looking bright and content in the dimming evening air. The side of his mouth quirked upwards, revealing half of a smile, as Anne’s laughter began to grow louder and harder until she was clutching her side in a desperate attempt to keep herself from toppling onto the green ground. 

“Oh Gilbert,” Anne choked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she choked for air. “I--you--” she attempted again, pushing the falling tendrils of coppery hair back from her face. “That bench you’re sitting on--it looks as it could nearly topple in half at any moment.” If only her brain would have allowed her to consider the words coming out of her mouth…

“Anne Shirely-Cuthbert,” Gilbert chuckled, quite entertained at this girl before him. “Are you calling me fat?” His face broke into a wide, dimpled smile that Anne could not help but saunter toward slightly, her feet moving on their own accord. 

“I would never,” she playfully gasped, stopping directly in front of him so that she could get a better look at his dapper features. This was the happiest she had seen him look in a long time, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the drink in his hand. It had certainly aided in lowering her inhibitions.  “I am positive that your big ego could do that all on it’s own.”

His face twisted into a mock expression of hurt and Anne’s laughter returned, a melodious tune ringing in his ears. “My ego may never return to the size it once was after a remark like that, Anne,” he grinned, his eyes staring fondly into hers. He brought his glass up to his lips for another sip of his drink.

Anne watched as his lips curled around the rim of the glass, an unwelcome heat forming in the pit of her stomach. These were not details about him she would usually notice and she tried her best to redirect her line of thinking onto something less romantical. 

“Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do, Gil? Touch your hair,” she gingerly stated. Great, Anne. That was just the perfectly normal comment to say to someone who was definitely not your romantic partner.

She watched his shoulders tense and the lighthearted expression on his face faltered enough for her to notice. “Anne,” he replied in a tone that denied everything his body had already told her. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

Anne crossed her arms, irritation building in her chest. For him to think that she needed to be drunk to say something like she wanted to touch his hair. The nerve. “Why is it of your concern? I’ll have you know that I am entirely in control of my thoughts and actions, thank you very much,” came her terse response.

He glanced away from her, not buying into what she had told him, however, he would not dare tell her that for he was a bit tipsy himself.

Anne waited crossly until he finished the drink in his hand, which he was gulping down this time. No longer caring that she would later regret a majority of the choices she was going to make from this point forward, the freckled girl stared boldly at him gulp down his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing, wanting nothing more than to prove him wrong.

The heat in the pit of her stomach had returned, and was growing until she could feel it everywhere. Her whole body was hot and it was all because of him. The handsome boy in front of her with his deep, warm eyes that constantly brought reassurance in her moments of doubt, the spotted beauty marks on his face that she wished to count and connect to form new constellations, and that hair. His dark, wild head of curls that folded in every direction, and had been tempting her to reach out and run her fingers through for weeks now. The jealousy she had felt all because of those water droplets that had clung to it that night. 

When he turned his head back toward her, he seemed to pick up on the newfound intensity in her sparkling blue eyes. He rivaled her dark scrutiny with a matching expression of his own.

“So may I?” she asked once again, her chin tilting up to signal that she was not going to relinquish this quest.

“Fine.” His retort was clipped and unfeeling, which left Anne further annoyed that he was acting childish about simply granting her this one wish.

Normally, she was not the selfish type. She was always ready to leave her work at the drop of a hat and run off to help someone in need. But not today. No, in this secluded section of Josie Pye’s garden, filled up on a little too much spiked punch, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was bound and determined to get her way. 

She sealed the distance between them, inching forward until her knees brushed against his. Despite the fabric separating them, her skin burned hot enough that she almost stumbled backward. Quickly steadying herself, she reached out a tentative hand that ghosted along the side of his head. Anne was trying her hardest not to look at Gilbert for she had a sinking suspicion that she would know exactly what she would see if she looked into his eyes. Her hand trembled as she moved her fingertips ever so slowly along the tips of his hair.

Then she brought her fingers into his curly locks and he let out a small gasp of pent up air that she feared had come from her mouth instead because as she touched his hair lightly with one hand, her heart nearly exploded out of her chest cavity in trepidation. His silky strands were everything that she imagined and more. It was as if she were running her hands along the tall wildflowers that grew in the fields near Green Gables. She began to lightly twist a finger around a strand and she watched as it coiled gracefully to her request and then bounce back to its original form. However, one hand coursing through his luscious, sleek hair was not enough for her, and Anne raised her other hand to continue her analysis. As that hand landed on his head, Gilbert’s hands were suddenly grabbing ahold of her waist.

Anne immediately froze, her tender exploration coming to a halt as she inhaled sharply at the contact. She looked straight ahead at the green shrubbery before her and her fuzzy brain wondered if he was going to let go. He did not. Yet she would be a liar if she tried to deny that she didn’t enjoy the slight pressure his large hands were currently presenting on her waist. Reluctantly removing her hands from his hair, she brought them down to hover on top of his hands instead, still not meeting his gaze. 

That’s when she heard a whisper, barely loud enough for her ears to register, and quite desperate, “Anne.”

And for the second time that evening, the copper-haired girl was selfish and finally gave in to what she wanted, no matter how insane the desire was, her blood pumping furiously throughout her body with courage. Closing her eyes, she swiftly pressed her lips against his, sunbursts of light exploding behind her eyelids. A noise of shock bubbled out of Gilbert’s throat at first, then he was pulling her closer to him and her body was wedged between his legs quite scandalously, but when had she ever been one to care about what society deemed as proper?

Here she was, heatedly kissing the most beautiful boy she had ever met, and he was returning her advances with all of the passion and fervor she had ever dreamed of. His lips were slightly chapped, however they felt nearly as soft as his hair that her fingers had returned to, and when she pulled at it, a low moan reverberated in the back of his throat, and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was confident that Gilbert Blythe was going to be the reason for her undoing. 

Finally pulling back, Gilbert leaned his forehead against hers and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Anne-girl,” he murmured breathlessly, a hand coming up from her waist and caressing the freckles on her cheek with his knuckles. Anne’s heart soared from hearing his affectionate nickname spoken from his lips in such a delicate manner. “I think you’ve made your point,” he added with a quirk of his lips. 

“Hmm...I’m not sure I have,” she teased lightheartedly, tugging again at the dark strands, which prompted Gilbert to go in for another stolen kiss. She ended it quickly though by pulling away from his embrace from where he sat on the bench and taking a distancing set away from him. “We should be getting back to the house. It’s getting late.” Her mind felt like it was becoming clearer. Anne would have tried to walk back by herself, but the game she had made up to find the roses had ultimately left her lost in this garden.

Gilbert could not help hiding the look of disappointment that crossed his face at her abrupt request after the moment they had shared. He rose and offered her his arm, which she accepted graciously with a placid smile, and they started in the direction from which they initially came in silence, neither seeming to know quite what to say.

“If I behaved immodestly--” she blurted out anxiously, keeping her eyes directed toward the ground. Now that the alcohol was wearing off, rational Anne, who knew how to behave in the presence of a boy, a friend, was returning.

The boy walking beside her let out an incredulous huff. “You didn’t Anne and if I did anything to lead you---”

“Absolutely not Gil,” Anne broke in vigorously, lifting her eyes to meet his with a calm assurance. As much as it pained her to say it, she added, “I think I just need some time to think and process some of the events that conspired tonight.”

Gilbert’s voice sounded tight as he hollowly agreed, “Yes, of course.” This did not do much to aid the guilt she felt in the pit of her stomach during the rest of the walk to the house. 

He did not say a word and neither did she. 

+++++

The journey back to Green Gables with him by her side was just as quiet and tense, which was very unlike them. Usually they talked far beyond their arrival at the front gate of her home, to the point where Marilla was calling for Anne to come inside the house. Tonight, Gilbert gave her a brief ‘Goodnight’ and turned in the opposite direction toward the Blythe Farm. Anne stood at the gate, watching him go until she could no longer see his broad outline, her throat feeling exceptionally dry. Not like when his lips had been dragging along hers only hours prior. She briefly considered shouting out to him and working to talk this whole situation out. Explain that she had wanted it to happen so badly. Yet he had shut himself off to her because she had hurt him by not saying more.

Here it was, the regret. She was a foolish girl, Marilla was right.

Sighing loudly, Anne opened the gate and made her way into Green Gables. She had assured Matthew and Marilla that she would be alright without them waiting up for her tonight so they were fast asleep in their beds. 

When she got to her room, she shut the door quietly and flopped down on her bed, biting down on her bottom lip, hard, in an effort to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from spilling. It was no use. All she could picture was Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert. The way his mouth tasted, how he made every nerve in her body act on their own accord, the noises he made because of her. 

She knew sleep would be futile tonight.

[toushindai]

Family Dog

Zagreus lets himself rest a moment with Cerberus in the Temple of Styx. It gets interrupted. [100% spoiler for the Big Bad Update; content warning for implied/referenced child abuse.]

[ Read on AO3 ]

---

He stumbles out of the temple’s back corridors with blood dripping down his face and a persistent ringing in his ears. He’s feeling everything at about a five-foot remove, which is good when it comes to the pain radiating from the fracture in his left leg but less good when he actually has to fight. Which he will, again. He hasn’t even found anything for Cerberus yet. But if heads into the tunnels right now, he’ll be dead in seconds. And then he’ll wind up all the way back home. Again. 

He spends a full minute staring at the entrances to the tunnels, trying to will up the determination to go get himself killed. Then, instead, he goes to Cerberus.

Three pairs of furry red ears perk up as he approaches, and Zagreus holds his empty hands up apologetically. “Sorry, boy,” he says. “Nothing yet. But can I just…” He gestures vaguely in lieu of finishing his sentence and, when Cerberus tilts one head in question, indicates what he means by going ahead and doing it: he plops down next to the enormous dog and slumps back against him. The protest of his broken leg grows briefly urgent and he shifts, teeth gritted, until it recedes into the distance again. He exhales. He needs this. Just for a minute.

One of Cerberus’s heads makes a thin whine—concerned about Zagreus, or maybe about the fact that Zagreus is interrupting his duty without even bribing him first. Zagreus isn’t sure which, until another head extends its tongue to lick gently at the cut on his head and the third nuzzles his shoulder. Zagreus relaxes a bit. “Careful, boy,” he murmurs. But the hound is careful, without being told, and this—this is nice. He breathes just a little easier. When he closes his eyes and buries his face in Cerberus’s thick fur, he can remember the past, if not fully pretend that he’s back there. He used to fall asleep snuggled up with Cerberus like this. Now, he can’t tell whether he’s falling asleep or simply losing consciousness as he breathes in the familiar (though not inherently pleasant) smell of dog. He might be dying. Finished off belatedly by a satyr’s poison, or something. But Cerberus is with him, at least. There are worse ways to go; he’s experienced quite a few of them. Between stretches of cozy non-thought, he wonders how he’ll appear on Hypnos’s list this time, and he hopes Cerberus won’t be too startled when the waters of the Styx claim him. 

 Some indistinct time later, a familiar gruff sound.

“There you are. I should have known I’d find you here, boy.”

Zagreus startles awake, stomach clenching, wondering how he let his father catch him asleep on Cerberus again. He hates that, he’ll lecture him for sure—but as he scrambles frantically to his feet, pain shoots up his left leg and slaps him back into the present. Right. The Temple of Styx. The surface. His father here to stop him personally, time after time. Hades glares down at him, and his lips crack into a cruel smirk as Zagreus stumbles, but Zagreus just glares back. He’s holding onto Cerberus with one hand for balance, but he’s standing.

Hades sneers at his defiance, as ever. “Were you planning to face me in that state? No wonder I find you lazing about here instead.”

But Zagreus isn’t a child caught in a moment of naughtiness anymore. He meets his father’s critical gaze without flinching. “Lazing about? I’ve been throwing myself headlong into this for weeks, hardly taking a moment’s rest to myself. Is ‘lazy’ really the insult you want to go with here?”

“It is. You are lazy, engaging in this nonsense rather than making yourself useful around here. Sooner or later, I’ll grind it into your head that your place is back in the House.”

“No you won’t.”

Hades narrows his eyes. “And what do you think the alternative is, you stupid boy? Should I kill you here, or wait until you bribe your way past Cerberus once more?” The hellhound gives a guilty whine, one muzzle buried against Zagreus’s back like he’s trying to hide. Zagreus almost stumbles again. But for once Hades lets an opportunity to mock him go by, instead giving a heavy sigh and speaking tolerantly. “It isn’t your fault, Cerberus, I know that. You’d still be resting comfortably at home if it weren’t for this boy’s obdurate foolishness—”

“Or if you would just leave him there instead of dragging him onto duty,” Zagreus points out. 

Hades’ eyes turn hard again as he turns them back to his son. “Don’t interrupt me, boy.”

“Oh, am I interrupting? You know, you could be sitting comfortably on your throne right now, working on all that paperwork you love. No one’s actually forcing you to come out here. And you certainly don’t have to get Cerberus involved. That’s all on you, Father.”

“On me?” Black rage twists Hades’ face and he takes one enormous step forward, the temple walls quaking with his footfall. Zagreus’s stomach plunges. But pain makes him slow, and before he can reach for Coronacht, Cerberus is on his feet with one head bowed low and protective over his shoulder. Zagreus feels rather than hears the low rumble of a growl in his throat. 

Hades stills. His eyes are dark with stony indignation, but when he speaks, his voice only sounds tired. “Cerberus.”

The hound whines with one mouth and gives a muffled bark with another. The head curled around Zagreus continues its barely audible growl. His posture is strained, and Zagreus glances backwards to see his tail tucked halfway between his back legs, quivering nervously. Zagreus reaches up and combs his fingers through the scruff at Cerberus’s neck. “Thank you, boy,” he murmurs.

Hades groans in exasperation. “You thank him for this? For turning aside from his duty and defying me, out of some misguided fondness—”

“Father, please.” His voice comes out hard, not pleading, because he is angry and he’s tired of this. “He’s fond of you, too, and if you didn’t keep dragging him into this, he wouldn’t have to choose between us.”

“I’m dragging him into this? Preventing escape from my realm is his job.”

“Which we both know by now he’s just not going to do when it comes to me. Why do you bother?”

Truth be told, Zagreus doesn’t really want him to stop; he’s glad to see Cerberus so near to his goal every time. For now it means he gets a moment’s rest and affection before his father beats him to death to stop him from achieving the one thing that matters to him, and someday it will mean that he gets to say one last goodbye. But as Cerberus looks between father and son now, Zagreus only feels empathy towards the poor dog’s divided loyalties and resentment towards his father for putting them all in this position.

Hades’ lip curls as he fixes his burning glare on Zagreus, careful not to turn the weight of his rage towards Cerberus. He doesn’t answer Zagreus’s accusation. He only scoffs, at last.

“Fine! He can make whatever choice he wants, and I won’t stop him. It hardly matters when I will put an end to your foolishness myself as soon as you step through that door.”

Zagreus sends him a clipped smile. “Then why don’t you step outside and wait there for me, Father? I’ll just be a moment.”

“Don’t you give me that cheek, boy,” Hades snarls. “You won’t even make it through the door this time.”

But he turns and stomps out of the temple, thus doing exactly what Zagreus suggested. As the heavy door swings shut again, erasing the sliver of moonlight that plays across Cerberus’s fur for a brief moment, Zagreus exhales. His knees and the muscles behind his shoulders quiver with exhaustion, and his leg has gone numb in that peculiar way that means his brain has given up on communicating pain to him. But he’s not dead of poison, and his father hasn’t killed him right in front of Cerberus, so. Small mercies, here. He wraps his arms around the closest of Cerberus’s necks, buries his face in his fur, and embraces his friend.

“I’m sorry about all of this, boy,” he says, his words muffled. “You know you mean a lot to me, don’t you?” A quiet yip of affirmation, and one of Cerberus’s enormous tongues dragging affectionately through Zagreus’s hair. Zagreus squeezes a little tighter. “I’m really going to miss you when I get out.”

For a moment, he lets himself feel the hound’s body move as he breathes. But then he steps back, catches himself from staggering, and sighs. He’s still in no shape to fight.

“Just this once,” he says with a wry smile, “would you let me through without a snack?” Cerberus sends three baleful looks his way, and Zagreus nods understanding. “No, I know. You have your guard duty, and you take it seriously. The Underworld’s better with you in it.”

It’s just that’s never been true of Zagreus, so he’s got to get out of here. And if his father doesn’t like that, he’s going to have to kill Zagreus himself. He refuses to die among these vermin here. Not this time, not after that little confrontation.

“Wish me, luck, boy,” he says, and he manages a flicker of optimism. He hopes Cerberus will find his smile reassuring. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes, so I hope you’re hungry!”

Cerberus’s tail thumps once against the ground, and two of his mouths loll open eagerly. He barks once. For an enormous, allegedly (and factually) vicious watchdog of hell, he is unbearably cute, sometimes. Zagreus reaches up to scritch behind his ear one more time. Then he turns towards the temple’s back tunnels, favoring his bad leg, and resumes his search for a delicious treat for his best boy.

[existential-queers]

Our Hero, Satan

A very silly paper written by a very silly person about a very silly poem

Thank you and goodnight

Modern interpretations of Lucifer Morningstar are overwhelmingly that of a sexy, misunderstood bad boy with daddy issues. Look no farther than Netflix's Lucifer or The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina for example. While it would be undoubtedly easier to sell one's soul to a tall, dark, attractive, chiseled beefcake, this is not Satan's long-established depiction. From the days of early Christianity, Satan was a monstrous and horrific creature of the deep—not so much tempting as terrifying. The question is then, of course: what changed? Enter John Milton's highly kudosed fix-it fanfiction, Paradise Lost, and its unlikely protagonist, the Morningstar.

Paradise Lost chronicles the biblical genesis from the perspective of none other than he who has been called Wicked One, Adversary, Father of Lies, and Prince of Darkness: ya boi, Satan. From his very introduction directly proceeding the Fall, Satan is undeniably charismatic. He is certainly the most dynamic of the ensemble cast with even some critical claims that “Satan is superior in character to Milton’s God,” an omniscient, omnipotent, all-benevolent, blah, blah, non-human, blah, blah, perfect, blah, blah, flat and boring character (Kaiter and Sandiuc 452). There are no excuses, Milton. In rousing speeches of revolution and sly temptations in the garden, he gains the audience's sympathies, though perhaps not trust. He is still Satan and his words should probably be taken with a grain of salt, or maybe a whole block, just to be on the safe side. Wading through the suave and sympathetic, the question often raised and hotly debated is: is Satan a hero or a villain? 

Satan begins the poem in pain, chained in a lake of boiling sulfur, surrounded by fallen friends. After getting yeeted “headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,” free-falling through primordial Chaos, and crash landing in the wretched abyss, he is bound to straight up not be having a good time (Milton 1.45). Now you may be thinking: well that’s what he gets for rebelling against God and being, you know, Satan. What, then, would you say about an unsuccessful revolutionary who rebelled against a cruel dictator and was jailed and tortured indefinitely? This is the picture Satan paints, at least. Even after all this, he holds out hope to learn from prior mistakes, gather up his comrades, and

To wage by force or guile eternal war

Irreconcilable, to [their] grand foe,

Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav’n. (Milton 1.121-124)

They all live to fight another day, and even in a place where hope cannot reach them, their leader inspires it once more.

This is terribly reminiscent of Greek tragic heroes the likes of Odysseus and Jason. Satan is a brave and clever leader, trekking through Chaos to the garden himself rather than sending a poor redshirt. After a bit of kitty shape-shifting and spying, Satan gets to work on infiltrating the garden in the most effective way imaginable: fighting battle-ready angels head-on. Again. After that predictably fails, he heals up in Hell while the demons build a cannon. A cannon that also fails. Come on, Satan; only a third of Heaven fell with you. Face it, you just don’t have the numbers. Back to pre-Plan A, Satan fits himself with another animal disguise but with fewer limbs this time. There must be something thematic about the number three—wonder what that could be—because it finally works. Humans: tempted, God: thwarted, Satan: could probably use a nap.

Satan may be the protagonist, but that does not necessarily make him a hero. One of the most important aspects of the Greek model of a tragic hero is hamartia. This is not to say that he does not have flaws—of course he does, he’s Satan!—but that his flaws are the same as all of his more admirable qualities. What gives Satan his complexity is his paradoxes and contradictions such that “envy, pride, ambition, [and] self-glorification give the character his singularity and magnificence but also pass the rigorous sentence on him” (Kaiter and Sandiuc 453). He is the protagonist in that he is the main character of the work, but he is also the antagonist in that he “drives the plot with his machinations” (Kaiter and Sanduic 457). Satan is just self-aware enough to realize: “Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell” (Milton 4.75). Of course, he tosses self-reflection off the not-so-proverbial garden wall moments later in favor of some mischief, but at least he recognized it.

Satan’s way of fighting what very well may be an authoritarian overlord is petty at best and truly evil at worst. In the narrative, he fights not for justice but for “desperate revenge” through the destruction of innocents (Milton 3.85). The humans were not involved in the first war, but Satan seems to play by the logic that ‘if I can’t play with you anymore then no one can.’ So, like a cat or a toddler lacking enough attention from father dearest, he throws a fit and breaks daddy’s favorite toy. That is if daddy’s favorite toy is an entire species now damned to eternal torment until someone else is brutally murdered. How barbaric. But, to be fair, that last bit is God’s fault. If you’re omniscient and omnipotent, can you not just design a better world? Are you not more powerful than sin, a literal child of your own creation? So then, are you not omnipotent or not all-benevolent? Either way, Satan’s actions are rather villainous.

On a more meta note, it is such an interesting detail that Satan is a supreme orator in regards to Milton’s beliefs on writing. Certainly, Satan had to be a phenomenally eloquent speaker and rhetorician to fit the narrative (i.e. rallying comrades in Heaven to go up against God himself, tricking Eve to eat an Edenic tide pod, etc.), but the way that Milton executes it inspires *chef’s kisses*. Milton, who found the heroic poetry format of rhyming couplets to be constricting, who deliberately chose to write his epic in plain verse, puts the rare and only rhymes in Satan’s speeches. He basically shouts to his audience: I hate when people write poetry in this style, oh and here’s a character I wrote whose speech emulates this style (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). You are not that slick, Milton. Okay, you’re kind of slick.

Milton may have set the precedent of Sexy SatanTM, but that is not all his Satan is. He seems to be in the my-book-started-a-genre-with-flat-tropes-and-cliches-I’m-blamed-for-but-are-not-representative-of-my-book club alongside JRR Tolkein and Suzanne Collins. The Satan of Paradise Lost is more complex than the bad boy who wrote his name on God’s blacklist. Milton “creates a character who is at once someone we tend to appreciate as heroic, and someone we want to see defeated” (Kaiter and Sanduic, 456). Satan is not an Enjolras, but he is not a Hope-less Pandora’s box of pure evil either. In the same vein, Satan is not properly a hero or a villain either. The most fitting label for him may just be that of an anti-hero: one who employs deplorable methods to do what is considered good and righteous but often succumbs to hubris anyway. Milton’s representation of Satan is almost nebulous in motivations and moral center, if such a thing could be said about Satan. While this makes him difficult to pin down, it continues to inspire religious and literary critique to this day.

[soldierwinterthe]

Summary: during the events of 'The Dark World', Y/n helps Thor to restore peace to Asgard, and to defeat Malekith. Loki, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to understand what the girl feels for him.

A/N: I wrote this for the #caplansdisneychallenge by @caplansteverogers

The Prompt is: 'You're adopted.'

"Y/n, I need your help."

Lying on the sofa in my room, I quickly get up when I see Thor, the God of Thunder, approach me, looking worried and confused.

"What do you want this time?" I ask him, boringly. I can afford to be boring with him; after all, I'm his equal.

Thor seems dumbfounded, he definitely needs my help, but there's something that worries him more than he needs to ask. I encourage him to talk, and finally, looking up, Thor turns to me.

"I need you to... keepwath to Loki."

That's it, I knew it must be something very difficult to tell me; but he always does that. Whenever he has a problem, he came to me to... take care of the consequences of his actions.

Odin asked Thor to check his dear... brother, but something must have happened, to get him to ask something like that to me.

"You're not really asking for it."

"Yes, instead, Y/n..."

"I can't, I don't want to."

"I know you hate 'babysitting' Loki, but..."

I sigh; I am not asgardian. I'm human, and after what Loki did to the Earth, Thor asked me to follow him on Asgard, to restore peace in the nine worlds. I accepted, and when we finished our mission, he asked me to stay here for a while.

"I don't hate babysitting Loki, I hate Loki, they are two different things."

"You don't hate Loki, you hate the fact that you feel something for him, and he didn't understand that."

I open my mouth to say something, but I remain speechless, open-mouthed; he's right. I feel something for him. Yes, I know what you are thinking.

He is a monster.

He is a manipulator, a deceiver.

He tried to destroy the Earth.

I know, I know what Loki is. But I also know Loki what is not.

He is an idiot, but he is not a monster. It's just... hurt.

I want to understand under those wounds what's real.

"She is not there." suddenly says Thor; I look up at him, trying to understand what he's talking about. But I already know; he does nothing but talk about one thing. About one person.

"Heimdall can't see her, something happened to Jane, and I have to go back to her."

When Thor asks something, in fact, he begs me to do something, it's very serious. And if it has to do with Jane...

"All right, I'll do it. Happy?"

A couple of days, Thor said so.

A few days to understand what happened to Jane, and then, he would come back. In the meantime... Loki, I can't believe it. I thought I would never see him again, but the fact that now I'm going to him, even if I already know the expression that he will do when he will see me...

I enter the prisons, after having warned some guards standing in front of the door my intent. Slowly, I approached Loki's brig, seeing him sitting in a corner with his eyes closed; without making too much noise, I sit on one of the steps outside the brig, and I sigh, happy that Loki hasn't noticed me yet.

"What are you doing here?"

I jump, turning sideways, to see Loki still sitting, but with his eyes wide open, fixed in mine. I swallow; I knew he would notice me sooner or later, but I hoped it would happen as late as possible... like, when Thor was back.

"I have to stay here for a few days... to give you a look."

Loki does that look every time: he's pleased. He knows I can't stand the fact of staying here, watching him, and he loves the fact that I hate to stay and watch him.

I try to stay calm, and half sleepy, I lie down on the steps, trying to rest a bit.

"Will you stay there all the time?" Loki still asks me.

"I don't want to talk to you, and you don't want to talk to me, so yes, Loki, I'll stay here all the time, in silence, until Thor comes back from..."

"Oh, so my dear brother left? I can easily imagine where he went."

I remain silent, trying not to fall into Loki's trap; whenever I name Thor, Loki begins to assault me with double meanings on his brother. Loki is so stupid, he thinks I feel something for Thor, not understanding in the least that if I have feelings, it's for the God of the Mischief, not for the God of Thunder.

However, Loki seems to surrender easily to my indifference.

The first day doesn't go so badly; Loki sat in a corner, then he lay down on the bed, finally reading some books. Instead, I sat all the time on the steps of the brig, looking at the ceiling, and thinking about how I ended up in a situation like that.

Thor will be in debt with me forever.

When it's dark outside, I get up, and without even saying goodbye to Loki, I'm going back to my room. As soon as I step in, I throw myself headlong into my bed and fall asleep quickly.

The next day, I think about what to do. I could also avoid going to Loki, and telling Thor a lie, when he returns, that his favorite brother has behaved well. But even if I'm good with lies, Thor would find out that I lied.

After ten minutes of plenty 'do I have to go or do not I have to go?', I collect some books – which I brought with me before leaving the Earth – and I head back to the prisons. Like the day before, I greet the guards, and then, I walk towards Loki's brig.

Nothing seems to have changed since the day before, but as I approach the brig, I hear Loki talk with someone; the thing is very strange, I thought nobody could visit him.

I hide in a corner, and I watch the scene: Loki, with a melancholy and sad look, while observing Frigga, or at least what seems to be the Queen of the Gods. The two interact for a few seconds, after which, Frigga disappears, leaving the God alone; she was only an illusion, created by Loki himself.

He wants everyone to believe that he's an evil and cold person, but, actually, he feels lonely and misunderstood.

I go out of my hiding place and head for Loki's brig; he notices my presence, and he completely changes his expression, returning to wear the mask of the cruel man he believes he is.

Meanwhile, some guards escort prisoners into the appropriate brigs; even though Thor and I have helped the nine kingdoms, there are still some warriors rebelling. I lose all interest in the new prisoners when Loki turns to me for the first time since I arrived.

"Here again? I had bet you wouldn't stay more than a day here."

"Bet with whom? Yourself? A lost match even before starting it."

Loki raises his eyebrows, visibly surprised by my dry answer. I'm not used to answering; normally - especially when Loki is talking - I look down and avoid answering, because I know it would be useless.

"So we both know you're here just because Thor asked you to."

Here it starts again, with this stupid story; he will never stop, but now I'm tired. Do you want war? War both.

"You're so used to being marginalized by everyone, that any person comes close to you, you think it does just to please Thor. You can pretend as much as you want, but we both know you're jealous that everyone loves Thor, and they just hate you."

Loki's eyes widen, remain baffled by my words; also I am a bit 'surprised by what I said. Actually, I didn't want to say that, even if, to be honest, it's the truth. I could count on the fingers of one hand the people who still feel a little love for Loki.

And I'm one of these.

The conversation between me and Loki is abruptly interrupted by a sudden explosion; everyone, including the guards, turn towards the direction of the roar.

The guards run quickly to the brigs, ready for a possible battle, while the prisoners, still in their brigs, begin to scream, and yelling.

"Don't go."

I was about to go and check the situation when I hear Loki say these exact words; I turn towards him, who seems to have turned pale after what happened.

Without asking why Loki wants me to stay on the sidelines, I don't think twice about it, and I head to the explosion site.

Only when I'm close enough to the cell, I realize that it's completely shattered, and the prisoners inside were dispatched throughout the prison corridors; one of them, a strange huge creature, approaches the other brigs, and it begins to open them one by one.

Then, the creature looks around, and its gaze stops at me; I prepare myself to fight, while the strange creature, as if it were a wild bull, begins to take a run. To defend myself, I create a shield of energy in front of me, to cushion the blow; however, I underestimated the creature's strength. It rushes towards me, and when it hits me, the shot completely shatters my shield, causing an explosion that throws me away from the creature.

I bang my head on the floor, but I can stay awake. I try to get up quickly from the ground, while a blurred shape passes by me; finally standing, the creature is no longer there, but the chaos rages still among the brigs of the prison.

Suddenly, I hear someone behind me shout my name, making me turn immediately. With his cloak wrapping his shoulders, and Mjolrnir in his hands, Thor runs towards me, evidently worried about my health.

"Y/n! Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. What's going on?"

"I'll tell you everything, but now I need your help. In the throne room, there was an invasion, we must go."

I nod, and beside Thor, we walk quickly towards the exit of the prisons; Meanwhile, we pass Loki's brig. If before he seemed worried about the riot, now he behaves as if nothing was happening around him, sitting on his bed and leafing through the pages of a book. I look away, before meeting his; the creature has opened all the brigs, but that of Loki is the only one still intact. Not even the enemy wanted to free the God of Mischief.

"Loki is still in his cell." I say to Thor as we head towards the throne room.

"I know, and it's better to stay there. Right now, he's the safest person of all."

Aether. It's how Thor called the strange substance that took possession of Jane's body, and that Malekith – dark elf – craves more than anything else.

Because of Malekith and his sudden invasion, Asgard suffered many death, first of all Frigga, the Queen of the Gods. Thor is devastated by his mother's death, but he tries to remain calm, and to think of a solution to defeat Malekith and save Jane. However, Odin has decided to lock up the girl so that the dark elf can't find her.

Obviously, Thor doesn't agree and has a plan of his own; to put in place, he will have to evade Jane, and escape from Asgard, but not using the Bifrost – Odin ordered Heimdall to seal the passage – but some shortcuts that only one person knows to Asgard. Loki.

Freeing Loki, and trusting him? Easy to say, difficult to do. But there's one thing at this moment that binds Thor and Loki more than their fraternal bond: revenge, for Frigga's death.

"Are you sure what you're going to do? The situation degenerates from minute to minute, but ask for help to Loki..."

"I know Y/n, okay? Loki is the last person I'd like to trust, but I need an escape from Asgard, and my brother can give it to me."

I'm surprised by the fact that Thor still calls Loki 'brother'; any other person would even forget the existence of the God of Mischief, after what he did. But not Thor. Even if he doesn't trust his brother anymore, he still loves him.

Arrived at the brig, Loki is standing, right in front of us, with his knowing and hostile gaze; this time, however, it's only an illusion.

His mother died, and Loki loved Frigga, though he couldn't admit it. And when Thor orders Loki to stop with the illusion, we can finally see the true God of the Mischief. A man exhausted on the floor, with his brig in a runaway, and holed up in his pain. It's the first time I see Loki like that, and I never expected him, who a year ago tried to destroy an entire planet, destroyed by the death of someone.

This perhaps means that I was right, and that Loki still has a heart, with which he feels – albeit not too often – feelings.

Thor explains his plan, and that he needs Loki's help. He seems to want to think about it.

"If I helped you, it would mean that I am part of the family, son of Odin and... Frigga. And your brother. But..."

"Loki, enough of this story that you're adopted. I don't care who your biological father is, you're still my brother, and I need your help."

Loki is impressed by the words of Thor; why can't he understand that the God of Thunder loves him?

"And you, do you think I should accept?"

It's strange that Loki asks me what I think of this story, but if he wants to live, I think he should accept the Thor's proposal.

"Your mother died, and you loved her. Do you want to avenge her by killing Malekith, or do you prefer to stay here and bask in your pain?"

I know my words are abrupt – even Thor frozes while I'm talking – but we don't have much time, and I need something to convince Loki to help us. However, I can ignite a spark in Loki.

"When do we start?"

"Did you say you knew how to fly it?"

The plan is working more or less; Lady Sif helped Jane escape from her room. Now, while Thor's friends distract the guards, Jane and I followed the two brothers on one of the dark elves' ships – falling a few hours before, during the invasion – that Thor wants to use to escape. However, the God of Thunder doesn't seem to be able to turn it on, and Loki continues to annoy his brother, putting pressure on him.

Thor is about to lose control, and he literally jump on Loki, but I can stop him in time.

"If it doesn't want to start in its own way, it'll start in my own way."

By moving Thor out of the controls, I quickly lay my hands on them, and use my powers to power the ship to move. I concentrate more and more, and suddenly, the ship starts to shake and then, it finally getting off the ground.

"Y/n, the ship is too big. Giving it energy will weaken you."

Thor is right, but the only way to escape is this; I have to withstand the time it takes to get away from the castle.

Suddenly, Jane doesn't seem to feel very well, and then she falls to the ground, unconscious. Thor catapults to her, to check that she's well; Loki instead, remains at my side, ready to annoy me this time.

"Are you sure you can drive this thing by yourself?"

"Shut up Loki. It's not the right time to act like an asshole! "

Something strongly hits the right side of the spacecraft; I turn around to check, and I see some little ships flying towards us.

"Look out!"

Distracted to avoid the shots of the guards behind us, I see the columns before us too late; fortunately, I can avoid them just in time; if only I weren't busy leading this ship, I could easily eliminate those who try to obstruct us.

I'm already using my strength more than necessary, and I don't know how much I'll still be able to stay strong enough to keep this shit up.

"Take my chains off me. I can help you, you can hardly stand up."

Loki's voice seems to be just a distant hiss; I feel that the forces are abandoning me more and more, and the ship begins to descend into the water. I look forward to myself, we are very close to the place where we're going; it's not long, I just have to hold out a little more.

"Y/n, it's time! We have to get off!"

Thor, still close to Jane, takes the girl in his arms, and opening the ship's hatch, he launches into space, ready to fall on a kind of flying boat placed beneath us.

When I see that Thor and Jane are safe and sound, I'm ready to leave the controls of the spacecraft, but something seems to go wrong: I feel like the world swirls around me fast, and I have to lean on something to keep from falling. The spacecraft is taking more and more speed, and it will soon be impacted.

Then, arms envelop my body; I close my eyes, I feel the wind brush against my face. When I open my eyes, I'm on the boat-ship, Loki's arms still wrapped around my waist.

"You saved my life." I say, visibly surprised by his gesture; I thought he was only interested in his life. And I also thought he hated me.

"See? I'm not such an asshole after all."

Loki helps me get back on my feet, while neither of them manages to take the eyes off each others.

"Loki, it's your turn."

Looking away from me at last, Loki approaches the boat-ship's controls, and all of a sudden, overtaking a strange tunnel, we find ourselves in another realm: that of the dark elves.

I'm slowly recovering, but looking around, this world makes me more and more uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?"

Loki is by my side, finally calm – a few minutes ago was arguing with Thor for what happened to Frigga – and without the chains that his brother had previously put him.

At this moment I'm confused; Loki has just saved my life, and it's a very strange thing, and now that I think about it, even the day before, during the escape of the prisoners, he behaved strangely.

How did he say?

Don't go.

He had said it so strangely, as if he were afraid something had happened to me.

"I'm fine. Why... do you saved my life?"

Loki looks at me for a moment, with a look that I can't decipher; that he's about to say something important? Has he saved my life for his dirty purposes, or why was he really afraid of losing me?

"If... I had left you on that ship, Thor would have killed me."

I remain speechless; what he just said... it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. And I thought – even for a second – that Loki had changed. That he had saved my life because he wanted to do it; instead, he did it only for himself. I hoped that at least he had done it for guilt, for what he had done to the Earth; a small gesture to redeem himself.

I get up, and I take a few steps towards Thor, to... do anything to get away from Loki; the boat-ship is very small, so I can't go very far. But not looking at him is already something.

Probably, at this moment he will be laughing at me; of the fact that I was stupid to trust him for a moment.

After leaving the ship-boat, we head towards a huge cliff; Loki and Thor, far away from me and Jane, begin a very silent conversation, so that Jane and I don't hear them.

"Will this story end well?" asks Jane, as she squeezes the shoulders in her arms.

"Thor is strong, and intelligent. We will survive."

"I don't care about him, but about Loki. How can Thor trust him?"

Indeed, Jane is not entirely wrong; right now – after what Loki told me - I wouldn't trust him either. But Thor, it's a completely different thing.

"Loki is Thor's brother. And Thor is Loki's brother. Although the God of Mischief does bad things, the God of Thunder will always find a way to trust him. Even in the worst moments."

Jane remains silent, thinking about who knows what; probably, to what I said.

The two brothers stop talking to each other, and as Thor approaches Jane to speak with her alone, Loki approaches me. I take a few steps to avoid his gaze, but he holds my arm, and forces me to look him straight in the eye.

"Loki, leave me."

"We could die, do you know?"

"And what does it matter to you? The important thing is that you're okay, aren't you?"

Loki sighs; it seems that he wants to say, or do something, but I can't understand it exactly.

"There's something you need to tell me before you go?"

I furrow; I don't understand what he means. I don't really need to tell him anything, or maybe yes? If he asked me something like that, maybe it's because Thor told him something.

"No, I have nothing to say to you."

"Good. I ask you... not to die. There are so many things I have to tell you." Loki says, after which he lets me go, and moves away from me.

It's too late now; Loki has behaved strangely once again, and I can't ask him what he wants to tell me exactly.

It may have been the only time I could tell Loki what I really feel for him, and instead I pulled back, and I remained silent.

Malekith is coming.

I knew something would go wrong; Thor's plan ended badly. Jane is safe, but Malekith has the Aether now, and he can destroy the entire universe.

While he escaped, we were trapped in this kingdom, with the dark elves ready to kill us. I have recovered myself, now I can fight together with Loki and Thor.

But the situation takes a turn for the worse: the dark elves are too many, and I can barely hold off those who are on me. One of them tries to hit me in the back, but a dagger sticks straight into his chest. I turn around, and I see Loki running towards me, ready to fight at my side.

"Are you taking pleasure in saving your life from me?"

As Loki keeps talking, some elves sneak up to him; I, noticing them, hit them with my powers, throwing them away from us.

"I don't need to be saved."

Loki rolls his eyes, and he doesn't even thank me for giving him a hand with the elves; instead, seeing Thor in difficulty, he runs towards him, while I defend myself from the few dark elves who have remained around me.

The creature that initiated the invasion on Asgard – the one who placed the bomb in prisons – goes dangerously to Thor and Loki; the two brothers fight together to flush him out, but Loki strikes him the final blow. However, before the creature can exhale its last breath, it hits the God of the Mischief in the chest, mortally wounding him.

Loki collapses to the ground, with Thor at his side, suffering; the God of the Mischief is dead.

Loki gave his life, for that of his brother.

The war is over; Malekith is dead.

Together with Thor, Jane and her friends, we managed to stop the dark elves, and save the Earth and the other kingdoms.

But at what price?

Loki is dead, but nobody seems to have noticed it; Thor and I are the only ones to suffer for his death.

Meanwhile, Odin has called me and his son to come back to Asgard, to talk about everything that has happened in the last days; I would have wanted to stay on Earth. By now my mission on Asgard is over. Yet, the King of Gods wanted to see me too, I wonder why.

Arrived at Asgard, Thor and I head directly into the throne room; completely replaced, the destruction of the invasion of Malekith is no longer noticed, and it has become only a memory.

Odin is usually sitting on his throne, with a cold and authoritarian look; it seems that nothing happened to him, that his wife is not dead, and that his... son is not dead.

Odin turns to his son, asking him to tell what has happened since we are... gone. Thor tells everything, word by word, but with a voice hoarse and almost silent, I can understand that – at least him – is still mourning the death of half of his family.

At the end of the story, something happens that leaves me very perplexed: Odin congratulates his son. It's something I've never seen him to do, he's a very... cold person, especially when he has to express his feelings; he reminds me a lot of Loki, right now.

Who knows, if he were still alive... what exactly would have happened? I would have told him what I felt for him, and he would have surprised me by telling me that he loves me too, just like in a movie, or we would have taken different paths, and we would never see each other again?

These thoughts will always instill doubt on my future, and on the unspoken words.

Thor has just announced to his father that he no longer wants to be King, at least, not for now; the God of Thunder wants to protect the Nine Kingdoms, but not seated on a throne, but on the field, fighting against enemies, protecting people, remaining at their side.

Odin should be furious right now, he should scream, he should try to change Thor's mind, but instead... nothing. He accept – even with too much enthusiasm – Thor's choice, and let him go to his destiny.

Before leaving, Odin turns to me.

"Y/n, I know you would like to come back to Earth, but I think I still need you here in Asgard."

I frown, not understanding the reason for this request; I was here to help Thor with chaos in the realms, but now my mission is accomplished. So why does he want me to stay here again?

"I-I don't understand. What can I do here? Now there's nob-... nothing more, that keeps me here."

"The dark elves have almost destroyed Asgard, and many prisoners are still free, in the streets of our kingdom to bring chaos, and to frighten whole families, women, children. Someone like you could help."

Asgard has... thousands of soldiers, and hundreds of guards. I don't understand why one more person could make the difference; I was hoping to finally come back home. I must to be honest: I was only here for Loki. I wanted him to change, I wanted him to understand how beautiful the world was, and how beautiful love was. I wanted him to start loving, I wanted him to start loving me.

But this didn't happen, and now I don't need anything anymore.

"I... I don't think I can accept."

"I know it's hard, but... you'll come home as soon as it's all over. You'll have to stay here a few days, at most a few weeks. Then you will come back home."

I think about what I have to say: stay? To help Asgard, again? I look at Thor, who doesn't help me much, since he has the look as if he were telling me 'the choice is yours'. Yes, the choice is mine, but from Odin's gaze, I don't seem to have much choice.

He's trying to ask me kindly just because his son is in front of him, and he doesn't want to fight. But I know that I will have to stay, and who knows how long.

"O-okay." I say, swallowing deeply. I'm stuck here again in Asgard, and this time there will not be Thor to fill my days, there will not be Frigga with whom I can talk. There will not be... Loki.

I can resist.

"I have to talk to the King of Gods."

The two guards look into each other's eyes; why shouldn't a warrior want to talk to Odin, and why in his private rooms?

I once again ask the guards to step aside, and to let me in, but they don't seem to want to move. Bored, I move them away, and open the doors of Odin's room.

One year. A whole year I stayed in Asgard to sort out their mess, of which I had no fault; I accepted the same, however, the requests of Odin.

You will only stay a few weeks, then you will return home.

So the King of Gods told me.

Instead it has been more than a few weeks; it's been a fucking year.

Odin is lying on his bed, comfortable, with a blissfully calm gaze; as soon as he sees me enter, he gets up quickly, looking with surprise at the situation in front of him.

"Go away." I order the guards; they move their gaze on Odin, not knowing what to do. They must execute orders from the King of Gods, perhaps Thor's orders, but not from other people. I am part of the group of other people.

Odin nods to his guards, waving them away; when we finally remain alone, I look at the man in front of me.

I know that the person I'm watching is the King of Gods, but something is wrong. I know it's like this, I can feel it. In this last year, I observed him, and there are things that Odin did, or said, that made me think, and I came to a single conclusion: the one before me is not Odin.

"What can I do for you, Y/n?"

"I'd like to know what's going on."

"Excuse me?"

I take a few steps towards Odin, and the closer I get, the more he seems to be uncomfortable.

I look him straight in the eyes, and then, extracting a dagger, I try to hit him; Odin anticipates my move, and clutching the wrist of my left arm, he snatches the knife from my other hand.

"You were about to hit your King." Odin says emphatically.

"You aren't my King. And you aren't even the King of this kingdom."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

I twist away from Odin's grip, and I back off, massaging my wrists.

He doesn't seem to want to tell me the truth, or maybe I'm going crazy, and all I'm thinking about is just madness. After all this time, I'm still obsessed with Loki.

I can't forget him; I can't remember that I must forget him.

I find him in my memories, in my dreams; anything here in Asgard, Loki reminds me, and I can't do anything to keep going.

"The dagger in your hand. You know perfectly who it belongs to. Thor gave it to me when you... when Loki died. I kept it, just as Thor asked me, because he thought it was better that way."

"I don't understand what this has to do with me."

I look down; it was my last chance, the last time to convince Loki to show up, to tell me the truth, but it didn't help. If I'm really right, Loki is alive, and he's right in front of me, though in another respect. But he doesn't want to be seen, at least not by me.

"I'm about to leave. I'm going back to my home."

I look at Odin/Loki in the eyes, to find any sign of sadness, of discomfort, of melancholy; however, it doesn't seem to show anything. Does he really not feel anything? If so, why did he want me to stay here at Asgard all this time?

Odin/Loki doesn't say a single word, he... just looks at me. Who knows what will be thinking right now.

"I wanted you to tell me the truth before leaving. I know you're Loki, I think I've known that since you pretended to die. But you continue to ignore it."

I turn around, I try to stay calm. Crying in front of Loki, Odin, or whoever he is, is not at all what I want, even if he deserves to see me in this way: it's his fault whether or in this state.

"Before you fight against Malekith, you asked me not to die. You wanted to tell me things, but... you didn't do it anymore. I only wish you were honest with me, at least once."

Odin/Loki doesn't seem to want to say anything else, so, nodding to myself, I head to the exit, ready to go to Heimdall, and go home.

No one follows me to stop me.

Before going away forever, I turn to look at Asgard, and all its beauty; there's nobody here with me. Thor is still around the Nine Kingdoms, and he's the only person here that I know enough to love.

Nobody came to greet me; no one came to tell me not to go away.

Loki is so obsessed with power and his egoism that he didn't even tell his brother the truth.

"Are you ready, Y/n?"

I nod. It's time to go home, and leave the whole story behind.

I hope I can forget.

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[zuraoftheblack]

Devoid

My eyes opened, gaze slowly focusing amidst the shock and confusion. Shards of glass, fractured stone and fragments of swiftly evaporating aether were scattered across the unstable ground all around me. The gate was closed, broken... but despite my wounds, I could only think of Lua. She had been here... where was she? I attempted to stand, only to fall before getting even to my knees, my face roughly returning to the solid ground. An inexorable tide of exhaustion weighed upon me as though a mountain was upon my back. I couldn't even stand... My silent pleas were finally answered after several excruciating minutes of uncertainty as I felt myself being picked up by another. I knew her hands, and I knew her warmth. It was Lua, and I didn't have to see her to know. Even before she had fully lifted me into her arms, I had succumbed to the fatigue, going limp and losing consciousness... 《Previously》

"...at the Crystal Tower..." "...way to the First..." "...throw wide the gates..." The conversation was still fresh in the minds of Lua and I as we compared all we had just experienced since our collective fall in the battle against Zenos. While we shared many dear embraces and expressed much relief at each other's wellbeing, a tension ran beneath the surface. It didn't take words to express that we both felt that our fight was cut short; our victory not yet complete, not while an Ascian still walked in the crown prince's body. Thus when our next and only lead was the man with the crystal arm, we dove headlong into research as soon as we left the Rising Stones. Already, we possessed the choicest morsels of knowledge from the Gubal Library in our home- something we both helped with- and we set to work accumulating what we knew. Through the archives we tore, until finally we discovered what we had been searching for. In a personal record of our travels, Lua found where she had met with Minfilia, who was taken by Hydaelyn at the time. The journal reminded us of the worlds outside our own, of the thirteen surrounding the Source- the star in which we resided. In the ensuing discussion about the potential to cross over between worlds, I suddenly remembered an endeavor that I had looked into many moons past, and dug up the dusty scroll upon which I had written my findings. I had never put it into practice due to a substantial risk and no definite success, but suddenly it became our best bet. Tataru and the remaining Scions may be doing their best to discover what kind of beacon may be around the Crystal Tower, but Lua and I would not simply sit idle. We would make our own gate. It's difficult to recall how it all started to go wrong... At first, everything was just as we had planned. By combining Allagan aetherology with Sharlayan astromancy, we were able to pinpoint this "First World" we had heard of. With the combined disciplines we could search not only across that which exists as we can see it, but also across a more subtle dimension between which all things exist. For lack of a better term, I call this "the gap." I know not whether this truly exists or if it's simply the empty expanse across the cosmos- indeed, from Omega, we learned it was possible to physically traverse the beyond from one star to another. Either way, we located a world of similar size and dimension to our own, and with uncanny swiftness as well. We may not have found the beacon proper, but it could very well have pointed us in the right direction.

Soon, it came time to test our discovery. Using my previously written methods, we took control of the teleportation gate at the broken Eight Sentinels that overlooked the Crystal Tower. Some engineers of the Ironworks who were far more adept at Allagan technology were happy to lend us a hand with the technical details. With a massive amount of aether in the crystallized landscape around us, we began to override the original destination of the Labyrinth and set a new course to the First.

Immediately, the gate began to shift and fluctuate, the Ironworks’ devices sparking and buckling under the strain. Lua dashed to our helpers’ side, leading them away and ensuring that none of them would come to harm while I ran to the devices. If anything was going to explode, I would do my best to keep the damage minimal and away from those who couldn’t easily defend themselves. As I checked the equipment, a blast of blinding, debilitating light overwhelmed my senses and sent me reeling back. The gate had opened. No words can describe the sensation that flowed over us as light flooded from the gate. It was so intense as akin to staring into the sun, yet it felt... cold. Indifferent. Emotionless.

Then, as I struggled to see, a creature emerged from the gate. Shrouded by blinding light as it was, I couldn't make out many details, and those that I could were terrible and unnatural, beady black eyes that looked at me from a curved, inhuman frame that seemed not to follow the limits of nature. From its head dangled writhing tentacles that were uneven in shape and number, and two gangly, emaciated arms clawed at the stone ground in stark contrast to its smooth and elongated body. If there were other details, they were lost to me in the light. Immediately, I moved to defend myself, harnessing my dark arts and giving way to my darkside. It wasn't until later that I realized the creature struck me in that instant in a way I could not see. The familiar bursts of pale static and swirling red lights burst from my form in a display of dark power... only to vanish but a moment later. Try as I might, I could not harness even the smallest shadow to fight back. The arts I wove did not react, and the sword suddenly felt heavy and unwieldy in my hands, forcing me to let it drop, scraping against the ground as I struggled to lift it with my menial physical strength. I was weak, and I called out to my darkside for answers. There was no response. So much had happened to me so fast, the attack was coming for me before I noticed it. I looked up, a weaponized beam of light heading straight for me. Stripped of my power and kneeling, I was to be erased then and there. I lowered my head, having no time nor energy to do anything else. I closed my eyes, and darkness enveloped me. ...and then I opened them to see the bringer of that darkness standing before me, shadows blocking out the light and bringing to me a distinct sense of comfort... like warm blankets and hot cocoa. Lua stood between me and the pale creature of light, her darkness peeling away and returning to her, shreds of red swirling in sync to a deep cadence within her. Even while I could not see her face, firmly pointed towards our enemy as it was, I could imagine it well. Teeth gritted, eyes ablaze, her razor-sharp gaze cutting deeper than the blade in her hand. To see her- no, to *feel* her drinking so deeply of the dark and brimming with an untamed force in my defense was enough to distract me from all the woes of the moment. But only for a moment. Lua launched herself towards the fiend, her blade wreaking havoc on the ground as the creature twisted and dodged in impossible ways. It fixed its gaze upon her, perhaps seeking to strip her of her power in the same way it had done to me but received only a fist to the face for its trouble. Darkness followed through with her blow, passing over the creature, causing it to writhe like a beheaded serpent in pain. Lua struck it again, this time with her blade, managing to slice off a handful of the tentacles from its face. As I watched the battle unfold, I pulled myself to my feet and limped over to a crate of supplies, keeping both eyes on Lua and the creature. Digging into the crate, I quickly withdrew a rough crystal to use as a focus; not an ideal one, but I had no desire to prolong the conflict for the sake of a more perfect tool. If I could just destroy the machines holding open the gate, it would close and hopefully kill the fiend in the process.

I held the crystal aloft and shot a quick burst of lightning towards the gate mechanism. I gasped in surprise as the blast left my hand... and an overwhelming pain cascaded from my extremities to my core. It felt as though I were consumed by a terrible fire for only a second, only for it to jarringly subside into a cold numbness. I was utterly bereft of strength. I couldn't so much as break my fall as my body went limp and my vision blurred. I heard sparks flying mixed with otherworldly screams, catching only the most distant sound of Lua's voice as I toppled over, passing out before I hit the ground. ... I don't remember anything that happened for a few days, but I'm told that I was bedridden and rarely conscious. As I awoke, the numbness was still pervasive. The first thing I saw was Lua looking back at me, tired and teary-eyed, and I was pulled into a careful embrace. As I settled in and she helped me get comfortable, she told me of all that had happened. My plan had worked, the gate beginning to close after losing a vital component and dealing significant damage to the creature. However, it managed to escape back to its own world before the gate collapsed entirely. The gate itself suffered significant damage, but when I wasn't waking up, she concentrated only on keeping me safe. Once home, Lua used some connections in Gridania to get the services of a Padjal when her own healing bore little fruit. What they sensed confirmed Lua's fears, and she took a moment to steel herself before giving me the verdict. Where there was once an inexhaustible fount of aether within me, nary a trace remained. The very source of my strength, of my black magic and dark arts both, was stolen in an instant. That alone was enough to force the breath out of me and drop the blade from my hands, but it was when I cast the bolt that I truly endangered myself. With no aether left, the magic I wove drew upon the closest thing it could find- my very essence. Long ago, I had overexerted myself in a similar way; a haphazard cast had begun to affect me and the color that drained from my hair was symbolic of my fate. This time I had come close to exhausting every last onze of my being- or more accurately, my soul. Looking in the mirror, I'm almost unrecognizable, even to myself. My hair is completely white, drained of color as I was nearly drained of life. Even my eyes are colorless, vacant as a blind man's.

... Given time and rest, I will slowly recover, but the well of aether I had possessed for so long is gone, and with it, any hope of spellcasting; but even more than that, the way that I function must change. I used my aether to get from place to place, to pull back a bow, to lift a sword. As an individual I'm surviving, but as a Warrior of Light... I won't stand a chance. What's more, my mind has become an awfully lonely place. My darkside has gone as well, missing at the same time as my aether. Try as I might, the abyss will not heed my call. It's an odd sensation; I hadn't known until now just how much comfort there was in having my darker half to talk to and rely upon. There, however, lies the detail that I brought up to Lua as we sat together, talking this over. My darkside isn't with me anymore, but I believe it isn't gone. We are two halves of a whole, connected to each other's very existence. If one of us were to be cast into the void, then the other would surely follow... and yet, I remain. I don't know where he is, the darkness of my soul, but I know that he's still out there. We may be a world away, but I'll find myself again, one way or another. I've gone through too much- waged wars and made peace with myself- to give up now. I will reconcile again with the abyss, and when I do, I will hunt down the creature that did this to me with Lua at my side, the abyss in my grasp and a blade on my back. All I have to do is stay alive until then. To Be Continued...  ...in Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers