#I mean we are all being strangled to death by the perfect balance of longing and angst paired with angst and a side of angst

[facelessfinest]

OPM fans are so lucky we don't have a fic writer absolutely *ruining* us the way The Lavender Catalogue is ruining Lupin fans. I don't think we would survive the emotions.

[morgana-ren]

👉👈 Spare thoughts on like Crystal Lake/Friday the 13thesque camp counselor au with the Lov or mainly Shigaraki. I was thinking about watching Fear street and suddenly this was all I could think about

So I wrote this bit and yes, I’m painfully aware it’s not plot-perfect or polished but I LOVE the concept and wanted to put something out for it to show my appreciation that you shared it with me. Warning: it’s very nasty and I took a lot of liberties here. I hope that’s okay. Tomura is the gross incel-y killer. It wasn’t QUITE Friday 13th style, more “creepy counselor gone mad” because when I started writing it, I was a bit out of it.

I hope it’s okay!

-

A slippery hand clutches yours- stark red and slicked with sweat and blood, trembling bones and quivering fingers- clinging to yours as if you alone could keep her anchored to her quickly fading lifeforce. She’s been stabbed repeatedly, but it’s the wound on her chest that pulses most noticeably with her breath; A font bubbling from the cleave a few inches beneath her collar bone, a scarlet brook staining down the front of her pastel camp uniform.

Her mouth open in a strangled, wordless cry: A petrified 'o' shape that seems terribly uncanny alongside her sallow cheeks, fear and pain reflected in her wide and panicked eyes as her grip on consciousness rapidly fades. Crimson stains her slippery ivory teeth, gurgling on her own bile as she struggles to make out a fragmented sentence between her presumably collapsing lungs and the blood pooling in her throat.

Her face, the perfect mask of fear covered in dirt and her own fluids, begins twitching, blinking tears through the muck that cakes her cheeks. The hand not wrapped around yours in an iron grip curls into a point -shaky and pale and borderline indiscernible- and it takes you a brief moment for you to realize she’s pointing directly behind you. It’s only then that you rip yourself from your traumatized stupor and hear the footsteps approaching from the cabin door.

You’re ready and willing to defend yourself if need be, shooting to your feet with lips pulled in a snarl, but you’re not greeted with the sight of a terrifying killer brandishing a knife: You’re met instead by the familiar face of your fellow camp counselor and long time friend.

“Tomura!”

You can’t help it. You throw your arms around his scrawny neck, almost knocking him over in your relief as you bury your head into the swell of his black hoodie. He’s a welcome sight- been close to you ever since you started attending even though he’s years older than you are, and he’s always made you feel better- safer somehow.

You’ve never been more happy to see him than you are now, thanking whatever God is looking out for you that he’s alive and that he found you. You squeeze him with every ounce of strength your little body can muster as he wraps his own gangly limbs around you and cages you to his chest in turn- almost too tightly.

“I looked for you! I couldn’t-“ Breath escapes you, tearing up in his embrace. “I couldn’t find you! I thought he’d gotten you too! I was so scared-”

He gives a firm shake of his head, shaggy silver hair ruffling over his shoulders. He reeks, as always, of slight mildew and something vaguely earthy- like ash or cinder, even as he hasn’t ever been allowed on fire duty. “No. He can’t be far behind though. We need to go.” 

“Okay!” You nod, wiggling free of his reluctant arms and dropping to your knees again by your wounded friend. “Just help me with Maureen- she’s really hurt- We need to get her to a hospital and fast-” “Leave her.” His knobby fingers encircle the rounds of your forearm, jerking you back to your feet at his side again with a bruising yank. ”We don’t have time- she’ll only slow us down.”  “How can you say that? We can’t just leave her here! She’s bleeding out- We can save her, we just have to-” 

A quick peek back at her and you realize she looks- if possible- more terrified than she did only moments ago in the face of death. She’s shaking like a leaf- Her wide, milky eyes focused in on Tomura as she attempts another gasped word.  “Look- Just look at her. She’s done for. Let’s go- I can keep you safe, I can-.”  “You don’t know that- You don’t know that- Please Tomura, we don’t have time to argue, just help me!” 

“I do know that,” He insists, trying again to tug you towards the door. “She’s in shock, and the blood loss is too much for them to be able to save her even if we could drag her out of here. It was obviously intentional. I can protect you but we need to leave now-” 

Your eyes flick back to Maureen and the pooling beneath her prone body that seems to grow larger by the second. Her mouth trembles, choking on the words that are trapped in her flooded throat. 

You shake him off once more and lean down to her as Tomura groans in what seems like, if you didn’t know better, annoyance. You ignore him, trying to coax her into your arms carefully, but she only quivers in your grasp, still trying to hiccup out something between her pained gasps and slipping mortal coil. 

“C’mon Maureen- You can make it, I know you can!” But she remains limply, dead weight on the cabin floor, more fearful of something directly in front of her than the inevitable death that awaits. You lean forward once more to try and get a grip beneath her arms to hoist her upward, but she holds firm, puffing a final wheeze in your ear that takes a moment to process.  “Him.”

Blood bubbles up through her throat following the words and she spits it up over her blouse, eyes going blank and body falling into limpness. The wounds across her body still ooze a steady stream of blood but the last of her spirit seems to still, light fading from her eyes in one final moment.

“Tomura, help-” Panic threads through your voice, still trying to drag her forward.

But he doesn’t move to help you. He only stares blank faced and cold as Maureen seizes in her death rattles; Her pallid fingers still coiled in an accusatory gesture at her side. 

“Please-”

“I told you, she’s dead.” He pulls you away by the collar like a kitten, knocking your center of balance clean from the sheer force of the grab as he coaxes you once again into his arms. “Can we go now? We need to go, need to get away from here-”

Something catches your attention, something solid in his hoodie’s kangaroo pouch that pricks you slightly as you fall into his chest. A slight sting on your arm as it collides with his torso. 

”Ow!” You pull away once again, his body stiffening as you inspect a fresh little cut on your arm where something sharp pricked at your flesh. “Tomura, what the hell is in your pocket? That hurt-”  ”Nothing! Quit wasting time- Come on! We need to leave.” 

“It cut me...” You pluck at the skin once more, hissing in slight pain as the small laceration pulls apart under your attentions. “Do you have a knife in your pocket?”  “What? No- well, yeah. I picked it up in the kitchens when I was trying to find you. I thought I could defend myself with it if he caught up to us-” 

You turn and narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head. “We don’t have knives that sharp. We have butter knives. It’s not safe for the kids, and after you got caught last time-”  “We have one, remember? The one we keep in the drawer for the barbeques.” “I looked! When the girls cabin scattered after the attack, I went and looked and it was gone!” “I must’ve grabbed it before you got there. Is this really important right now? We need to go! Stop being difficult!-”  “How is that possible? The boys cabin didn’t know anything was going on until we fled there when he attacked Stacy and Becky. You didn’t even know what was happening until- You- You weren’t even there-” 

“Well I have it, alright?” He interrupts you, face contorting into a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be happy? It means you’re not fucking defenseless if he shows up again.” “How-”

“Don’t worry about it!” He grabs your arm again, bruising grip deceptively strong for such a lithe man, crushing the bones in your wrist with his fingers. “Come on- Lets go! We can finally leave here together- You’ll be safe with me-”

Him

It could be the ferocious expression, or his demands that are cloaked in the facade of a benevolent request. Maybe his story that doesn’t add up or perhaps you’ve simply known all along somewhere deep down. Either way, It hits you in one terrible moment- one world shattering instant where everything suddenly clicks into place.

Tomura- quiet, eerie Tomura with the sharp mind and the eyes sharper still. Tomura with boundary issues who always found a reason to touch things he wasn’t supposed to. Tomura who only ever had a soft spot for you because you were kind to him when everyone else kept a mile berth. 

Tomura, who’s only friend to speak of is you.

‘He’s so obsessed with you! It’s fuckin’ creepy! You should get a restraining order before he, like, snaps and corners you and makes you suck his dick or something. He’s not even supposed to hang around with the younger group but he’s always following you around like a lovesick puppy.’

‘What? No he’s not! That’s a horrible thing to say! He’s a nice guy, you guys are just awful. You don’t even give him a chance-’

‘He’s always staring at you like he wants to eat you! I bet he’s the one stealing your stuff. I’ll bet he has one of those weirdo shrines to you in his cabin and jerks it over your picture like ‘Oh, oh yeah, ride me harder, oh fuck me faster- Oh!-’

‘You’re disgusting! He’s just nice to me because I’m nice to him! Everyone else is such an asshole to him- Including you! God, you guys are so fuckin’ mean for no reason! Just because he’s a little different-’

‘He gives me the creeps. He’s been like that since we were kids. Remember when he was a teenager but still only ever hung around you? He couldn’t even make friends his own age! Even the other councilors are wigged by him. The only one who even talks to him is you. I’m telling you, he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. There’s something totally off about him. He’s going to snap one day. We’re not the only ones that avoid him, you know-’ 

‘Fuck you guys. You guys are such fucking judgmental dicks. He’s never even done anything to you. You’re just a mean spirited bitch.’ 

Tomura who would sneak you into the woods and show you rotting animal corpses with macabre excitement in his wide red eyes. Tomura who used to sneak knives in his bag as a camper and show you how to sharpen and hold them until he got caught and the entire camp had to institute a new safety policy. Tomura who had to be scolded repeatedly for trying to sneak into the girl’s cabin as a young boy to try sleep next to you, and that it wasn’t appropriate for him to wait outside of it for you as he got older either. Tomura who has distain for everything and everyone in a world that shunned and rejected him in equal capacity. 

Everyone but you. 

Your friends are dead, slaughtered like animals and strewn across the camp in a grotesque tableau of vicious murder, the only knife in the area conveniently tucked in his pocket, his hand clasping your wrist in an iron hold that doesn’t ask, but demands you obey him. 

“Tomura- Tomura tell me you didn’t- You couldn’t-”  You’re shaking now, feeling more in danger than you did before the man in the mask who conveniently never chased you or even gave you a second glance even as he had every opportunity to do so. The murderer just as gawky and gangly as Tomura, lean, wiry muscle and imposing height almost too tall for his own body and manic, scarlet eyes. The killer who held the knife with the same practiced grip that he’d shown you so many years ago-

“What are you even talking about? Let’s go-” 

He rips you forward, taking you into his arms again and squeezing.

‘He’s going to snap one day-’

“Tomura- Tomura no! Tomura! God, please tell me you didn’t do this! Look at me and tell me!” 

He looks at you, mouth opening to form a sentence before abruptly cutting short. He studies your face, your quivering body, the blood across your cheek. You think, for a moment, he might break down. But he doesn’t.  He laughs. A nasty, cruel chuckle directed at you and only you; there’s no one else alive to hear it.

“You always were too smart for your own good.” 

The facade of panic and adrenaline falls from his pallid face, replaced with his stereotypical look of total nonchalance and almost boredom. Your stomach plummets, limbs paralyzed in abject terror as his pale hand reaches forward, thumbing at the swatch of blood across your face. 

“I had to, you know. Wanted to for years. But I had to wait until you were a counselor with me. Had to wait until I could do it before the kids arrived. Too many variables I couldn’t control. No one is coming for days, and they’re finally dead, and by the time anyone finds them, we’ll be long gone.” 

A stab of ice down your spine at his words, the uncanny horror of it all whirling your vision to a blurry abyss. “You can’t- what have you done? What have you done?”

“What I had to! They were insufferable and stupid- your harpy friends wouldn’t let us be. But now they’re dead.”

“-Have to get help- we need to call the police-“

“Stop being stupid.” He brushes the hair out of your face with a tender finger laden in blood. “We’re leaving here and never coming back.”

“You need to turn yourself in-“ you stammer. “They’ll know it was you, God, Tomura-“

“Do I look like I care?” A snarl lifts his scabby lips, bearing the sharp canines beneath. “I don’t give a fuck if they know. I hope they do. They’ll never find us. I’ve had so long to plan-“

“No! Tomura, this is insane!”

“It’s over. Come to peace with it.” He hisses, wrenching you even closer, his dry lips on the shell of your ear. “You’re coming with me, baby, and we can finally be together. You can finally show me all those dirty little things you never got the chance to because your friends made you feel ashamed.”

The edge of the blade in his hand flicks up through the thin threading that binds the top buttons of your counselor uniform, baring your cleavage and the top part of your bra to him. You scramble to try and cover yourself, but he’ll have none of it; he quickly swats your hands away and presses the tip of the knife to your sternum.

“I’ve waited so long for you-“ A ragged breath escapes him, chest shuddering with the force of the exhale. “To touch you. To take you. Do you know what it’s like? What you fucking do to me?”

“Tomura- this- this is wrong! Please! Please let me get help! We’ll get you the help you need- I will! But you can’t do this! It’s not right!”

“There’s only one way you can help me, babe.” The hand not threatening you with the knife slides down and squeezes your breast, your entire body stiffening in visceral disgust. “Something I’ve wanted as long as I can remember. If you’re eager enough for it now, we have some time-“

“No! No! Don’t- stop touching me! This is sick! They’re dead! Tomura- stop it!”

“They are. And I could never, ever hurt you, but I’m sure there’s someone still alive that I could to calm you down- to make you see sense.” He squeezes hard enough to make you cry out, nipple catching between his fingers through the thin fabrics you’re wearing.

You blink up at him, bleary eyes full of silvery tears that trail down the slopes of your cheeks. He doesn’t look like Tomura anymore- not your Tomura. He looks like something twisted and uncanny, some feral beast that’s inhabited your friend’s brain and driven him to the brink of madness. He leers down at you lasciviously, thick pink tongue swiping across his teeth and you’ve never felt more uncomfortable in your own skin under his gaze than you do right now.

“It’s not fair when you cry like that. I’m already painfully hard-“ He releases your tit in favor of clutching your wrist, bringing your trembling hand down to his crotch hidden by the length of his sweatshirt and forcefully rubs the length of his throbbing erection against your palm. “But it always did things to me when you got all weepy.”

You’ve been defending a monster.

“Remember when you would cry into my lap because that group of girls was mean to you and I had to keep adjusting you every few minutes?” He barks a laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “God, it was so hard not to sink you down on my cock right then. Fuck, I would have destroyed you if I let myself- all sniveling and delicate and weak. You always needed me to protect you, didn’t you? So trusting. Naive, really. You had no idea what I was thinking about at night. What I’ve been planning to do to you for years-“

You can only give a broken, disbelieving cry of his name- trying to bring back the boy you knew. The sweet boy. The shy one. The quiet one with morbid curiosities and wild ideas on the world.

“Your friends knew, of course. But you didn’t listen, you silly, dumb little girl. Tried to warn you, but you just wouldn’t listen. And now they’re dead.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you bastard! You’re a monster! You’re-“ You batter your fists uselessly against the steel panes of his chest and he barely even budges.

“Remember when you could come to the woods with me and I would show you all the cool stuff my dad taught me? You thought it was weird but you still came because you’ve always been so sweet to me. My dad’s dead now, but I made sure he left me his remote cabin. I’ve wanted to take you there for so long, and now I finally can.”

He advances on you and even in your rage, you instinctively backpedal. Before long, he’s got your back flush against the scratchy wood wall, toe to toe with you with his imposing frame trapping you to the surface behind you in a gangly cage of his spider-like limbs.

“Fuck- It gets me so hot when you act like a little brat. When you fight me even when you know there’s no way you can overpower me. You never could. Even when we play-wrestled. I could make you scream without even trying. So fucking precious to see you bare your teeth at me like you’re capable of lifting a finger against me.”

“I hate you- I hate you!”

“That’s okay, babe. I can learn to forgive you. Tell you what, why don’t you wrap those pretty lips around my cock and start sucking out my forgiveness with your sharp little tongue and we’ll take it from there.”

“Go to hell-“

“If I go, you’re coming with-“ He puffs into your ear, one hand swirling into the front of your shirt, the other slicing from hem to collar in one swift motion, leaving your torso bared to his greedy eyes. “I’ve earned you. You’re mine now- you belong to me and anyone who has ever tried to say otherwise is dead!”

And the worst part is he’s right. Maureen bubbles a lifeless pool of blood a few feet away. The ones who tried to fight slashed repeatedly until they were too weak to stand and died a slow, painful death into the grass. The ones that tried to run cut down from behind- a cowardly act that shows his true nature. You can scream and cry and wail your sorrows to the terrible moon that hangs through the trees, but no one will come to help you; there’s no one left. No one but him.

And no one is coming for days.

“I was going to wait until I got you home to fuck into your guts but you’re just not getting it, and I don’t think I can wait.” He thrusts the knife back into his pocket temporarily, opting instead to fumble with the front of his jeans. Dread pools in your stomach, threatening to overturn the contents into the filthy floor, but all you can do is watch in terror as he unzips the front of his jeans and fishes his pale cock from behind it.

“Go ahead and get on your knees for me and stick your tongue out. Think of it as a practice round.”

You shake your head, weakly resisting as he shoves you to the ground and taps the hot, purpling tip on your face, smearing his precum across your ruddy cheek.

“Don’t be shy. I promise once you get a taste, you’ll love it. You will learn to love it. You don’t have another choice. Just wait until I get you back home. I’ve learned so much since last summer. I can’t wait to show you.”

[cthulhuliet]

lips like licorice, tongue like candy

4.5k words | AO3 Link | warnings: explicit content, mild dubious consent (it is pretty brief)

"Ok- look, Ryuzaki, can you stop that?"

L frowns, "Stop?"

"Yeah, your finger on your lips while you talk, why are you doing that? It is distracting."

A flash of emotion passed through L's eyes, the black orbs widening ever so slightly. A wicked smirk spread across L's face that gave Light the temptation to slap him, but he was more so focused on the jolt of arousal that crept up his spine. L pushed his index finger against his lips and leaned forward with interest, "Light-kun finds me distracting?"

OR

The one where L has an oral fixation, and it causes a lot of problems for Light.

Note: I am glad I have returned with more smut after being dormant for a little bit, please enjoy and let me know if you liked shorter one-shots like this.

-

Light drummed his pen on the side of the leather couch, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the tired looking man in front of him, completely consumed by the contents of his laptop. Light himself was also supposed to be working, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from L.

L: the brilliant detective, the letter and enigma, the critical minded genius. L certainly was all those things, though, right now all Light can think of him as is L: the annoying distraction.

It is difficult for anyone to not focus on L, in all honesty. His eccentric and wild appearance coupled with his odd demeanor made it difficult to look away. It was not even the first time L had distracted Light. He remembers every day of the entrance exams, feeling the prickling on the back of his neck like he was being watched by the weird, older student. Thankful, his interference didn’t distract him from getting perfect scores in all his subjects. And of course Light, as Kira, has many other reasons to focus on L.

“Interesting…” L muttered to himself and pushed the end of his pen against his bottom lip. Light looked away.

L seemed to be taking up a lot of his thoughts as of recently. It only makes sense-- they were in a constant, neverending staring contest, and Light was not going to be the one to blink first. Light did not need to further interrogate the perspiration under his arms whenever he is around him, or the heat blooming in his chest whenever he does that arrogant half-smirk. All in due time, Light will be rid of anyone who stands in his way. And if that means getting in his head, performing a few social niceties, and acting nice when spending time together, it is all worth it in the end. All warfare is based on deception, after all.

Light wasn’t worried. The victorious put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat. Right now, Light was simply annoyed.

The Task Force and his father had gone home for the evening. Light told him he wanted to stay up late studying so he didn’t fall behind on exams, and L offered to have him study at HQ for the evening. He asked this with a cake spoon hanging out of his mouth, spit dribbling down his chin, his doll eyes blank and wide.

Light bristled, “How could I say no?”

So here he was, pretending to study for an Ethics exam while his greatest enemy was sitting 5 feet away from him.

“L… Ryuzaki… What is your name?” Light wondered to himself idly. He twirled his pen between his fingers as he watched L swipe the frosting off of his plate and suck the icing off of his fingertips. Instinctively, Light licked his lips, they suddenly felt very dry. He fished around in his school bag and found the pack of apple cinnamon chapstick he carries with him.

“What are you doing?” L asked, pointer finger still hooked in his mouth.

Light read the label of the lip balm, avoiding L’s face, “Chapstick, lips felt dry.”

“It is the middle of Spring, I didn’t think people’s lips would get chapped this late in the year.”

Light idly threw the tube back in his bag, “Not chapped, dry. You keep it pretty cold in this hotel room, Ryuzaki.” L’s hand came to rest on his knee and Light was able to look at him again. He looks the same as he always does. “What, is my Kira percentage going to rise because I am abnormally using lip balm?”

L said nothing, but unabashedly stared at the shininess of Light’s lips. He brought his thumb and point finger up to his mouth, pressing it against them so the skin would move slightly with it. Light still had not quite gotten used to L’s staring, among other things.

“Can I try some?” L asked, his fingers still in his mouth.

“What?”

“Can I try some?” He repeated. Before Light could answer, L interjected with, “By refusing your Kira percentage will rise this time.”

Light was taken completely aback for a second, his hand spasming before he steeled himself, and relaxing his expression. There is no way L would be able to profile Light based upon something as trivial as sharing chapstick. Then again, there is no way to be sure of that… Is it possible he has some other goal in mind? But what on Earth is his angle here? Does refusing show a lack of empathy? Will offering lean into a transparent attempt of closeness because L thinks Kira would refuse something like that?

“Light, I am only joking.” L smirked, chuckling to himself slightly. “There is no need to be so serious.”

Doing his best to not leap over the couch and strangle the detective with his bare hands, Light busied himself looking through his bag, “I don’t think you understand that most people do not appreciate jokes about them being horrific mass murderers.”

Finger at the corner of his mouth, L expression relaxed, “Does Light-kun consider himself to be most people?”

Not entertaining that with a response, Light pulled out a fresh tube of chapstick and tossed it in L’s lap, “Here, go ahead and try it.”

L let the tube dangle from his pointer finger and thumb, reading the label before uncapping it and putting it on, “Thank you.” He responded simply. Light nodded, fighting the urge to stare at chapstick moving around his mouth and instead focused on the block of text in his notes, “Actually, while I have your attention, would you mind if I discussed something case-related with you.”

Light wasn’t sure if L was playing dumb or he actually could not feel Light’s idle gaze on him for the past 2 hours. Most likely the latter; the man seemed to be the type to ignore his surroundings when hyper focused on work. Still, Light moved his notebook out of his lap and onto the arm of the couch, leaning forward slightly. “Sure, what are you thinking?”

Moving out of his seat and back into his usual crouch onto the right side of the couch, he handed a manila folder to Light, who began idly looking over the contents. It was a record of criminals who had died in the past week or so, but by looking at the names, didn’t recognize any of the criminals. He wasn’t sure if these were simply not his doing or if the pile of bodies had just become that big.

“These are 5 criminals who have recently died of heart attacks in the past week. Their full criminal record is in front of you as well as various notes about how their crimes were reported in the media. Please, look these over and tell me your thoughts.”

Most of the notes were in English, the detective's native language, which gave him a bit of a headache, but Light was able to translate it pretty quickly. 3 of the victims had been convicted of sexual assault, one incident of grooming a minor, and a more horrific incident of stalking and killing a barista.

The world truly was disgusting.

But all of these must have been done by the second Kira. Light recognizes none of these names, and they were reported on channels and in tabloids he himself does not use. Even if they were, at least 3 of these crimes were minor enough for him to overlook.

He glanced up at L, eyes staring wide at Light, lips shiny.

It was going to be a difficult line to balance knowing why these kills obviously are not Kira, but also explaining how he came to that conclusion so quickly. But that doesn’t seem to be what L is looking for… What does he get out of this?

“Light?” L looked at him questioningly, brow furrowed and sucking on his lower lip with his teeth. The back of his neck prickled slightly.

“Sorry, got lost in my own head there.”

L tilted his head to the side, “Quite alright. Did you notice anything while looking those over?”

Light tapped the files with his pen, “I think so. It seems that all of these criminals were shown on the 12am news on channel 16, which according to our data, Kira has never killed those only shown on that program.” L nodded, but didn’t say anything. Light continued, “Also, it seems as though these 3 criminals were convicted of minor sexual assault crimes, which is different than Kira’s MO who mainly puts his focus on serious violent crime. I think that these deaths, at least for sure these 3, were done by the second Kira.”

“Yes… I suspected that much was obvious to you.” L muttered, frowning.

Light glared at L, “What?”

“We can separate the criminals that Kira killed from the ones that the second Kira did all day long, but that does not get us any closer to figuring out who they are.”

Oh. Now he knows what L wants. “Well, just by looking at these 5 cases and watching the video does not give me a lot of information, but it seems that the second Kira has a less ambitious motivation.” L leaned forward, thumb against lips. Light looked down at the criminals again, “Coupled with that, it seems like this Kira also has a specific MO, all of these criminals had been convicted of crimes specifically against women… Channel 16 during daytime airs music videos and dramas… It is possible that the second Kira is a woman.”

Light looked up and L’s previous scowl turned into a smirk, “Very good, Light,”

“W-what? Is this another one of your deductive reasoning tests?”

“No, actually,” L tongue flickered to the corner of his mouth before he spoke. Light could just barely make out his words with all the white noise, “I dislike profiling based upon stereotypes, so I wanted to verify my suspicion with you,” L switched out his thumb for his pointer finger, biting on the nail and letting it hang from his mouth.

Light began bouncing his leg. L was still talking, but Light was too engrossed in the way L’s lips were moving around his finger, and still slightly glossy from the chapstick, and oh God he’s pulling on his bottom lip now...

“- both verified that I feel much better about my theory.” L finished, even though Light stopped thinking about the Kira case at that moment long ago.

"Right," Light licked his lips and stared at the finger pressed to L’s pretty, pink lips. With the late hour and toll of simply being around L, Light had officially lost his patience, "Ok- look, Ryuzaki, can you stop that?"

L frowns, "Stop?"

"Yeah, your finger on your lips while you talk, why are you doing that?"

L raised an eyebrow, his hand dropping from his mouth, "I apologize if you were not able to understand, I can re-"

"No, I can understand you just fine, it is just distracting."

A flash of emotion passed through L's eyes, the black orbs widening ever so slightly. A wicked smirk spread across L's face that gave Light the temptation to slap him, but he was more so focused on the jolt of arousal that crept up his spine. L pushed his index finger against his lips and leaned forward with interest, "Light-kun finds me distracting?"

Light choked on the scathing “Not like that, pervert” and stuttered over his words, “I- Yeah, a bit. It’s hard to not, it’s something that is difficult to not pay attention to.”

L hummed, pushing his knee down onto the couch and resting his hands next to Light’s thigh, invading Light’s personal space completely, “Yagami-san and the other detectives never seemed to bring it up.”

“You are their boss, it would be impolite too.”

“Am I not your boss?”

“And here I thought we were friends-” Light smirked, “- Ryuzaki.”

This seemed to please L, as his cocky smicker was almost a smile, and his eyes alight with amusement, “We are friends?”

“Do you not want to be?”

“Is that what you want me to be to you-” L smirked, “- Light?” And his thumb was on his lips again.

Damn it, L…

Light swallowed, fiddling with the pen between his fingers, “You still never answered the question: why do you do that? Some kind of oral fixation?”

L simply shrugged, “We all have our quirks. I just happened to have more than others.”

Light felt physically pained in preventing his eye roll. Ignoring the detective’s wild appearance, the fact that he must sit with his knees to his chest, and only eat sweets, and constantly has to have something hanging out of his mouth-- it’s safe to say he adopted more than just a couple quirks.

Shrugging, Light chuckled airily, “Well, I suppose that is true for you. Not all of us have assumed weird habits like that.”

L raised an eyebrow, “Please do not try to tell me you are playing the innocent act again.”

“What?”

“Light, I do not know how you have not noticed, but you fidget and spin writing utensils obsessively.”

“I do not.”

“You are doing so as we speak.” Light stopped the pen from his usual thumb around, frowning. L eyes flashed and he bit down on his thumb, “Your tricks honestly are quite impressive.” He muttered, and Light had to make a conscious effort to not fiddle with the pen again.

L looked down at Light’s hands, now tapping against his leg. L moved his hand from where it was propped up his chin and lightly ghosted over Light’s wrist. “May I?” He asked, voice quiet and trepidatious, like how you would approach a skittish wild animal. Light nodded, doing his best to keep his head focused and wired. Why was he allowing this to happen? Why was he okay with being touched like this by L? Why did he so badly want more?

L grabbed Light’s left hand with both of his, fingertips ghosting over the palms and he rubbed against Light’s knuckles in a way that made him shiver. Thankfully L cared to not mention it. “Your hands are lovely, are you told that often?”

“Do people often compliment my hands? No.” Light scoffed, not for the first time wondering what L views as normal human reactions.

L said nothing about the sarcasm behind Light’s comment, “I am surprised, you have nice hands… Nice fingers... “ Light’s pulse sped up as L’s fingertips brushed over Light’s nails, “Long, strong, and slender. Am I right in assuming you played the piano?”

Light nodded, taking a moment to level his voice, “Yeah, my mother wanted me to, I took lessons for a while.”

L’s thumb rubbed against his palm in smooth, circular motions, Light completely entranced in the action. L did not spare any other part of Light a second glance, and Light was completely focused on L’s fingers on his hands and his lips slightly parted.

“You know, hands and lips are some of the most sensitive parts of the human body,”

Light blinked, “R-really?”

L nodded, “Yeah,” L brought Light’s wrist up to his mouth, and pressed his lips against it, “Though I assumed you already knew that.” Light hooked his ankles together and bit down on his lip, praying that L would not notice all the other physical reactions his mouth was causing. “That is why I like things near my mouth, and why oral fixations are so common,” His moved up Light’s hand, lightly kissing and sucking on any bit of skin that he could, L no doubt noticing Light’s shallow breaths and trembling fingers, “Just something against that sensitive bit of skin helps me focus. Sometimes it is a fork, sometimes it is my own hands…” He pressed Light’s fingertips against his mouth, his hands feeling the wetness of L’s mouth and tongue pressed so close to his lips, “And sometimes…”

"Don't." Light gasped out, pulling his fingers away from L's mouth. He meant to sound commanding, but even with the innocuous actions that L's lips had been doing made his head go foggier than it was a few moments ago.

L paused for a moment before he hummed, tilting his head. His eyes drank in Light's flushed face and he dragged his teeth across his bottom lip, "Saying "don't" with that expression will not make me want to stop." He inched closer, his breath hot against Light's neck, "In fact..." He nibbled on the lobe of Light's ear and sucked on it gently. Light swallowed hard to suppress a shameful whine, his nails now digging into his slacks, "It makes you look rather inviting..."

L's voice made him lurch bright red, the smooth baritone right against him was making the room feel unbelievably warm, despite the goosebumps running up and down his body, "Tell me I am wrong." He challenged, whispering the threat right against Light's neck. He gingerly took Light's hand again and pressed open mouth kisses against his wrist, trailing up to his fingers once again, "Tell me stop, Light-kun."

Light said nothing, and L nibbled the skin against Light's index and middle finger, before taking them further down to his first knuckle. His teeth grazed against the top of his skin and latched onto the indents in it, sucking softly. Light's throat went dry-- the action should not affect him as much as it does. And yet seeing L like this, erotic and teasing was making him very distracted.

"I- I don't know..."

"Hmph." L pulled Light's fingers from his mouth, and pressed them against his lips in the way he typically does with his own, "It's your body." L murmured, "Shouldn't you know what it wants?"

But that is the problem, Light knows exactly what his body wants. Every nerve is alight in his system, sparking and flaring with blistering heat, all yelling for L to please, touch me more. His logic was becoming fuzzy, having to live with the knowledge and settle into the deep end of the pool he dove into, knowing he was fraternizing with the enemy. What was making him feel this way? Were the lines between rival and obsession so blurred that he was now infatuated? When does the pain stop and the pleasure begin? Light couldn’t tell you, but L’s hands were caressing the inside of his thigh, and his tongue and teeth and lips were working at the right side of his neck, biting him just hard enough, and Light couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed L harshly by his messy waves, the other man moaning at the action and he desperately pulled their lips together.

L groaned into the kiss, Light’s hand still gripping his hair harshly. He wasted no time climbing into Light lap, straddling him and moving his hips in tiny circles on top of him. Light broke the kiss, sighing, partially from the friction on his cock and partially in the mental pleasure he got knowing that L was hard too.

“Tell me what you want, Light.” L moaned in his ear, dropping the honorific. He pressed their lips together and immediately bit Light’s bottom lip, Light unable to suppress the whine this time, “Tell me you want me, Light, I need to hear you say it.”

Light never thought he would stoop so low as to begging, but his head was already fucked out and lust-filled, never experiencing this kind of attention before today. He has a taste of blood and he wants more. It is not as though he was going to say anything untruthful, he may just have to remove his filter for a little while. So be it he has to do some pleading and mewling, L was offering himself to Light, in whatever way he wanted.

“Ryuzaki… Please, touch me, give me more. I need your mouth on me.”

L smirked as he moved out of Light’s lap and began to undo his jeans, and although L couldn’t see it, Light smirked too.

Only a fool would call this type of power submission.

Light lifted his hips up and L pulled down his boxers and jeans, leaving only Light’s cock in front of L. L paused for a moment, and it didn’t even cross his mind to ask if L himself had even done anything like this before. Light opened his mouth to prompt him, but just as he was about to ask, L flattened his tongue on the underside of his dick, dragging it upwards, before encasing the head with his lips, sucking and swirling over the tip.

Mouth open in a silent moan, Light was gasping and writhing, overcome with tight heat of L’s mouth. Light has never really wanted anything like this before. It fans over him in hot waves; pressure and pleasure and want and fire and burning and okay-

“L… L- wait!” Light said suddenly, and L pulled off, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” The question was a bit tongue-in-cheek, one look at Light and you could see him overcome and over-wrought with lust.

“Do you- can you slow down a bit, I…” He didn’t want to finish that sentence, but L nodded.

“I see, you want to keep going… Have you never done anything like this before?” Light shook his head, throwing it back on the couch. He closed his eyes, but abruptly opened them as he felt L’s hand back on his cock, stroking him slowly, “Have you ever even masturbated before?”

Light scoffed at the accusation, “Of course, what kind of question is that?”

L hummed, licking his lips, “It is just you are so incredibly sensitive, everywhere…” L ran a fingernail down Light’s tight as if to make a point, and to prove it, Light whined at the action.

“How are you so good at this?” Light muttered, mainly to himself, but L’s keen ears picked up on it.

“You think this is my first time giving head?” L peppered kisses on the tip of Light’s cock, Light dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands, but also flared up at the news.

“Who else have you done this with?”

L pulled off of Light, an amused expression on his face, “Hmm… Didn’t take you to be the jealous type, Light.”

“I am not jealous,” Light wanted his voice to be commanding, but L was still rubbing the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb-- the tiny, barely there bits of pleasure were just as overwhelming. “I was just curious.”

L shook his head, unfazed, “Let’s just say he was an old roommate of mine,” He gave a short chuckle to a joke only he seemed to understand, “You’re not the first to be fascinated by my oral fixation, and I do love a nice cock in my mouth.”

Before Light could respond, L dropped down to his base, and Light let out a choked out moan, but was still coherent enough to berate him, “S-so you did know what you were doing?” L looked up at him, doll eyes all wide and innocent, a stark contrast to his not-so-innocent pink lips wrapped around Light’s cock. Just the sight made him dizzy, “Bastard...” He managed before slipping underneath the pleasure once again.

L sucked on Light’s head, using his other hand to stroke Light’s length. The dual sensations were overwhelming, but the best sight was watching L on his dick, eyes glossy but focused like he does when fixating on case or a sweet, but now all he wants to do it give Light pleasure and make Light feel good and have his lips around Light’s cock-- around Kira’s cock. He had to bite his lips at the laughter bubbling up inside of him.

He gripped L’s hair and thrust him further into L’s mouth. L moaned at the action, but he still looked up at Light, annoyed. He tried his best to put on his face of schoolboy innocence, but L didn’t buy it-- he never had.

“People usually ask permission before fucking their throat.” L pressed his thumb against his lips, “I wonder what it says about you that you didn’t…” Light rolled his eyes, and subconsciously moved his hands towards his achingly hard cock, but L slapped his hand away, “If you keep misbehaving, I won’t let you come on my face.” Light’s body shuddered at that. Painting the face of the greatest detective in the world with his come made his throat dry, and even the thought of it makes him want to groan. L’s face lit up at Light’s reaction, “Ah, so that is something you would like. Understood.” He idly stroked Light’s cock with a lazy smile on his face, “Be a good boy and let me know when you are about to come.”

Light moaned at the words and L’s mouth back on his cock. His motions were faster this time, taking him all the way down to his base and back again, never once slowing down or gagging as his cock hit the back of his throat.

No gag reflex…

Light brushed L’s hair out of the way of his eyes, and then ran a hand through his own hair, pulling on his slightly, needing something, anything to do with his hands.

Breathing started to be strenuous, and Light bit down on his lip to prevent from being too loud. It only just occurred to him that they may not be the only people in this hotel suite, but he was so far gone he could not bring himself to care. L does something with his tongue that had Light gasping and no longer suppressing those needy whines. L hums against his cock, amused, and looks up at him, eyes smiling, and god there is the edge. He’s so fucking close, and white-hot burning and overwhelming everywhere.

“L-” Light choked out, tapping his head.

L pulled off of him, just in time as well, as a few simple strokes to Light’s cock and a small whisper of “good boy” had Light careening over the edge, moaning loudly, eyes welled up with pleasure as L met his flustered and unfocused gaze, his own eyes glossed over with lust. Light forced his eyes to stay open as come shot onto L’s face, over his nose and cheeks and over his lips.

“I don’t want anyone else but you to see me like this.” Light shuddered at the sight of L, his pretty pale skin tainted and painted with his release, “Thank you.”

Light’s head was dizzy with pleasure, he slumped back onto the couch. L opened his eyes, a small winning smirk on his face.

Light thought he was going to make a show about the stickiness all over him, maybe cringing after the fact. Instead, he made eye contact with Light as he dragged his fingers across his cheek and sucked on his fingers, moaning as he was doing so.

Damn it, L…

He then casually reached over to grab the abandoned homework that was still on the couch, L’s face still dirty. He looked over it and smirked, “Ethics, huh?” His eyes shined with knowing amusement, “Quite the subject for you to choose, isn’t it, Light-kun?”

[thebigqueer]

Solangelo - "Longing for Solutide" - One-Shot

SPOILERS: The Burning Maze

Summary: Nico learns of Jason's death.

Word Count: 2104

Read on AO3

A soft breeze flits past the demigods as they sit by the fire, laughing and chattering about the day’s activities. A blue and pink sky spills overhead, and the scent of flowers and rain lingers in the air. Spring has approached, finally.

Unfortunately, this also means that it has been almost three months since Apollo came down to Earth, creating chaos amongst all the demigods. For the most part, no one has been too worried, but Nico knows there’s more at play - Chiron and Dionysus told him so. And, if Nico extends his focus far enough, he can sense Apollo - Lester’s - life force. It’s whittling away, growing smaller and smaller as the months pass.

He doesn’t voice any of that to Will, of course. If he did, Will would break down, crack to pieces. He can’t have that, not since his anxiety attacks have been becoming more frequent. So instead, he’s just been enjoying this time with his boyfriend, trying to take both their minds off the looming danger. He knows there’s more that’s going to happen, but he has no idea how long it will take before things turn to hell again. For the time being, he’s choosing to ignore all the dark possibilities.

Nico, Will, Lou Ellen, Cecil, and Will’s siblings are sitting around the campfire, sticking white marshmallows into the bright orange flames. Will’s arm presses against Nico’s left side, sending shivers through his body, while Kayla’s playing Mythomagic with him on the other. Nico feels warm all over; he’s bursting with love. Everything is perfect. And, for the first time in a while, Nico truly feels at home again. He feels safe in the embrace of people he actually cares about.

Kayla groans as Nico pulls a card to defeat her, and he laughs. “You just need to learn better strategy.”

“Can’t believe I’m being told off by some old guy,” she grumbles.

“This old guy could teach you a thing or two about manners.”

“Oh, great, now he even sounds like one.”

Nico smiles, a warm flood of joy sweeping over his heart. “Okay, just practice. Tomorrow night we can practice again.”

“Whatever, Grandpa Edgelord.” The glimmer of enjoyment sparkles in her eyes and she smiles widely. At the sight of her excitement, butterflies crash against Nico’s stomach. In the past people have only looked at him with the shadow of fear, but seeing that look in Kayla's eyes makes him feel that maybe he does belong now - maybe he does have a place here.

The purple sky overhead dims, turning into a bluish-purple color. Stars begin to poke holes across the plains of the sky and a new breeze brushes past hurriedly. Will shifts closer to Nico, his shoulder brushing against the son of Hades, and superfluous joy pours over Nico.

But he feels something, a buzz in his core. A small burst of darkness erupts in his stomach, and all of a sudden the warmth of the fire and the closeness of Will don’t seem so comforting anymore - they’re suffocating him, pushing him into a corner. His mind begins to hum with a dark energy he hasn’t experienced in a while.

An image bursts into his head, a face with electric blue eyes and light hair and glasses balanced sloppily over his face. It takes a moment for Nico to recognize him, but when he does, his breath hitches.

No.

Nico drops his marshmallow stick and sits up straight. Suddenly the darkness overhead doesn’t seem inviting and lovely; it’s consuming him, filtering into every corner of his body, absorbing into his muscles. He’s caving into himself, giving into the pressure of grief.

Nico’s fingers grip his seat so tight that his knuckles turn white. His chest heaves with every inhalation; he can’t keep the air in his lungs. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything anymore.

Will turns to him. “Nico?” he asks, concern laced into his voice. “Is everything okay?”

Nico looks up at him, gazes into his blue eyes, at his blond hair. Will looks absolutely nothing like Jason, yet Nico can’t help but to see the son of Zeus’s face on his boyfriend. Guilt crashes into him.

Nico swallows and stands up. “I need to go.” The firelight is too bright; the people are too warm. He needs space.

“What?” Will stands too, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Can I come with you?”

Nico doesn’t answer; he rushes away from the people by the fire, his bare feet sinking into the wet grass. The ache of tears builds up in his throat and a hot ball of emotions shakes up his chest. There’s no way he’s gone, Nico thinks. He can’t be.

He rushes for his cabin, his only refuge from the crashing world around him. Its darkness and solitude beckon to him, call his name, urge him to crawl into the arms of shadows and disappear for a long while.

But footsteps echo behind him and Nico stops in his tracks, turning to whoever dares to follow him on his trip to grief. Will’s racing behind him, his blond curls flying in the air. “Nico!” he calls. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“Go,” Nico demands. “Will, just… go back.”

“Back? Nico, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Will’s voice seems choked, strangled by his own worry. There’s so much emotion in his eyes, so much care, but Nico can’t look at him without thinking of Jason, without thinking of what that buzz in his core meant.

Nico hisses through his teeth. “Jason, please.”

Will blinks. “Jason? I’m Will.” The blond edges closer, his fingers reaching for Nico. “What happened, Nico? You can tell me.”

Nico blanks. Then he shakes his head to clear his mind. “Will, please, just leave. I can’t… I can’t right now.”

The ache building up in his throat turns loose, and a sob echoes from his chest. Tears prickle his eyes and a second later, the world turns blurry. He falls to the ground, letting the water from the grass seep into the fabric of his jeans, slip into his skin. His tears create fractures over his face, and their trails glimmer in the dim lighting.

He’s slipping away, drowning in sorrow. He’s losing himself.

Will rushes towards him and holds his face in his warm hands. “Nico, did someone die?”

Nico pushes Will’s fingers away, afraid that even one gentle touch from him may somehow hurt the blond. “Jason…,” the son of Hades mumbles. “He… I don’t… His life force…”

“Oh.” A blank look flashes in Will’s face, and then his eyebrows rise. “Oh. Oh, gods. Nico-”

Nico shakes his head and pushes himself from Will. He doesn’t want his warmth; he doesn’t want his care. He just wants to be alone. “Will, please, just leave. I need to go. I need… I need… I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

Will stands and watches Nico nervously. Behind his eyes, Nico sees the gears turning in his head, the string of worries echoing around. Nico is no mind reader, but he knows Will thinks he’s going to do something dangerous, something damaging.

They lock eyes for a second, and there, in Will’s irises, Nico sees the doubt. He says nothing but Nico can see the thoughts in his head: Don’t do what you did for Bianca. Don’t try to bring him back.

“Do you know for sure?” Will whispers. “Maybe it was just… a false alarm.”

Nico shakes his head. “Maybe it was, but chances are it wasn’t. Will, I can’t feel his life force anymore. I can’t feel him alive anymore.” More sobs rack his body, throw his blood off their track. “Please, Will, just let me go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Will asks. “You don’t need to be alone.”

Nico knows Will means well, but his voice only grates against Nico’s ears, trickles annoyance into his veins. Nico closes his eyes to drown out the underlying rage, to calm the red hot anger simmering in his blood.

But Will isn’t leaving. He’s only watching Nico with pity and admiration, and Nico can’t take it.

His body hums with energy, roils with darkness, swirls with anger. There’s a tug in his stomach, a pull, and then the ground underneath him thunders. Before he knows what’s happening, the ground beneath him cracks. Will calls his name, but with the turmoil in his skin and the blood roaring in his ears, Nico can barely hear him.

All he knows is that he wants Will to go, to leave him alone.

“Just… GO,” Nico demands. His voice resonates over the cabins and through the ground, echoing in the air. Rage and grief, sorrow and humiliation all lift into the air, and they envelop the boys in their cold embrace.

The ground shakes more, shivers under Nico’s touch. And then, as if listening to the sound of Nico’s voice, four skeletons crawl out of the abyss, their white faces grinning in the darkness. They all turn their gaze to Will.

Will’s eyes become large, the blue of his irises reflecting his fear. He starts to step back from Nico. The skeletal figures only follow Will, though, no matter how hard he tries to escape them. Their bones clack as they move forward.

“Nico,” he murmurs nervously, “make them stop.”

For a moment, Nico doesn’t understand what’s happening. The earth is spinning and he’s hanging onto his sanity by a thread, barely managing to keep up with the world around him. The only person in his mind is Jason, his face, his voice. Memories of him create a tornado in Nico’s head; they’re memories that Nico won’t be able to get back.

When Will cries, “Nico, please!” only then does the son of Hades realize that his boyfriend is in danger. He blinks and looks up, catching sight of what’s happening. The skeletons are closing around Will, pushing him against a tree, blocking any way out.

Nico’s heart starts going overtime. Is he doing that? Are they moving off his emotions? He tries to reign in his feelings, but there’s too much anger flowing in his system, too many emotions blocking his focus. The skeletons keep edging forward.

One reaches out to Will, grabbing a hold of his sweatshirt, but Will swats the hand away and pulls a bone out from the skeleton's limb. He brandishes it in front of the other three. “Nico, please, get them away from me,” he calls desperately.

Nico balances his hand out and tries to get a grip of control, but he can’t make a connection. They’re out of his reach. Will is out of his reach.

More sobs rack his body, but this time they're from the panic that squeezes his heart. What if he can’t stop the skeletons? What if they beat Will senseless? What if Nico is powerless to stop them?

Nico reaches out again, trying his best to attach an invisible rope from his body to them. His chest aches as more sobs billow out of him, but this time he catches a hold of them. He commands them to stop, and after another moment of terror, they follow his order and dive back into the crack in the ground, disappearing into the abyss they came from.

Nico wishes he could join them in the eternal darkness.

Silence lingers in the air, wrapping around the boys in a vice-like grip around their throats. Will’s watching Nico with big eyes, a sheen of terror glazing over his blue irises. He’s staring at Nico with a look that’s all too familiar - he’s afraid of him. But doesn’t he have a right to be? Nico wonders.

They’re two worlds apart now, drifting away with two different currents. An ocean stands between them. A large new rift separates the boys from one another, sets them into two different worlds altogether.

“Nico.” Will’s voice grates down Nico’s ears like shards of glass. He sounds broken, shattered, helpless.

Nico covers his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Darkness spills from him, sinks into his toes, leaks out from his skin. It pours out to the grass and turns it brown. He’s carrying the aura of death with him. Nico gasps and steps back, but the brown follows him wherever he steps.

He looks to Will again and holds his hands to his mouth. He can only hope Will sees the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

Then he runs off, leaving a trail of dead grass each step he goes, longing for the comfort of solitude and despair.

[qatirna-can-read]

Tsagaan Sar - Q

Khadagan chopped feverishly at a head of garlic. A young Qatirna - still too small to look up and see the tears painting her mother’s cheeks - toddled up to the woman, gripping at the fabrics of her skirts for balance. 

“Mama! <What cooking?!>” the child shouted excitedly in a broken Eorzean Xaelic tongue. She nuzzled her face into the layered fabrics and giggled.

Khadagan set the knife down on the cutting board and used the back of her clawed hand to wipe away the tears from her eyes. She looked down at her daughter and smiled an earnest but sad smile. Before picking the affectionate child up and balancing her on her hip so she could use a free hand to stir a pot simmering on the stove.

She looked so much like her father. Little freckles dancing across her nose just the way Batu’s did. Her strange purple eyes that appeared to shine differently depending on her mood. Even the child’s tail, long and slender and tipped with spines, mirrored that of her late progenitor. 

Khadagan kissed her daughter’s nose, just below her scales, right on her warm purple freckles atop her soft hematite soil skin. “Mama is making feast of Tsagaan Sar.” She gave a gentle smile, “In Mama’s homeland this is very important time.” 

She placed the child back on the ground, “You want to help Mama?”

Qatirna looked up at her mother with a broad confused smile and nodded enthusiastically.

“<Will you help me mix this, please?>” Khadagan handed a small wooden bowl to a tiny outstretched clawed grasp. With the bowl in Qatirna’s hands, Khadagan picked her up once more to set her down at a table nearby. She handed over a small wooden spoon then began pouring dry ingredients into the bowl as the little girl mixed with delight.

“<Thank you, my sweet desert rose.>” Khadagan kissed the dark hair on her daughter’s head and beamed at the display in joy and amusement as the two prepared for the feast together.

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

Qatirna playfully kneaded the dumpling dough as her mother fussed over the fillings she had simmering in several pots over a single fire. She still required a stool to reach over the counter, and even standing a fulm higher from the ground, she still only came midway up her mother’s arm. 

“Mama, done!” she shouted proudly.

Khadagan looked at the little girl with a bemused smile, coming over to help her child. “<Let Mama show you.>”

Qatirna stared at her mother with a serious expression, nodding her head to indicate her readiness to learn. 

Her mother brought over a dull stone knife, placing it on the counter between them. She showed her daughter how to roll out the dough. "<Like this, Little Flame. Make it like a snake.>" 

Qatirna rolled the dough, more playing than working, but learning all the same. 

"<Please be cautious not to cook the dough.>" Her mother added. 

"<Okay Mama. I careful.>" Qatirna had recently come into her magic and still struggled to not catch her hands on fire when she got excited. “<Mama?>” she paused her rolling to ask, “<Is friends come to Tsagaan Sar?>”

"<I invited everyone we know from Little Ala Mhigo. Including Petra.>" she answered softy with a grin.

The child blushed, burying her embarrassed face melodramatically in her folded arms. Petra was Qatirna’s best friend. She was Qatirna’s first friend. Kind, funny, adventurous. Qatirna also thought she was really pretty, and her mother knew that and found it adorable. 

"<Mamaaa!>" she whined at her mother's teasing. 

Khadagan tousled the little girl's hair before moving to show her how to cut off the pieces of dough and pull them out flat. "<Like this, little one.>" and she cut off a piece of dough for her daughter to practice with as well. 

"<Like this, Mama?>" Qatirna pulled the dough flat, although the shape she made was somewhat laughable. 

Khadagan giggled at the child, "<You're getting it. Now let's practice folding. Watch carefully.>" she neatly took the edges of her own flattened dough and tucked them into the center, twirling the whole thing at the end to create a shape reminiscent of flower petals. 

Qatirna stared in awe before attempting to do as her mother did. She folded everything into the middle, creating an oddly shaped cone. "<What do you think?>" She scooped up the cone dough with both hands before holding it out to her mother for inspection. 

The older Xaela looked at her daughter's practice folds with great scrutiny, her brow furrowed in a serious expression. "<hmm… yes! This is perfect. You keep practicing and you will be Khatun of Tsagaan Sar!>" She beamed brightly at her daughter before booping her nose with a flour covered finger. They both stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. 

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

Two red Xaela women weaved expertly through the crowds of the farmer's market. Both dressed in colorful wrapped sarongs. The one in browns and reds looked only just of age. Young and pretty, long flowing onyx hair with red undertones matched her onyx scales sitting atop red clay skin. Her eyes burned bright with a unique violet hue and her full clover lips grinned at the older and taller Xaela adorned with gentle blues. "<I want to try some new herbs and vegetables this year. I have extra coin from my work with Clan Centurio.>"

The Xaela in blue, despite being twice the age of the Xaela in red, was still just as beautiful as her daughter. She wore her silver peppered black hair held back with a scarf. Her own onyx scales protected her deep red skin, even darker than the crimson of her daughter's. 

"<I have given you the list of things I need. Anything after that is entirely up to you, Little Flame.>" She smiled back, her canines notably sharper than Qatirna’s. 

Qatirna shrugged in amusement at her, moving to examine a nearby stand. “<I think we can use some Ala Mhigan spices in the barbecue pork for the buuz this year.> Petra has been showing me some of her family recipes lately.”

“<Hmm..>” Khadagan took her place by her daughter’s side, leaning down to sniff the orange bag of spice Qatirna had her eye on. “<I can see what you mean. This might add a nice flavor... Have you two been discussing marriage?>”

“<Mama! What? No!>”

“<By the time your father was your age he was already wed.>” she said matter-of-factly.

“<I think it is different when it is an arranged marriage to your horse, Mama.>” she responded in a restrained hiss. 

The man tending the stand stared blankly at the two women speaking in the unfamiliar language. “Did you ladies want to purchase any spices?” He asked, indifferent to their squabbles.

“Yes, please! I would like… a small container of that, and a medium container of that one.” Qatirna pointed to the orange powder, then a yellow powder, before she began digging through her satchel for the gil to pay. Her cheeks had turned a substantially darker red than usual.

"<Qatirna! You should show respect for your father's culture!>" Khadagan pestered, now standing behind her daughter, a good 5 or 6 ilms taller.

Qatirna winced at her public scolding. Despite the fact that no one in the market could understand the two, anyone could see the basic theme of their conversation. 

"<I do, Mama.>" Qatirna replied as she turned away from the stand, gently tucking the spices into a side pocket of her satchel. "<I mean. Yes, Mama. I just don't think my relationship with Petra is comparable to Father's relationship to Koko.>" she sighed. "<Does everyone know that I invite Kazagg Chah? He is very important mentor to me and I do not wish for discomfort between guests.>"

"<Yes, my desert rose. I've told the other guests. They know of your friendship with the beast tribes and no one should make a fuss.>" she placed a reassuring hand on her daughter's arm and gave a gentle squeeze. "<We can speak more of Petra at another time.> Now where is pork farmer?"

Khadagan wandered off towards the meats section of the market with Qatirna following close behind. 

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

Qatirna stirred awake from a restless sleep. Her body felt heavy, like weights had woven their way up and down her arms and legs in the night. With a great deal of effort, she pushed herself up and out of bed. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the empty silence in her home. She moved across her room and down the stairs of her loft, graceful yet absentminded. The only thing keeping her mind connected to this time and place was the feel of the cold hard ground beneath her feet. This morning seemed stiller than most, or perhaps the quiet hit harder today in particular. 

She placed the kettle on the burner, lighting the fire below with a flame conjured in her palm, same as she did most mornings. She closed her eyes, taking a deep strangled breath, before making her way to the ice box to pull out some pork she planned to marinate. She still hadn't decided if she wanted to use the traditional spices her mother taught her as a child or if she wanted to use the spice mixture she'd created with her late mother and ex fiancé. 

While she rummaged through her spice cabinet she began to hum. An old Auri lullaby, taught to her by her mother. Her father sang it to her during their brief time together before his death, or so she'd been told. Sometimes the tune brought her comfort, today it stung her with a sick longing. Despite this, she continued to sing. 

She busied herself, trying to keep her mind free, trying to keep any pesky thoughts of tragedy and loss at bay. The new recipe, she thought, to honor all those we lost.

Her mind was still until she began pouring the spices into a small mixing bowl. A memory trickled to the forefront of her thoughts: her mother asking her toddler self for 'help' mixing dry ingredients. A sad smile spread across her lips. She gripped the counter's edge, claws drumming the tabletop as she attempted to hold off any further thoughts of her past. 

The trickle of that memory pushed past her efforts to repair the dam of hindsight. It crumbled and burst. Memories flooded back as waves of grief crashed over her. Suddenly she was drowning within herself. 

A soft sob escaped her throat. She felt the familiar sting of tears welling in her eyes. Her head spun in a storm of everything that was, everything that could have been, everything she should have done. Teenage arguments with her mother, a first kiss, snacks lovingly prepared and placed near her while she studied, laughing at inside jokes, singing traditional songs in various languages, making a fire on cold nights, soup made for the sick. She crumpled. Falling to the floor like a warrior taking an arrow in the heart. A whimper on the floor of her kitchen became a sob became an agonizing wail. She clawed desperately at the floor, although her hands found no purchase. Even though she was hyperventilating she couldn’t fill her lungs with a full breath of air. 

She had no control here in the tempest. She held fiercely to her sorrow, the only feeling she could cling to for any measure of stability, as she slowly pulled herself tighter, smaller, into herself. 

The sharply whistling kettle cut through the screams of her weeping. She looked up through puffy eyes, glowing a vibrant indigo. She stopped her sobs, coughing at the thick film that coated her throat, before pulling herself back up to remove the kettle from the burner. She laughed at the kettle for pulling her out of hysteria, although the sound choked out as a half chuckle half sob. 

She shook her head, letting out a deep sigh, climbing up the counter to reach the tea on the top shelf. Her mother had been several ilms taller than her, and aside from lalafells, they were the two shortest people she’d ever known. She placed the tea on the counter gingerly before hopping back down. A clay mug sat on a cabinet nearby, she pulled that down as well. It looked like a tankard in her small hands. After pouring the water and leaves she held the steam up to her face, allowing it to soothe her skin, tender from crying.

This would have to be enough. She had no other options than for this to be enough. She breathed in a rough quivered breath before reaching just below where she’d grabbed her mug. Pulling a strong spiced spirit from the bottom shelf, she took a swig several gulps worth. She closed her eyes, allowing the burn to roll through her, numbing some of that pain in her chest.

She could go on. Once again she turned her attention back to the feast she prepared for one. Utterly alone. 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 181

181

“A whoo whoo whooo...”

Curled up in his bed, Lance was woken from his dozing by a sad barking. He hadn’t known he’d caused so much trouble. He’d put his headphones on, and pulled himself together as he did another 180 over Keith. Breaking down the aspects of Keith’s life and his likes, Lance was trying to work out how to make Keith happy. He’d been deep in thought. He wanted to explore absolutely every avenue. Curtis had his demon summoned out of him. Keith might have a chance. His friend helped confirm there was never going to be a way for him to be human again.

Reading in bed, Lance hadn’t meant to doze. The book was boring as heck, a cheap trashy romance book that made very little sense. Normally a perfect distraction... His brain still excited from the three games of chess he’d played with Coran as they tried to distract themselves from Keith’s first turn.

“A whoo whoo... whoo... whoooo”

With another mournful howl, Lance placed his book aside with a sigh. He hadn’t meant to shut Kosmo out, or in. He wasn’t sure where the doggo was hiding. If it wasn’t Kosmo it could be Matt. If Matt had lost track of Rieva he tended to act extremely pathetic. Blue was curled on his bed, her tail flicking at the pathetic sound, probably because it interrupted her beauty sleep. He needed to find Kosmo on the off chance he’d gotten out and tried to follow the others.

Stopping by the bathroom, Lance bundled himself up. Fluffy robe and slippers donned, Lance held his belly for balance, waddling down the stairs with a sign to himself. Coran was sleeping in the office for the night, in case Keith got himself hurt, or he didn’t take the turn well. He felt so fat and unbalanced, carrying not low, but not like high, with Google not exactly giving him a name for looking like a team of basketballs had been breeding in his stomach. With all his amazingly wonderful powers, he didn’t have stretch marks. He wished he did. He wished his belly looked more... pregnant. Not just inflated.

Flicking the switch on for the back, Lance unlocked the back door

“Kosmo!”

It was freezing. Pulling the dressing grown around him, he shuffled out on to the paving. Damn fur sons. He could be sleeping. He’d only just peed but the air was making him need to pee again.

“Whooo... whoo. Whoo”

Maybe Kosmo was hurt? The cries reminded him of the times Kosmo thought he’d been abandoned forever by being shut out the bathroom by the big evil door. Following around to the side of the house, Lance wrinkled his nose at the moist grass. Icky. He’d have to wash his feet and his poor slippers

“Kosmo! Come here, boy!”

Whistling and clicking, Lance realised the mistakes he’d made as he blinked at the black blob in his yard. Fuck... he didn’t think Keith would be back. He thought he was smelling with from where he’d left his clothes with Matt’s and Rieva’s

“Keith?”

With a very mournful and sad whimper, Keith rose to his legs shakily. His whole body moved stiffly. Long legs ended in huge paws. Keith pitch black, eyes brilliant yellow. His teeth kind of really scary... but he looked... sad. Where were Matt and Rieva?

“Keith? Hey, buddy. What are you doing here?”

Slinking over to him, Keith let out a sad howl that embarrassed wolves everywhere. Sitting down. He stared up at Lance, Lance didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do. This wasn’t good. Keith was supposed to be giving into the pull of the moon. He’d liked to think himself educated enough, until he’d gained two werewolf roommates and he’d learned more than he ever needed to

“Did you get lost?”

Keith whined, Lance didn’t speak wolf. Dawn was hours away

“Okay. I gather you’re not having a fun time”

“A whooooo who whooo”

Howling, Keith sounded sadder. Reaching his hand out, the wolf sniffed at it before baring his teeth. Had Matt and Rieva ditched Keith? Or had they brought him back because he was hurt and didn’t want to possibly attack Lance so had already left?

“Okay. No getting too close. Smart one Lance. Go see the fresh turned wolf alone. Of course it wasn’t Kosmo out here. Fucking idiot. You can’t do anything right. Alright, Keith. You come with me with me. Coran is in the office”

“Whooo...”

Riiiiight. No. He didn’t speak wolf

“Keith. I can’t understand you, but I can tell you’re not okay. Come inside, it’s freezing out here”

Keith walked by Lance’s side. Lance trying not to freak out. Keith was hulking. He right out of a movie as some kind of death hound or dark omen. With how stiff Keith watched, he was sure he must have hurt himself. He’d never seen a wolf so stiff, the closest comparison was Keith was walking how Kosmo had after a thermometer to his butt. Maybe Matt... No. He didn’t want to think about Keith moving on and further away from him. He wasn’t suited to him anymore. If Matt and Rieva both felt that way towards Keith, he didn’t stand a chance. It fucking sucked.

Holding the door open for Keith, Keith managed to trip himself over the lip of the step. Lance now certain Keith had hurt himself. No werewolf was this clumsy, turned or not, Keith had spent hours running around as a wolf. His control would be better than this. Leading the way, he knocked on the office door, knowing Coran wouldn’t be sleeping. He just hoped he wasn’t snooping. Coran needn’t have rushed for his sake. He would have emerged from the office eventually. He’d just gotten caught up in his music and trying to make a list of things Keith liked. He was sure Keith would remain in Platt with Shiro for the time being. He was trying to think of how to reintroduce Keith to the things his boyfriend loved

“Coran, open up. I think Keith’s hurt!”

Coran came bustling wearing a borrowed robe, the same Black one Shiro had borrowed when he and Keith first stayed

“Lance? Keith... What are you doing here?”

“He was sitting outside howling. He’s not moving right”

“Oh, dear! He should be off chasing the moon! Keith, you’d better come in quick. You should be healing by now”

Keith carefully stepped his way into the room. Actions jolted

“See what I mean. He’s so stiff”

“Yes, indeed! It’s remarkable he hasn’t attacked!”

“I don’t care about remarkable. I’m more worried he’s hurt”

Coran blinked his way out of staring at Keith. Keith’s wolf was bigger than both Rieva’s and Matt’s, but he was thinner, sleeker. His fur black, unlike the mousy brown tones of his friends

“Can you get up on the bed so we can take a little look?”

Keith huffed, before making the most awkward effort ever to climb up. He was all legs and zero coordination. Coran taking pity and helping heft Keith’s butt up on the bed with the rest of him. Sitting down, Keith started again with the howling

“Whooo. Who... whooooooo...”

“See, he sounds bad. I thought I’d shut Kosmo out, or Matt had lost Rieva. Shouldn’t he be violent and angry right about now?”

“Awhoooooooo”

Keith didn’t seem to like what he’d said. Lance couldn’t help that he was shocked. Keith was being a total sook and not at all the angry anger loaf he’d been since waking

“Is that so my boy. Then what happened?”

“A whoo... whoo... woof!”

Since Coran asked, he must know how to speak wolf

“What’s he saying?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. Let me examine him, why don’t you take a seat. You look awfully uncomfortable”

That had something to do with the pain in his hips. He’d take a massage right about now

“Is it safe?”

“I don’t think he’ll bite. I’ll stop him before any harm can come to you or the twins”

Coran had stopped Matt after he’d torn Lance’s back to shreds... If anyone could, it’d be him. Sitting down in his office chair, Lance winced as he back twinges. Keith giving a loud howl

“Whoooo!”

Lance was going to either burst out laughing or be deafened if Keith kept this out. Probably both... Keith sounded very very unwolf like, despite his appearance. He sounded like he had something stuck in his throat or was trying to mimic a wolf’s sounds when all he had was a dog to go off

“Keith, indoor voice! I’m fine! You don’t have to complain loudly, Coran is going to check you out”

“A whooo... whoo... whooo... woo”

Lance ducked his head. Keith could understand him. His “howl” a little louder than Kosmo’s whining, but not full volume. It sounded that much more strangled as Keith tried to talk. Was this like when he was a bat? When he’d squeak and chirp hoping to be understood even though he knew he would be? Strangely enough Lance’s ego wasn’t riled up by the wolf like he’d thought it’d be. It was agitated, annoyed, pissed about the cold, but not about Keith. Unlike Keith who’d decided to growl at him. Coran ignored all danger as he sat on the bed next to Keith, holding his hand out for Keith to sniff. Keith seemed insulted by whatever he found on there, wrinkling up his muzzle. For a big bad wolf that took up almost all the bed, he wasn’t acting like he should. His first full moon should mean Keith was mental, near rabid with werewolfy needs. Not sitting in his office looking sad. Matt and Rieva were getting a stern talking to about leaving Keith alone.

“Now, my lad. No biting. I expect you wouldn’t find my blood all that palatable”

“A whoooo”

What did Keith have to be afraid of? Coran was a bad arse when he needed to be. He couldn’t take the fae, even if he tried

“Keith, you don’t have to howl. Coran isn’t going to hurt you. How about this, you nod or you shake your head?”

“A whooo...?”

God. He couldn’t help it. A chuckle slipped out, followed by a hiss. Laughing bad

“I have to pee. I don’t know what’s left to pee, but I have to pee. Should I bring Keith back some water?”

“Yes, he’s probably quite thirsty. Make sure you leave the door open so he knows it’s you coming”

Lance grumbled. He wasn’t about to risk being savaged by startling Keith

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here who smells like a walking bone that’s both pregnant and very dead”

“Right you are, but any suddenness and things could change in an instant”

Heading to the bathroom first, Lance then stopped by the kitchen on the way back. Grabbing out the jar of pickles and a big block of chocolate from the cupboard, he nearly forgot Keith’s water in the need fo satisfy his weird craving. Deciding on a Tipperary container, given it was plastic and less likely for Keith to break while he drank, he carried the lot back to the office where Keith was laying on his back with his legs up. Zero shame right there. No way was Keith coming near him with that between his legs. His nuts were huge, not that Lance wanted to see, but they were impossible to miss. If Keith found himself a wolfy girlfriend she’d be pregnant in no time

“I brought a bowl. How is he?”

Setting the bowl on the floor, Keith rolled over, giving him an unimpressed look

“What are you going to do? You don’t have thumbs to hold a glass and you’re not messing up the bed”

Keith huffed at him. Tail giving a lazy thump

“I can’t find anything wrong with him. No breaks or blood. Though he is aroused. Perhaps he’s so docile because he already thinks of you as his mate and returned because he misses you”

“Coran, I’m a vampire. He should be gnawing on my leg by now, not wanting to hump it”

Keith whined loudly, nosing at the blankets as if he wanted to hide his face

“He has exhibited signs of thinking of you as his mate. First angry you had been spending time with Allura, then over your joke. This is most unexpected. He’s not the first to receive werewolf blood instead of a bite. This is very interesting”

“Well when you’re done poking at him, he can have a drink and go for another run. He has to work off that energy without destroying my furniture”

“I want to try something first, if you’re okay with it”

For some reason Lance looked to his pickles and chocolate

“I’m not sharing”

“Gracious! No. That combination... I think not. No. I’m interested to see how Keith reacts if I approach you”

That didn’t sound like a good idea. He didn’t want his craving food spilt in the process

“Let me put this down first...”

When Lance turned his back, Coran moved up behind him. Keith leaping off the bed to get between the pair of them so fast that Lance nearly knocked the jar of pickles over. Why did provoking the otherwise docile werewolf seem a good idea?!? As Coran started chuckling, he wanted to hit him. He was jumpy enough without Coran adding to it!

“I hope you proved you point!”

“I think I have. He’s very protective of you...”

“Keith’s been protective of me since day one. Well, maybe not day one, but he did try to defend my honour more than once”

“I must do some further research into this. I mean, naturally I’ve met docile wolves before, even the occasional wolf who’d tolerate a vampire. I wonder if there’s anything in the literature over when werewolves and vampires first fell out...”

Lance had to do a three point turn on the spot seeing Keith wasn’t moving. Lowering himself into his chair, he frowned at the mass of wolf in front of him. He just didn’t get it. Was it in his scent? Rieva had been super attentive to him. Was it in werewolves to protect young, no matter who they belonged too? Nah. That was too optimistic. A female knocked up with a baby that wasn’t her mates could expect aggression. Was it because they were Keith’s scent and somehow he smelt like Keith so Keith knew not to hurt him? That too seemed far too optimistic

“So basically Keith isn’t hurt. He’s just... lonely? Do we find him a female wolf? I don’t know what to do”

Keith snarled at the mention of a female wolf. His eyes narrowing as he gazed up at Lance

“Don’t look at me like that. My arse is not taking that... when you’re not human. I don’t know what to do for you...”

“I think you insulted him”

“I can see that. Keith, you have to admit, I’m allowed to be confused as fuck. I was expecting a blood thirsty feral beast, not you to be lonely and inside. Could it be because the real full moon is tomorrow?”

“Possibly. Or the slow release of blood into his system. He has been quite aggressive, as we’ve all noticed”

Lance popped the top on the pickles, nodding because it was true. Keith had been a douche. He got it, but it didn’t make it hurt less if he was completely honest

“I think he should head back out and make the most of burning up his extra energy”

Popping a pickle in his mouth, he groaned at the bitter taste. Soooo good. He just knew the chocolate with it would make it perfect. Opening the block of chocolate, he was proved right, moaning loudly at the bitter sweet tastes. Rubbing his butt against the floor, he seemed to have flipped on Keith’s horny switch

“Should I get him a pillow?”

Coran arched an eyebrow

“Whatever for?”

“So he can take care of his urges? I want to help, but that’s a no go. I don’t even know if he likes me that much anymore”

“He does. He was most concerned. Silly boy thought he was no longer Keith now he had his ego”

Hadn’t Lance told him that he was? Suddenly pickles and chocolate turned to tears. Keith was Keith. He was in there. He just needed to relearn to be himself

“I’m sorry. I’m having a lot of emotions right now. Keith, I’m not trying to be mean. I don’t know what to do. Matt and Rieva came as a pair and I know they do things when they wolf out... I guess I’m an arsehole for not understanding what it’s like to be a wolf”

“Whooooooooooo”

Lance shook his head, covering his face as he started crying harder. He wanted his pickles and he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t have both at the same time

“Perhaps it’s best you head to bed. I can stay with Keith”

What? Why? He’d been trying to get Keith outside and now he didn’t want him to go, but he also didn’t want to cause a situation where Keith acted out, because it was the natural wolf thing to do, with a possibly dire consequence

“But he’s meant to be my boyfriend! I told him he was still himself!”

“Keith will be quite safe with me. I’ll take him for a walk”

If Keith wasn’t hurt, then he had to be having trouble working out how to adjust to four legs... How could keith not walk? Then again, he could barely fly as a bat. His ego secretly laughed at Keith, upsetting Lance further. He felt all flustered over crying, making him cry more. Keith was huge and he couldn’t walk... and he wanted to do the do, but Lance didn’t want to do the do with anyone but Keith, and only when they were stable in their relationship with both of them consenting. Why did Coran have to bring him here when Lance was emotionally ready to see Keith?

“He can’t even walk... Coran, he can’t walk... How is he going to protect himself? He can’t walk...”

“He can walk. He simply needs to get used to his body being in a different form. Now, my boy, you head off back upstairs. We’ll soon have Keith adjusted to his new ego and form”

Craning his head back, Keith looked at him, howling mournfully

“A whooooooooo”

“I’m not leaving the house. I have to get some sleep, I’ve been busy since I got home. I need to rest for the sake of the twins, and I need to take my pickles and chocolate with me”

“A... a whoo!”

“You’ll be okay. You should go run. Trust me when I say you’ll feel better. Rieva and Matt always do”

Keith didn’t seem convinced

“Go. Run. Let your ego flare a little. If you’re anxious think of it like training. It’ll be good for you. I’m not trying to make you leave or anything like that, but you can’t pretend you’re not a wolf with wolf urges. That’d be like me trying to live on human food alone. Then in morning you’ll take a shower, clog my drain with mud and grass, but you’ll feel better for it”

Keith huffed, he eyed the bowl on the floor with annoyance. Okay, it was pretty animal like but Keith was an animal right now

“You’re allowed to act like a wolf. Drinking out a bowl doesn’t make you any less. You’ll be okay. You just have to stop overthinking, which I know is hard for you, but you are who you are. Wolf and... all”

Yawning, Lance wanted his bed. Now he knew Keith was alright, he’d be able to sleep then talk to Keith about it in the morning. When had he calmed down from sobs? And how did manage to sound calming when Keith was having an internal crisis. God. He needed sleep. He definitely wasn’t thinking straight

“And with that, off to bed with you”

“Yeah. I’m going. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Night, babe. Be safe”

[ladylouoflothlorien]

Our Littlest Treasure

Anonymous asked:

Can I request a Dwalin x reader? They’re about to have their third child. All boys. But then Dwalin has to leave for the adventure. He’ll miss the birth (he thinks) but she ends up having the baby early and it’s a little boy with a birth defect (malformed legs -will be crippled his whole life and have to use crutches)

-

Ok so I know I said I would be writing this without the birth defect because of my family history but as I was writing this it wasn’t as triggering as I’d expected it to be so I ended up writing the original request without altering it, although it’s pretty vague. Again thanks to anon for being understanding the first time when I said I didn’t want to write this 💗

trigger warnings: early pregnancy, birth issues, mentions of miscarriage words: 1604

I could kill Thorin Oakenshield. You thought, subconsciously running a palm over your swollen stomach in a futile attempt to soothe yourself. You didn’t mean it, not really. You remembered what loosing Erebor had felt like, and you wished to live there again one day as did any of the Dwarrow who’d been rather forcibly evicted by Smaug the Terrible. You understood as well as any that for this dream to come true, the Dragon would have to be forcibly evicted – or killed – in return. What you didn’t understand was why Thorin had decided to go off on a fool’s quest now. Not when you were 6 and a half months pregnant.

It had been inevitable really, the argument, but there was no way you could’ve stayed silent. You’d had to ask Dwalin not to go on the quest. Then again, just as you had to ask, you knew deep down that Dwalin had to go. How could he not? Whatever Thorin needed, Dwalin was there to provide. Though in this instance you were frustrated, you could not fault his loyalty. It was one of the qualities that had attracted you to him in the first place.

You ran your fingers through your hair, trying and failing again to soothe yourself. This wasn’t your first pregnancy, it wasn’t even your second. This would be your third child. It should have been an easy process, but now your husband was off preparing to go on what was really a glorified suicide mission. He wouldn’t be there for birth, and what was worse, if you thought about the balance of probabilities he probably wouldn’t be coming back at all. The chances of reclaiming Erebor from Smaug were at least 1000/1, even if more Dwarrow agreed to join the quest other than the initial 12 Thorin had managed to persuade, which you truly doubted would happen.

You felt your baby kick in your stomach, and you groaned a little as you took deep breaths to slow your heart rate. It wouldn’t do, allowing yourself to get this stressed this late into the pregnancy.

---

Dwalin’s scowl was firmly set on his face as he sharpened his axes. It wasn’t exactly necessary, he always kept them reasonably sharp, but he wouldn’t have another chance to do so for a long time. He was due to set off in a few weeks, but his heart was torn. It pained him so to argue with his mizim, but she’d made things unnecessarily difficult. He could see in her eyes that she knew he would go even before she asked him not to, but then she asked all the same. He did not appreciate the guilt now placed upon him.

Suddenly there was a frantic knocking at the door, and Dwalin sighed heavily.

“Please ghivashel if yer here to argue again-”

He couldn’t continue, because once the knocker heard Dwalin’s voice, they burst into the room. It was Dwalin’s oldest son.

“Adad! Come quickly!”

He had to pause to take a breath, evidently having ran to find his father. Dwalin felt a chill settle around his heart. His inùdoy was not overly fond of exercising. Something serious must have happened to get him to run all the way to his father.

“It’s amad… the baby is coming now!”

“Mahal, no.”

---

Dwalin burst into your room. He’d sprinted the entire way there, having left his eldest far behind him. His eyes found your face, twisted in pain and glistening with perspiration as you tried to breathe through the contractions, and he was by your side in an instant.

Your hand reached for his and your fingers thread together, and Dwalin didn’t even grimace when you squeezed hard to get you through a particularly difficult contraction. The healers in the room were trying to remain calm, but you could see the worry in their eyes. An early birth, nothing more perilous for the baby.

You felt something wet on your cheeks, and it was only then that you realised you were crying. One glance at your husband showed that Dwalin was barely keeping himself from doing the same. You’d had no issues with any of your other pregnancies, something you were very grateful for, as Dwarrow were not known for their fertility. A third pregnancy hadn’t been something you’d been expecting, but it had been a blessing all the same. Now, you weren’t sure the baby would even survive.

“D-Dwalin”

You spoke through gritted teeth as you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts, that were growing steadily darker and more self-critical.

“Ay, ‘am here amrâlimê.”

“I’m sorry.. for before .. I know..”

Dwalin squeezed your hand and went to reply, but all that came out was a rather strangled, choked sound. He swallowed thickly and tried again.

“Ye’ had to ask lass, I don’t begrudge ye that.”

You felt your eyes burn as you brought your joined hands together and pressed your lips to the back of his.

“I love you..”

Your speech was cut off by a loud cry which you only vaguely recognised as your own. This was far more painful than any of your other births.

“Dwalin.. what if.. what if we lose the baby?” You gasped out, breathless from the agony your own body was putting you through.

Dwalin’s grip on your hand tightened and he looked at you with his signature fierce determination that you adored, as if anything were possible if he merely willed it hard enough.

“Don’ even say tha’ lass. We’ll get through this together, with another pebble to love and care for.”

---

Hours later, your mind swam back to consciousness. For a few blissful moments, it was like any other time waking up, but then your memories came back to you. You quickly tried to sit up, but found yourself too weak and in too much pain to do so. Groaning, you turned you head to see Dwalin asleep, his body slumped forwards in a chair and his head resting on the mattress beside your body.

One of the healers noticed you trying to get up, and walked over to your side, looking solemn. You felt like your heart had dropped out of you.

“M-my baby?” Your voice was scarce louder than a whisper, your eyes wide as tears quickly gathered, ready to spill.

The healer thankfully seemed to realise what you were trying to ask, and came and sat down lightly on the side of the bed Dwalin wasn’t leaning against.

“Your baby is safe, alive…”

You did begin to cry at that, your face crumpling in relief. You knew the statistics of early birth among your kind, and they weren’t good.

“But…”

Your tears abruptly stopped as the healer trailed off, evidently not sure how to continue. Panic gripped you, and you once again tried to get up off the bed. The healer’s hands quickly came up to push you back down.

“Easy, easy! You bled a lot, you are very weak.”

You didn’t care about that, how could you?

“Let me see my baby!”

Your voice was loud enough that it woke Dwalin, who’s head jerked up off the mattress as he blearily tried to adjust to being awake. When he saw that you had finally regained consciousness, he exhaled and smiled at you, clearly exhausted himself.

The healer rose from the bed and went over to a little cot, their motions slow and cautious. You wondered why they seemed concerned as they brought over your baby to you, as if they were wary of your reaction. Idiots. You thought to yourself. When you finally had your third son in your arms, you thought that he was simply perfect. Beautiful, perfect, and alive.

---

Over a year later, you arrived in Erebor with your three sons, as well as many other Dwarrow from the Blue Mountains who were ready to move back into their true home. It had been hard, naturally, to spend the first year of your third son’s life without your husband and his father there to share in the experience of parenthood, but you’d managed it. Dwalin had more than repaid your effort by simply remaining alive, and now you could raise all three of your pebbles in the home you’d both been raised in.

You let your two eldest run ahead at the first sight of their father’s bald, tattooed head, and you walked slowly behind them carrying your third son. At just over a year old, he’d already began to start making garbled noises that almost resembled words if you didn’t listen too closely. You were excited to introduce your husband to his third son properly, as he hadn’t had much time with him before he’d set out on his quest.

You looked up and saw your eldest son running back towards you, evidently with some message to deliver that couldn’t wait the short walk. Your son’s enthusiasm warmed your heart, and you looked past him to meet the gaze of your husband, who looked on with the same fond expression you knew you shared.

“Amad! Amad! Adad says uncle Bifur and uncle Bofur have promised to carve nadadith some pretty crutches when he is big enough!”

Uncle Bifur and Uncle Bofur? They hadn’t been called that before, but then again, you supposed they had just faced death in the face and laughed alongside your husband, so you could get behind the titles. When you finally reached your husband, and his big hands reached out to hold his third son for the first time since he’d left the Blue Mountains, you knew that everything would be alright.  

Khuzdul translations:

Amad – Mother Amrâlimê – My Love Adad - Father Ghivashel - treasure of all treasures Inùdoy – Son Mizim - Jewel Nadadith – Younger brother

Forever Tags: @sweeticedtea​ @cd1242​ @strongandfreedc​​ @pixierox101​​​ @jotink78​​​ @luna-xial​​ @underthemoon-imagines​

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer III: Monster Hunters

“My evolution is not yet complete. Only the blood of the god can help me complete the final evolution.”

“Ah... your goals still haven’t changed. Neither have your methods.” Tachibana replied. “I still remember how you dumped fuel in the incubation room and watched as with a smile as hundreds of fetuses burned to death.”

I let out a strangled gasp.

“It was silly of me to tell you my true aims. It was my biggest mistake. You little fox. You shot me.”

“I should have put a grenade in your mouth.”

This man actually laughed. “Well, we all make mistakes.”

“I can assume you called me for a reason?”

“Yes. We need to discuss how to share the White King’s Legacy.”

“I’m not interested. There will be no balance to her power. She will cause destruction and I am too old to rise from the ashes.”

“The wily fox and the hungry wolf make good partners. You’re good at blending into your environment. I look forward to working with a partner like you.”

“Working for what?”

“Towards the resurrections of the dragon gods! To use their fetal blood to evolve into pure blood dragons! I want to open this door. I have some of the keys, you have the rest. Neither of us can do this on our own.”

“Aren’t you afraid that I will shoot you?”

“I expect you to. No king shares its power. But remember... next time you try to kill me, go for the grenade.” He chuckled.

The line cut.

“This conversation took place three hours ago. That was only a few hours after you met with Chisei Gen.” Johann looked at me.

“Chisei must have timed it while Tachibana was occupied. Perhaps he’s on our side after all.” I looked at Ruri. “I actually have no interest in their discussion. All I want is to find out where he’s doing his research. A year ago, Herzog bought egg cells from me because I had the same genetic properties as you and your brother. This may be the only chance I get to find them and rescue them.”

“Them?”

“Yes.” I looked at Ruri. “Your nephews... or nieces... that he may have created. I need to find them. I need to see if they’re still alive.”

Fingel was gaping like a fish out of water. 

I snarled at him. “Stop staring! And you better not print this in the paper.”

“Who’s the Daddy?!” He asked, intrigued.

Ruri was silent for a long time.

Johann rubbed his chin, eying Ruri. “We had been assuming that Chisei would have been the father. However, Herzog has much better access to you.”

My head swiveled to stare at him and then at Ruri who chuckled and looked shy. “Well... this is awkward. I know the likely spot where they are, I can give you the location.”

I was blushing and not looking at anyone. “I don’t care who the father is, I just need to find them. I can’t stand them being anywhere near that monster. And an opportunity like this will not present itself again.” 

Ruri sobered. “Herzog is an unkillable monster. He’s corroded by Dragon Blood. Not even Chisei Gen may be able to kill him. I’ve tried. I riddled his body with bullets, slammed into him with a truck... nothing stopped him. Tachibana stands no chance against him. Grenade or not.”

“Then why even agree to meet with him.” Lu Mingfei’s quiet voice reminded me that he still had memories of Hydra. “I never liked the guy and I like him even less now... but... Why this suicidal mission?”

“Does he plan to cooperate?” Johann asked.  “What are these keys they’re talking about.”

Ruri shook his head. “I don’t know. The meeting will take place at Tokyo Tower. We’ll likely find out the truth then.”

“It’s also the perfect place for a suicidal mission! Don’t people like to jump off that tower to end their lives?” Fingel moaned.

“I can’t emphasize to you the danger of Herzog.” Ruri said softly. “Killing is nothing to him. He enjoys it. He relishes the thought of the destruction of Tokyo. He wants it more than anything in the world, so he can rule on top of the ruins and build a city for himself.”

“You want us to do more than just listen in...” Johann said.

“I, like Carli, don’t care why they’re doing what they’re doing. All I want to do is kill him.” Ruri gave an eerie grin and reminding me that this same person was the one guilty of murder already.

I chuckled, trying to calm my fear. “What strange bedfellows Herzog’s created.”

“So long as killing Herzog is part of a mission to void the resurrection of the Light King then I’m alright with it.” Johann replied.

I looked at him. “I’ll go alone to the laboratory.”

Mingfei bounced out of his stool. “No, you can’t go alone!”

I glare at him fiercely. “I can and I will! Keep in mind that I have the capability to very quickly move from place to place. It will mean nothing to me to get the children, bring them here and join you at the tower!”

Ruri Kazama unfolded an architectural blueprint of Tokyo Tower on the bar.  “Very well, let us begin.”

[charmandhex]

Scones and Song

Kravitz’s heart was scarcely beating in his chest again before he could hardly call it his own. Kravitz’s heart belongs to Taako, and he had handed it over willingly to a former bounty who threatened to tentacle his dick and the most beautiful elf Kravitz has ever seen in his centuries long life.

Said most beautiful elf that Kravitz has ever seen is currently baking in their kitchen, judging by the smells that have drifted to the vestibule where Kravitz stands, closing the front door behind him, having just returned from working. Kravitz takes a moment to inhale, relishing the scents of baked goods, before striding forward to the doorway of the kitchen.

As expected, Taako is baking, assisted by an armada of Mage Hands and wearing an outfit only Taako could pull off. He’s wearing a red IPRE shirt likely stolen (possibly stolen back) from Lup and shorts with the word “chef” bedazzled across the butt. His hair is up in the world’s most precariously situated bun, and his socks don’t match. Still beautiful of course, especially to Kravitz’s entirely unbiased mind. Kravitz steps further into the kitchen, still watching as Taako works. Taako is moving gracefully, still unconsciously leaving room for Lup, almost dancing to the symphony of sounds in the kitchen: the bubbling of the water in the double boiler for the chocolate, the whirring sound of egg whites being magically whipped far faster than by hand, the quick rhythmic bangs of the macaron trays against the counter. Kravitz feels his heart almost singing along with the music, and a smile spreads across his face.

Kravitz doesn’t start actually singing aloud, but he does hum. That’s something else that’s come back since Taako and since actually living past death again; Kravitz has begun composing again. And now he soars along a melody inspired by Taako himself, as carefully crafted in recent weeks as one of Taako’s spells or dishes.

“Hey, babe,” Taako calls over his shoulder in greeting, still focused intently on piping creme patissiere into the profiteroles for the croquembouche. “Win any souls for Bird Mama in a game of Go Fish today?”

“It was Uno,” Kravitz retorts, stopping the humming. “Go Fish was when I won Lup and Barry doing my paperwork for a month.”

“My mistake, my mistake.” Taako sticks out his tongue the smallest bit as he concentrates, Kravitz notes as he leans against the counter. “Say, uh, what... what exactly were you humming? You’ve done that a couple times, lately.”

“Oh? Uh, well, I told you I had wanted to be a composer... I started composing again.”

Taako finishes the seemingly infinite pile of profiteroles and sets down the piping bag, turning to face Kravitz. There’s a stripe of chocolate under one eye, and a piece of hair has fallen in his face. Taako bats at it impatiently. “So, you wrote that one?”

“Yes.” And Kravitz leans forward to tuck the hair behind Taako’s ear, which twitches at the soft touch. Taako reaches up to touch his forearm, and Kravitz lowers his hand, shifting to hold Taako’s.

Taako’s song again swells up in Kravitz’s mind, and, impulsively, Kravitz tugs Taako in closer, putting his other hand around Taako’s waist, again humming, spinning away from the oven.

“Krav- rabbit- babe- Kravitz, the SCONES!” Taako protests even as he puts his other hand on Kravitz’s shoulder and begins to follow the dance Kravitz has started.

“How long until those need to come out of the oven?”

“...Six minutes.” Kravitz raises an eyebrow and resumes humming as the pair dance across their kitchen floor.

After a few minutes, Kravitz pauses, though the music continues on in his mind. “I wrote it for you.”

“Oh.” Taako says as he drops Kravitz’s hand to put both hands around Kravitz’s neck, pulling him in. Kravitz obliges, putting his other hand around Taako’s waist.

“...Do you like it?” It’s less dancing and more swaying now, but that’s certainly not a bad thing.

Taako snorts. “You’re kidding, right? Of course I love it, babe.” Kravitz’s smile widens, and he resumes, leaning in to press a kiss to Taako’s forehead. And they stay like that, comfortable and content.

And they likely would have stayed like that a lot longer, had the egg timer not sounded, the silver egg cracking open to unleash a chirping silver dragon.

Taako’s eyes fly open.

“Kravitz, the SCONES!” He yells again, nearly shrieking, pulling himself out of Kravitz’s arms to fly across the room to the oven, scarcely even taking the time to grab an oven mitt before opening the oven.

The cinnamon scones are perfect, of course. Taako made them.

So the scones are set to cool on the counter, the timer is silenced and reset, and the first round of macarons are placed in the oven. Taako takes a step back, clearly pleased.

Kravitz chuckles and says, “Careful now, or Angus might think you care.” Of course Angus will think that- Taako does care.

Taako goes faintly pink, but he scoffs, “Listen. Birthdays are a big fuckin’ deal in this household.” And Kravitz does know that one from experience. When Taako learned Kravitz doesn’t remember his birthday, let alone the last time he’d celebrated it, Taako had planned for a party that had lasted a week.

“Mmhmm.” Kravitz nods, again mesmerized by how fluidly Taako moves through the kitchen, how skillfully he balances seemingly a dozen different dishes and a dozen different tasks at once.

Taako’s right; birthdays are a surprisingly big deal in this family (or perhaps that’s just a reminder of how long Kravitz had been removed from the world of the living before now). But it’s more than that. More than birthdays, more than silverware or jokes and a hug or a diploma, more than even honesty on a first date or at the end of the world, it’s Taako. Taako, who had for so long tried not to care, who had lost so much of his heart for so long. Despite all that, Taako had cared and cares so much that it makes Kravitz’s heart stumble to know that he has Taako’s heart just as much as Taako has his.

Despite his attention on the glaze for the rapidly cooling scones, Taako seems to sense Kravitz’s thoughts. “I... I love you, you know.” Taako’s voice is soft.

“Yes. Yes, I do, and I love you.”

“Save that one for the wedding, babe.” They both freeze. “I mean...” Taako trails off, turning slowly to face him.

“Taako,” Kravitz says, and it sounds half-strangled.

“Listen, I, uh- I- I... I got nothing. Kravitz, Krav, babe, you, uh... will you marry me?”

“Were you intending to propose soon?”

“Fuck, Krav, that’s not an answer, but no, I mean, I kinda thought... babe, we said I love you during the apocalypse; it seemed inevitable. And you still haven’t answered.”

“Yes.” His own answer seems to knock the breath from Kravitz’s lungs. “Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you, Taako.”

The world begins spinning again. Taako slumps in relief. So does Kravitz for that matter. He takes a long breath in, and relief slows his frantic heartbeat. And then Taako is kissing him.

Eventually, Taako pulls back. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool... We have to plan a wedding now.” And Kravitz’s heart rate picks up again, but he knows that he and his fiancé are more than equal to the challenge.

Taako starts baking again and Kravitz helps where he can and distracts when he cannot. The rest of the night is filled with baking and music, laughing and dancing, celebration and love.

(Companion piece to this)

[pcygoldenchild]

Mr. and Mrs. Park

✨summary: You and your husband were both agents. Madly in love with each other and your jobs. But what would happen if you needed to face each other?

✨warnings: NSFW, violence, sexual intercourse, dirty talk (Nsfw in part two)

✨A/N: I’ve worked on this for sooo long. I restarted maybe 10 times because I just really wasn’t going my favorite movie justice. Based off of ‘Mr. and Mrs. Smith’. ( Anon: chanyeol spy au? like him and reader are like mr and mrs. smith????) *not my gif*

You walked into the building. Your heels clicked on the marble floor as you walked through the lobby. It was half past 11pm and most the security and staff were just waiting to switch shifts. No one was really paying attention to the woman entering the elevator. You went up to the penthouse floor and entered. This building was Matt’s office. This penthouse was reserved for when he stayed here instead of going home to his annoying ass wife and kids. He hated his family; even went as far as to hire Chanyeol to kill them. He’s an evil little man.

“Are you in?” you jump as you hear Chanyeol’s voice through your earpiece.

“God, Yeol a warning next time.” you whisper back. You were entering the passcode to the main entrance making sure to stay quiet.

“Next time I’ll knock. Now, are you in?” he replied snarkly. You rolled your eyes and let out a deep breath.

“I’m entering now. Are you ready?” you said. Your hand pushed the door open a bit to look in before you entered. You just had to wait on his confirmation.

“Ready when you are.” he confirmed. And with that you walked in. You made sure not to slam the door or make too much noise. You knew he was up in his study but still wanted as much of an element of surprise as possible. Your heels were loud but you learned to walk on the base of your feet to avoid making so much noise. You walked directly to his study; you knew where it was since you’ve been here plenty of times.

“He’s talking to someone.” Chanyeol said in your earpiece. You could hear voices of another man with a much deeper tone than Matt’s high pitch.

“Any idea who it is?” you whispered.

“I have just as much of an idea as you. I’d say a body guard. There is no way the security let you just walk in there and not alert him. You are banned goods sweetheart.” he replied back. You rolled your eyes again and straightened up.

“Thanks for nothing Chanyeol.” you say before silently walking into the office. There was a sort of short hallway made by a bookshelf before it entered the main office. You stood there for a minute to try to see who Matt was talking to and what about. But all you could tell was that he was twice his size and not listening to a single thing Matt was saying. You took this time to step out into the main office.

“Matthew Barnes.” you said. He smiled without looking at you and shoo’d his hand at the man you are now sure is a guard. He turned to you and looked you up and down. You did the same to him and cocked and eyebrow at him.

“How should we do this young lady.” he said. You squinted your eyes at him as he stood up cracking his knuckles. He was the least intimidating person you’d ever seen and Matt was someone you knew. That said a lot.

“I don’t care. I’m not here for you.” you replied. You walked over to the side a bit giving him a chance to just leave before he did anything stupid. But the big tough guy just had to mock you.

“I know you think you’re a big shot, but you’re really nothing without your husband.” he laughed walking towards you. Asshole.

“You hear that? To think people don’t know I’m the one who made you as intolerable as you are. Marriage changes people. I get no credit.” you said to Chanyeol who was listening in the earpiece. You heard his sigh and the guard looked confused. But he didn’t have enough time to think on who you were talking to or what you were saying before you jabbed him in the throat directly on his adam’s apple. His loss of focus due to the sharp pain rendered him defenseless. He bent over and you kneed him in the head knocking him out rather easily.

“My husband taught me that move.” you smirked dusting your hands of the metaphorical dust he was. You were brought back to the matter of Matt when you were startled by his clapping.

“You two are the perfect pair. Ideally, I have not done you two justice. You two deserve to be much higher somewhere on an Island in Havana or something.” he laughed.

“I completely agree. But instead you want one of us dead. Seems odd, but then again you are one strange man.” you said walking past the unconscious guard. You noticed Matt move back a bit to beside the front of his desk.

“He’s armed. A pistol under his first draw in his desk. Cliche.” Chanyeol said in your ear. You looked at Matt’s hand reach for the edge of the desk then back up at him as he smiled at you.

“Hello Chanyeol. Nice to know you are still informed on all my hiding spots.” Matt said taking his hand away and folding his arms. He was caught but there was no way he was giving up that easy.

“You know, I know his hiding spots too. He was never very good at hiding to be honest. And I’m surprised he didn’t know of the alarm for intruders under my desk. Ask him now if he knows.” Matt said and right after you heard a lot of commotion on the other end. Static and groans came through as you waited for Chanyeol.

“Smart move Matt. Really suits you.” Chanyeol said before a loud groan came through. He was captured? Of all his years, that’s a first.

“What they do with him is up to you Mrs. Park. And you should think fast, time is of the essence.” Matt said sitting on his desk.

“What are my options?” you asked walking to the side to be a couple feet away but directly in front of him.

“Well, you could put a bullet through your pretty head. But they’d kill him anyway. Or you could let him get a very painfully slow death but I’d kill you here. Or you could try to kill me and give me a good exercise but we both know how that will end. Even if you do kill me, Mr. Park is as good as dead.” he smirked. But he was highly underestimating you and your husband.

You walked closer to him slowly, placing your hands in your pockets. You stood in front of him and leaned forward so your face was right in front of his.

“I never thought someone who worked so close to us would underestimate the most powerful people he knows.” you whispered. He didn’t look scared but you knew your words struck fear in his heart, because you were right.

“The most power resides in me, Mrs. Park.” he said before kicking your leg making you stumble. He took that distraction to pull you into a headlock ripping your earpiece out. Your struggle was mostly for show. Sure he could strangle you to death but if you were being honest, you’ve been prepared for it. Late nights with an angry Chanyeol meant frustration sex. Choking wasn’t something you were new to and you’ve had plenty of practice.

“You know, if I were a lucky guy and got to you first, I’d be a much better husband. I mean he sent you in here all alone to take me on. You may be a killer, but you’re weak. You did all this for what? Love? Well you two will die as star crossed lovers.” he said tightening his arm around your neck.

“Over my dead body or yours?” Chanyeol said as he stood in the doorway. Catching you both by surprise but mostly Matt. Because instead of ducking from the gun aimed at him or using you as a sheild he stood there and took a bullet to the arm. He fell after screaming out in pain letting you go. You stood up straight and brushed yourself off. You looked up and saw Chanyeol smirking at you.

“I think I go too easy on you. Although you’ve always been one to take a good choking.” he said coming up to you and rather aggressively kissing you. You grabbed his arms and felt the warmth of his blood stained shirt seep into your hands.

“I always say harder, but you get too scared you’ll hurt your little angel.” you smirk wiping your hands off on the front of his shirt. It wasn’t his blood, he was perfectly fine as expected. There wasn’t much he couldn’t escape from.

“What the fuck.” Matt groans out on the floor. He’s been scooting away towards the back door of his office.

“You’re not shot in the legs Matt. Quit being dramatic and get up.” you said taking the gun from Chanyeol and walking over to a crawling Matt. He heard the gun cock and stilled before turning around to face you.

“You’d kill me while I’m down? That’s very shallow.” he said. Shallow.

“I don’t recall caring.” you said as you shot him in the leg. He let out such a sad shriek. It made you feel a little bad but that lasted only a second before another shot went through his chest. Not from you.

“He was talking way too much.” Chanyeol said before he pulled you back into him ripping your shirt off your body. You did the same to him as you two attacked each other’s lips. Next to go were the pants as you two walked back to the couch against the window. By the time you reached the couch, you two were naked and nearly at each other’s skin.

“Near death and all I could think about was fucking you again.” Chanyeol said pulling your legs to straddle him. You hovered over his hard cock as his fingers went to your core. He rubbed up and down your folds and massaged your clit vigorously.

“If I can’t have this pussy, no one can.” he said as you shook over him and his fingers. You yanked his hand away. He was making you get too close to cumming and you needed more than his fingers.

“So territorial for someone who almost just died.” you groaned out as you lined him up to your hole. Your breath hitches when his hands went to your hips and smacked your ass.

“What’s mine is mine no matter where I am. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.” he said before thrusting up into you. He literally fucked you off balance and made you lean to the side pushing the lamp off the side table and crashing on to the floor. His thrust were fast and needy. You were grabbing everywhere to try and balance yourself so you could gain control but he wasn’t letting up.

“Fuck Chanyeol!” you screamed out as he once again slapped your ass as his cock hit the deepest pit inside you.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” he said grabbing your hips tighter. You started to ride him more once the feeling made you chase your own high. His mouth found place along your stomach and chest as you bounced up and down.

“What would you do without me Mr. Park?” you breathed out. Your hands grabbed his hair and made him look up at you. He smirked and brought one hand to rub your clit fast and hard. His breathing was matched with yours. Your grips on each other enough to puncture your skin. You were both cumming. You shook on top of him as he slowed his thrusts down but not his fingers. You screamed out leaning back as your visions started to black. Then it stopped.

He pulled you flush against his chest as he was still inside you.

“I wouldn’t have anyone to fuck in front of two dead people Mrs. Park.” he whispered. You laughed breathlessly.

“He’s not dead Mr. Park. So I suggest we get going before he comes to his senses and see his dead boss and us fucking.” you said sitting up. He smiled and looked over at the guard.

“That’s sounds like fun.” he said.

[takerfoxx]

Looking back, was Madoka Magica really that dark? Only three characters actually die, two of whom are later resurrected through the power of love. Blood and gore wise, most blood is offscreen, and that which is shown is fairly tame compared to other dark magical girl shows. Yet somehow, this show the show managed to hit me in the gut more than far more horrific and bloodier dark magical girl shows ever have. Why?

That doesn’t sound surprising at all, and it all comes down toexecution. 

See,people often have this false idea when it comes to “mature” stories, inthat things like character deaths, blood and gore, and suffering are thebuilding blocks of maturity. But they’re not. They’re tools, and like all tools,they can be wielded correctly and incorrectly. Quite often, less is more, andtoo much grimdark results in an edgy, tryhard mess of a thing that isn’t maturein the slightest. This is one of the reasons why Blood-C got such a negativereaction, or why Elfen Lied is so divisive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loveme some Elfen Lied, but even I admit that it’s a schlocky white-hot mess. Itjust so happens to be my kindof schlocky, white-hot mess.

So yeah, I know this is weird coming from the apparent king ofTouhou Grimdark (cut me some slack though, I learn as I go), but gratuitousviolence does not, in of itself, equal maturity or anything of substance. Atbest you get the adolescent view of maturity, which is just so cynical andtiresome.

Madoka Magica, on the other hand, is a different sort of beastentirely. That show’s been out for years, but I am continuously impressed byjust how well-crafted it is, and how the creators used the tools at theirdisposal to get so much out of so little.

First of all, there’s the genre itself. Now, darkdeconstructions of Magical Girl shows are nothing new. Utena had already poppedthat cherry years ago, and you already mentioned how others had…less of animpact than PMMM did. But even so, the Magica Girl genre is one that’s almostuniversally associated with little girls. So, lots of bright colors, optimism,and cute, and the good guys and bad guys are easily distinguishable, and goodalways triumphs over evil. So even if new viewers know that something is up,their guard is still automatically going to be dropped, at least a little.

Second, we have the art style. Now, this is very interesting, inthat they went with a very Hidemari Sketch sort of style, where the girls allhave designs that are cute, appealing, and very distinctive, but never goingoverboard with the cuteness to the point where it becomes obnoxious. Even withthe fairly cartoony designs, their actual movement is pretty realistic, and isnever exaggerated for comedic effect or goes super-deformed and all that.Furthermore, rare for something of this nature, they are never objectifiedand/or used for fanservice in the slightest. A more realistic or a more adultstyle wouldn’t have been nearly as effective, nor would something sexier. It’sjust enough to make you like the girls and want the best for them, but notenough to get annoying or ruin the mood with unnecessary fanservice.

So basically, to get a little neckbeardy with it, the art styleis meant to make the viewers want to protect and comfort the girls, but notstrangle them for being way too moe, or fuck them for that matter.

…

Well, I mean, lots of people still do, but it’s the internet,so…

…

Moving on.

Anyway, continuing with theanimation, let’s talk about the witches. In sharp contrast to the somewhatcartoony designed but mostly realistically animated real world, the witchbarriers go for a surreal, dream-like feel, with the weird, jerky, low framerate movements of the witches and their familiars to the bizarre designs thatstick more-or-less to aesthetic themes but still have no explanation and anoverall look that, rather than being overly and obviously dark and evil, isinstead…wrong. Off. Alien. Discomforting rather than outright scary. Thewitches are meant to clash with the characters’ animation in a way that isdeliberately uncomfortable without spilling into cheesy. I mean, puffballs withbutterfly bodies and big handlebar mustaches? Spotted mice in nurse hats? Howis that scary? But just look at how they move, how they sound, and it becomesincredibly unnerving. Even before the big episode three twist, until which PMMMcould still pass for a more standard Magical Girl show, it still stood out withjust how bizarrely disturbing its monsters are. There is something genuinelyunsettling about them, a sense of dread that just permeates their every scene,even when our heroes are victorious.

And with that, I’ve exhaustedmost of the synonyms for “disturbing.” Let’s move on.

So, we’ve gone over how theart and animation is carefully crafted to evoke a specific reaction from theviewers, but what about the story itself? Well, like what was discussedearlier, part of what makes PMMM work so well is that despite its grandambitions and epic feels, the bulk of the show is…actually pretty small. Imean, save for the universe-changing repercussions of Madoka’s wish at the veryend, most of the focus is kept away from the world at large and remains on asmall group of characters and how being sucked into the contract system affectsthem. The story revolves around these five girls and is all about theirpersonal lives, and the whole Incubator thing is portrayed as alarger-than-they-can-imagine thing that’s been going on since the beginning oftime that they can’t do anything about, so why even bother trying? For Kyubey,it’s pretty much just business as usual, with the gang just being another setof marks in a long, long line of them, to be chewed up and spat out by the cogsof his machine.

And that takes us to what youmentioned earlier, about how PMMM has fewer character deaths, less violence,and nearly no gore in comparison to other shows, but somehow manages to leave abigger impact. And that comes down to one of the most important rules aboutstorytelling: it’s not what you’re about, it’s how you’re about it. Killing offcharacters doesn’t make a story mature, hurting your characters doesn’t makeyour story mature, or even using something as risky as rape doesn’t make yourstory mature; those are just the catalysts. Rather, maturity comes fromexploring how those things affect your characters, how it changes their livesand how they change and grow in response to them. Mami’s sudden and shockingdeath had profound effects on Madoka and Sayaka, and it’s by exploring thoseeffects that it feels like it has such a big impact, in that it shatteredMadoka’s perfect world and sent her into a bout of depression while motivatingSayaka into recklessness to compensate for her guilt in not being there to helpMami and overcompensate in trying to take her place. The reveal of the MagicalGirls as liches with their souls literally contained within their soul gems wasa big twist in of itself, but by taking the time to show how it set Sayaka intoher downward spiral into self-destruction coupled with having the oppositeeffect on Kyoko by jarring her out of her self-centered nihilism and motivatingher to start reaching out to Sayaka it really does feel like it has actualmeaning beyond shock value. And their deaths become even more tragic, asKyubey’s later monologue shows that they were doomed from the beginning, andnothing other than a damned miracle was going to save anyone. And being that hehad the monopoly on miracles in that universe, the audience is left bitingtheir nails and hanging on the edges of their seats through the climax, prayingthat an out would be found while fearing that there would be none to be found.Which just makes Madoka’s loophole of a wish all the more gratifying, whilestill being bittersweet. Because a happy ending just wasn’t possible, but shefound a way to prevent an all-out tragedy, a way to alleviate the bulk of thepain. And all it cost was her earthly existence.

Anyway, we’ve talked aboutthe visuals and story direction, so now let’s talk characterization. This is yetanother place where this show shines. Becauseeven though it only had a few episodes, the relatively small cast and focus ontheir personal problems allowed for a lot of character development. It helped that,save for Madoka’s, each of their wishes was something small and easilyunderstandable. Mami just wanted to live, Kyoko just wanted people to listen toher father, Sayaka just wanted her close friend and crush to get better whiletaking up Mami’s responsibilities, and Homura just wanted to save her dearfriend, who had been one of the few people to ever give her positive attention.Hell, even Madoka’s original wish was to save a cat. And like their designs,their personalities are all distinct, balanced between likeable strengths andtragic flaws: Mami is stalwart and nurturing, but also tripped up by hercrippling loneliness. Sayaka is determine and has a strong sense of justice,but also brash and prone to self-loathing. Madoka is kind-hearted andencouraging, but held back by her lack of self-esteem. As for Homura and Kyoko,they’re introduced us when they are at their worst, but do to cleverstorytelling and exposition, we then see the goodness in them and what theyused to be, and it becomes all the more easier to understand how they becamethe way they are. And again, despite its small number of episodes, the showreally takes the time to show how these personalities bounce off each other andconflict, while also showing how the consequences of their actions change them.I really like how they did it two: the show is essentially divided into fourmini-arcs of three episodes apiece, with the main focus on a different girl perarc, with Madoka being something of a passive POV protagonist throughout the wholeshow: first it’s Mami, then Sayaka, then Kyoko, and finally Homura. And as isexpected, each mini-arc ends in a tragedy, from Mami’s death to Sayaka’srealization about the truth of soul gems to Kyoko’s final stand to Homurafeeling as if she’s lost Madoka forever. But even with all that dark, it stillends on a note that is, while bittersweet, is still optimistic. Madoka is stillgone and Sayaka is still dead, but they seem to have come to terms with that. Also,Kyoko and Mami are alive and on good terms again, Homura has something new tofight for, and the universe is a little less cruel, showing that despiteeverything, it was all worth it in the end, and all of their struggles, pains,mistakes, and tears mattered.

I could go on and on and on,but let’s sum it up with a tl;dr: Puella Magi Madoka Magica may not have had nearly the amount of death and despair as other shows and very littlegore, but it had a far greater impact because it was carefully and brilliantlyconstructed from top to bottom to hit you right where it hurts, twist theknife, and still make you thankful for the ride. And I wouldn’t have it anyother way.

[spnfanficpond]

January Angel Fish Awards

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations. If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle or Mana to check and make sure we got your submission.

And we’d like to make a special shout out and say thank you to Ana and Kenzi for your total of 15 Angel Fish Nominations this month! The two of you together nominated 14 authors and the kind of passion for reading and reciprocating your feedback is exactly what we love to see. Thank you both for sharing so much love this month! 

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE JANUARY’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @sorenmarie87

The Pact (series) by @coffee-obsessed-writer

Jen’s fics are always so well written and detailed to a point where it feels like it could actually happen.  Not to mention her characterization is on point.  This fic in particular is different from what I’ve read before and everyone should give it a chance. 

Nominated by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

How You & I Will Be (series) by @katehuntington

I’m nominating this fic, which (fair disclosure) I beta’d becuase it does a really really really really great job of fulfilling the brief it set out to achieve: making you cry.

It’s a story of unrequited love between Dean and the reader and it’s doomed, from the outset.  Kate unpacks nearly every angle and moment and hold them up for you as they burn away, right in from of your eyes.  Ruby-level patience.  Nice at brutal.

So if you like your angst and tears, have at it friends.  Cheers, Ali.

(TW for major character death.)

Nominated by @rosieakacanadianspnhunter

Thunder Rolls by @amanda-teaches 

I'm not afraid of thunder, but I definitely felt the fear. I'd totally pretend to be if it meant Dean would distract me this way! I loved the addition of Dean telling the reader what his own biggest fear is! Hot!

Nominated by @percywinchester27

The First Bite  (oneshot) by @shy-violet-soul

Firstly, can I just say that I am absolutely in love with their work? The writer is so sure of what they want to say and know exactly how to say it. And that is a rare thing, when no word is unnecessary. I absolutely fell in love with the characterization of young Dean and Sam. And the OCs are enchanting. Don’t remember the last time I fell in love with an OC so quickly! And the husband-wife duo in the fic are simply adorable. The context and background of the story paint a lovely picture. And Dean… damn that boy breaks your heart. All in all would recommend it 100% Go check the author out!

  The Babysitter (series) @mrswhozeewhatsis

I never thought I would ever commit to a 65 chapter series, but damn! this one felt like a couple of pages, and even after it ended, I was running around my room, screaming like a zombie with “MOREEEEEEEEEEEE.” This could have very well been a parallel world in itself. Like another reality that Jack could create a rift to, where the Winchesters are happy. They have this sister/mother/friend figure in their lives who is absolutely awe-inspiring. She is tender, good and badass but oh so realistic with her feelings. I go back and read the timestamps a lot and my fav chapter where they are in the hotel room at the very end and prank the hell out of everyone else. I was in splits the first time and still am. This doesn’t white wash John, but brings out the best in him. JUST. GO. READ IT. You are fucking welcome!

Living With Regrets (series) by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

The pain!! OH GOD THE PAIN!! The author can personally attest to how I hounded her over this series in her IMs. The timing of each chapter is so perfect that it just leave you with the right amount of angst and desperation for the next chapter. I wanted to push both the characters together and close the door behind them so they could just fucking TALK!! I am emotional about this okay? Also while I wanted to hug and cuddle the little OC, I wanted to strangle and murder the other one!! This series brought out quite a lot of passion in me, one that I didn’t know I had the capacity of feeling over a fictional work, still does. It is an adorable little world that you all should definitely be a part of! Go…go….go!!

Silk and Rough Velvet (series) by @blacktithe7

SARV was the first long series I attempted to read. Also the first AU. It altered my life. Rockstar!Jensen suddenly became a real thing. Y'all have no clue how much this series had awed me. Even now when I mention the series to a third party, my first reaction is - “You haven’t read it? What are you doing with your life?” It has the perfect amount of love, angst and fluff. Gosh! It is the freaking best! Most days there are no words. Today is one of them!

Series Rewrite (series) @torn-and-frayed

A true masterpiece! I don’t know how do you even begin to attempt something like this. The reader is inserted in the rewrite SO FLAWLESSLY!!! SO EFFORTLESSLY that it is crazy! Like what even??? I mean she has a personality of her own. And as strong a presence as Sam or Dean. More importantly, she does not undermine the relationship of the brothers. Does not take away from their moments, all the while creating her own bonds. I love that she is in love with Dean. But damn, I love what she has with Sam, too. The author manages to perfectly capture the essence of the rewrite in the best way possible. Excellent job!

Fresh Start (series) by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

This one is unique in it’s uncomplicatedness (that isn’t a word, but deal with it) Like whoa, the reader is so fucking relatable! I am sure all authors can relate when they make a reader super-strong, super-understanding, super-witty. This one is just super-relatable. And that is the hardest fucking thing to do! The OC is charming AF, and the underlying pain of a dead lover is significant. It is not in your face, it is not too underplayed, but it’s subtle and THERE. Kudos at having achieved the perfect balance of everything. It is rare and awesome! Read this ONE!

Close Every Door (series) by @jotink78

I have never known the sort of pain and angst that this series inflicted on me, I kid you not. I wanted to steamroll everyone,and everybody. If you caught me reading a chapter, there was a good chance that I was either feeling extremely murderous and was sobbing incessantly in the corner. I’ve said it before, despite being one of the kindest people, the author sure knows how to be cruel when it comes to writing. This series is sure to rip your freaking heart part, stomp all over it and out it back. BUT SO WORTH IT!!

More Than You Bargained For (series) by @luci-in-trenchcoats

Best bodyguard!AU I have ever read. It was fun and exciting without getting too palpitating, which is good because the chase and suspense were fantastically written. And the twist at the end, you’d never fucking see that coming. I bet!! I love how they slowly fall for each other even through all their differences. This one I couldn’t put down, it was so good. If you are looking for something to curl up with on a cozy and comfortable Saturday, this is your THING!! Don’t forget to curl in with a blanket and hot mug of coffee before you get started!  

Five years of Christmas (oneshot) by @deanssweetheart23

This is a life worth’s contentment packed in a single fic, neatly wrapped and gifted to you. The words have the softness of petals and the harshness of shards of ice that pierce you and then you die! But then come back later. The author doesn’t only make fiction out the words…. she makes poetry. It flows, straight into your heart. Now, you might think I am being cheesy, but read the fic and then come back. We’ll see who is cheesy then! But seriously, y'all need to get behind this. It is the freaking best. I am in love <3

Nominated by @ellen-reincarnated1967

Red String of Fate (oneshot) by @evansrogerskitten

Sweet, serendipitous, a bit heartbreaking, and an 'Ah ha! Yes!!!' ending!!! Honestly, I'd recommend everything on her masterlist, but I've been saving this one for a rainy day read and was not disappointed!

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

What Could Have Been (series) by @flamencodiva

Holy moly, this series is killing me. SO MUCH ANGST, yet there’s sweet stuff mixed in there, too. Every day, I look forward to seeing if there’s a new chapter posted!

The Cursed (series) by @saxxxology

This series was posted before, and Saxxxy edited it and reposted it, and it’s fabulous, now! It’s got an intriguing premise, Sweet and protective Sammy, and super hot Alpha!Sam smut! *shiver* It’s awesome! 

Her Saviours (series) by @bamby0304

This series is giving me a heart attack. There’s John, there’s Sam, there’s Dean, but John’s gone, and Sam’s recovering from Jess’s death, and Dean is sweet but has his wandering eye. It’s ABO, and there’s so much love and heartbreak and hormones that I honestly can’t wait for the next chapter to post!

Wishverse (series) by @crashdevlin

This series is a sequel to another series, A Hard Ten. After what happens in Hard Ten, the reader gets her wish and goes back in time, getting the chance to metaphorically turn left instead of right. It’s got sweetness and smutty smut and angst and everything you could ever want! Seeing how everything plays out is fascinating as hell, and I can’t wait to see where this ends up!

Nominated by @samsexualdeancurious

The Cursed (series) by @saxxxology 

This is a repost of one of the many fabulous fics that were lost when Saxxy’s blog got deleted, so a lot of people have already read it at least once. It hasn’t gotten many notes this time around, though, which is an absolute crime because this fic is just as amazing the second time around as it was the first.

Bitten (series) by @saxxxology 

I am head over heels in love with this fic. It has a perfect blend of angst, fluff, and smut, and I’ve been enjoying every word of it.

Tomorrow (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage 

This fic is so cute! I love Dean so much, especially in this fic. Rhi writes him so well and every word out of his mouth is just so Dean is hurts. Also, I can guarantee most of us have at least felt the way this reader does, which makes this fic even more perfect.

Forbidden (oneshot) by @becs-bunker 

This fic murdered me. I am dead and writing this from my suite in Hell. Crowley says “hi” and that he agrees this fic is perfectly sinful. It’s not a fic for anyone who doesn’t like Wincest or Full House of Wincest, but it’s definitely a fic for me.

Playing Victim (oneshot) by @crispychrissy 

Ugh, yes. Gimme all the Sub!Dean/Dom!Reader. There’s simply not enough of that in this fandom and Chrissy nails it so well. Also, the gif she used? Should be illegal.

Three Kisses (oneshot by) @impala-dreamer  

I was dying by the end of this fic. A little angsty, a lot sexy, and then fucking hilarious. Rebekah writes Sam and Dean so well, especially Dean’s snarky big brother side, and I love it.

Nominated by @manawhaat

Let Me Carry You (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!!! Ugh, this fic hurts so fucking good. It’s soft, it’s brutal, it’s so sad it splits you at the seams and makes a home in the hole it punched in your chest. But most importantly, it gives you hope. There’s an honesty that’s written into this story, into Dean and into the reader, and that kind of love and care in crafting this short fic is all anyone could ask for <3

The Truth about Lust (series?) by @scorpiongirl1

Ho, ho, HOLY SHITBALLS! THE DUB CON! This entire thing rides my borderline of fuck no and fuck yes EXCEPTIONALLY WELL! Unf! The story is believable and the way Sam reacts to what’s happening to him is so on point. The remorse and apologies, the snarly growly creature of sex, the restraint and the care he takes for the reader when he literally is dying of lust...jesus fuck. It’s all so Sam. Read it and then go masturbate because, yeah. I did.

Headlights Off (drabble) by @samsexualdeancurious

Yowza, does this girl know how to write that Wincest! Fun, sexy, adventurous, funny. What can I say? It’s everything you want from a wincest fic. 

Free and Easy Down The Road I Go (oneshot) by @samsexualdeancurious

Wincest? Yes. Impala? Yes. Nipple clamps on a slightly subby Sammy? Fuck yes. Snarky, smug Dean giving a world class hand job? Oh yeah, you betcha. 

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE AWESOME WORK AND GREAT FEEDBACK!

As with the BFAs, these are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be! :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

[kimjongdaely]

Till Death Do Us Part

Soulmate!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: language, character death

Summary: You always thought you would have a happily ever after with your soulmate. Unfortunately, your soulmate doesn’t only bring you happiness, but also great sadness.

One of the most prominent memories you have is when you were merely six years old. A little girl playing tag with the other children, only to trip and scrape her knee.

You remembered it hurt a lot. For a child, at least. Your knee was bloody and you suppose it’s possible you were crying more because it looked scary rather than because it actually hurt.

The other kids gathered around you in panic, wondering what to do and how to help. Someone tried to pull you up, but you couldn’t stand. You just sat there on the ground crying like it was the end of the world.

And then a little boy pushes his way through the crowd of onlookers. He couldn’t have been older than you by much, with gentle eyes and an even gentler smile. When he comes near you, you stop crying immediately, washed over by a sense of immense calm. The pain is almost unnoticeable.

He kneels next to you, examining your scraped knees. “You’ll be ok. Don’t be scared.” He takes out a napkin from his pocket, wiping off the blood from your skin and you wince, sinking your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from screaming.

Once most of the blood is gone, he presses his hand over your knee and a warm green glow appears, your eyes widening when you feel your skin knit together. The sensation is odd and itchy, but in seconds the wounds are gone. Healed together, leaving no traces of ever existing.

You look at the boy in awe, wondering if you just met a fairy.

He smiles at you, and you notice dimples on the either side of his lips. Your eyes drop further and you gasp, recognizing the tattoo of a unicorn on the side of his neck. A tattoo that matches yours.

He’s no fairy.

He’s your soulmate.

“Are you sure you’re not going?” Your best friend since college asks with her hands on her hips, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “I swear you don’t know how to have fun.”

You laugh, waving her off. “I do know how to have fun. I just don’t find going to parties fun. And I have work today.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so boring sometimes. Alright, I’m going now. Don’t overwork yourself, okay? I don’t want to take care of you.” You stick your tongue out as she grins, waving you goodbye before leaving.

You get ready for work, humming to yourself as you do so. The weather feels nice today, a cool breeze ruffling your hair.

As you round the corner of the block, a body bumps into yours, causing you to lose your balance and fall backwards, scraping your hand when you try to break your fall. “Ow!”

“I’m so sorry!” A man apologizes quickly, holding out his hand and helping you up.

You seethe in pain, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. You clutch your bleeding hand, searching for a tissue in your pockets, though it proves difficult to find something with only one hand.

“Oh, let me help you…” The man says, grabbing your hand gently and he presses his other hand over your wound. Your eyes widen as an all too familiar feeling returns, a sensation you haven’t felt in twelve years.

He removes his hand and you gulp when you see not a scratch left.

You look up for the first time.

Tracing over his features, noting how much he’s changed. His face is sharper, older, more mature. But his eyes are the same, and so are his dimples like two parentheses by his lips.

You feel tears well up in your eyes. You’ve waited so long for this moment. “Yixing?”

He seems to recognize you as well, his eyes widening as they flit between your face and the mark on your neck, the same place as his.

“I—No, you have the wrong person…” He takes a step backwards, as if afraid.

You take one step forward, puzzled. “Yixing—”

“I’m sorry!” He quickly blurts, turning around and bolting the other way. You pause for only a second, too confused to process what just happened.

Your soulmate is running away from you like his life depends on it.

“What the—” You yell, beginning to chase after him. “Wait! Yixing!”

“You have the wrong person!” He yells back, turning around the next corner and you follow, surprised at how amazingly quick he is. Don’t tell me he runs away from people a lot.

“Argh!” You push your legs further, trying to get as close to him as possible. Knowing you hardly exercise normally, you feel your body getting tired quickly, getting slower and slower.

You feel frustrated tears well up in your eyes. You can’t let this chance go. You’ve waited twelve years for the opportunity to meet your soulmate again, and you can’t just give up now.

And then you trip on yourself, falling face-first on the concrete.

Fucking great.

Swallowing the defeat and pain, you take a mental note to exercise more often from now on. After all, you never know when you’ll need to chase after your insanely quick soulmate again.

You slowly sit up, embarrassed for falling so ungracefully in public. You sniff a few times trying hard not to cry at your failure.

What the fuck. Why are you humiliating yourself like this because of some stupid soulmate—

“Are you okay?”

You glare at Yixing, wondering why the hell he came back. If he was trying so hard to get away from you, he should’ve taken this opportunity to get away. You suddenly feel very bitter towards him, having the sudden urge to strangle him. “No, I am definitely not okay.”

He looks at you guiltily, holding out his hand for you again.

You slap it away, standing up yourself. You angrily shove your hands against his chest, making him stumble back a bit in surprise. “You! Why did you run?”

“I-I—” He starts, but you don’t let him as you keep going.

“You’re obviously the Yixing I met as a child! You have the same healing powers! The same soulmate mark! Who are you trying to fool? Huh?” You shove him again, putting all your energy into the action to show him how angry you are.

“I—” He grabs your wrists, holding them in place. “Ok, ok. Yes, I’m Zhang Yixing. We met as a child. I’m your…soulmate.” His face falls then, making your face crumple in confusion.

And then it hits you.

“You don’t…” You choke, wiggling your wrists free and taking a stumbling step backwards. “You don’t want to be my soulmate.”

His eyes widen, looking shocked. “No!” He blurts before quickly saying, “I mean, yes. Yes, exactly. I don’t…I don’t want to be your soulmate. I’m sorry. Just…let me go.”

You feel another set of tears prick your eyes. All your life you never once thought your soulmate didn’t want you. As a child, he was your best friend. Ever since that day he healed you, you went to the playground everyday in hopes you could see him again. When he moved away, you were crushed despite being so young and naïve. And boy, were you naïve.

You aren’t getting the happily ever after you see everyone around you have.

Your soulmate doesn’t want you.

You take a staggering step backwards, taking another long look at him. His eyes are downcast, almost guilty, which makes your heart clench harder. “I-I didn’t—” You choke on your words, unable to say anymore. You feel like the world is crashing against you and you can’t do anything about it.

“I’m sorry.” Yixing whispers. “Really.” And then he turns away without another glance.

You stumble out of the bar in a fit of giggles. When you told your best friend you wanted to join her to one of her ‘parties,’ she was surprised. Surprised is an understatement.

She literally stared at you with her jaw on the floor as if you had just grown two heads. She asked you frantically if something was wrong, if you were even still you and you just laughed her off, saying she was right and that you needed to get out once in a while.

But maybe going to one of her parties wasn’t the best decision.

It’s barely been a week since you met Yixing again, heard his crushing rejection. The fact that your own soulmate didn’t want you tore you apart. You never really had a boyfriend because you knew who your soulmate was. You waited for him. Knew that Fate paired him for you because he was the only person in the world who was perfect for you.

But no.

Soulmates is just one big stupid lie.

And so you did what any reasonable adult would do.

You drank yourself silly.

“Do you need a ride home?” You vaguely hear your best friend ask, her tone laced with concern, but you merely giggle and wave her off, mumbling about how you can get home yourself.

She looks skeptical, but you’re already walking down the street.

“Hey!” She calls after you, making you groan as you turn, the world spinning around you. “Call me when you get home, okay? If you don’t call me in an hour, I’m calling the cops!”

“Okaaay.” You slur out, laughing again as you wave sluggishly.

Okay, maybe you should’ve really taken your friend’s suggestion.

You don’t even make it two blocks before you bump into someone, nearly falling backwards if not for the stranger catching you. “Oops, sorry.”

“Are you okay?” The person asks, his face blurry from your unfocused eyes. His voice sounds oddly familiar for some reason.

“Yesss, I’m totally fine.” You slur, letting out another fit of giggles for no reason at all. The man is still holding your arm, steadying you.

“Do you need me to take you home?” He asks, concerned. “I’ll take you home.”

“It’s okay.” You say, rubbing your eyes. You’re starting to get sleepy. “I can go home my-myself.”

“I don’t think so.”

You frown, trying to shake his hold off you. “I’m not a-a child!”

“No, but you’re drunk.” The man chuckles lightly, a sound that sends pleasant shivers down your spine. “So you’re almost a child.”

You whine. “No I’m not!”

“Come on,” he interlaces your fingers with his, pulling you forward. “Is your house close? Which way?”

“Hmm.” You think hard, trying to make out the streets in your drunk state. “That way.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, stifling a laugh.

“Um…maybe it’s that way…” You furrow your brows, the roads blending together and you can’t make out what is what. The man is laughing now, and for some reason you want to hear it forever.

“You’re not very helpful.” He says. “How about we just go to my place?”

“That works.” You find yourself nodding, though the rational part of you is setting off all kinds of alarms. You don’t even know this man, why are you following him to his house?

But you don’t fight when he pulls you along. You’ll definitely, definitely regret this in the morning.

If you’re still alive, that is.

It isn’t long before you find yourself in the lobby of an apartment building, heading towards the elevator. You lean against the man who is still holding your hand, your vision blurring in and out and it’s hard to focus on anything.

“Almost there.” The man whispers and you nod, letting out a soft yawn as exhaustion catches up to you.

“Do you have more alcohol?” You slur, wanting to feel that high again. To get even more drunk until you can’t remember your own name. Only then can you forget the heartache of losing your soulmate.

“No,” he answers. “No more drinking for you.”

You whine, your lower lip jutting out in a pout as you look up at him, hoping you can convince him otherwise. He merely shakes his head, before the elevator door dings open.

He leads you down the hall, keys jingling as he unlocks his door. You enter first, trying hard to focus on the interior of the place, but your mind is foggy and you just end up collapsing on the couch.

“I didn’t think you were such a heavy drinker.” The man says, his voice getting farther away before he comes back, pressing something into your hands. A glass of water.

You chug it down, realizing how parched you were. You mumble a thanks, trying to answer his last statement. “I don’t usually drink.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised.

“I’m just very, very sad.��� You find yourself saying, tears filling your eyes as you hastily try to wipe them away. “Do you know? My soulmate said he didn’t want me. My soulmate! I thought soulmates were supposed to be made for each other…that they would love each other no matter what.” You sniff, trying hard to keep your tears in.

“I—” The couch dips under his weight as he sits next to you. His arm is awkwardly around your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” You hiccup. “It’s all his fault! Stupid, stupid soulmate! I want to just burn this mark off—”

You’re suddenly very aware of his lips on yours. Heat surges through your body like fireworks, your vision exploding with light until you can’t keep them open anymore. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

This feels so, so right.

He pushes you back until you’re lying on the couch, his body sprawled on top of yours. His warm lips trail across your jaw, sucking the spot below your earlobe and you moan, hands tangled in his soft hair.

He feels so good. For some reason you want to cry.

“Shh…” He cups your cheeks, pressing another kiss against your lips. “I’m here.”

And that’s all the matters right now.

You groan, burying yourself deeper into the blankets to block out the sunlight streaming in. Your head hurts so terribly, like someone is continuously hammering a nail into your skull.

You slowly open your eyes, hissing as you adjust to the bright light. You blink, taking in the scene before you.

Wait.

This is not your room.

You sit up, suddenly in panic and you shiver. Looking down, you realize you’re not wearing any clothes. “Oh hell no—”

“You’re awake.”

You snap your head up to meet the man you must’ve spent the night with and your body freezes.

No way.

No fucking way.

“Yixing?” You gasp, pulling the covers up to your chin to shield yourself from him. He looks terribly guilty, his lips pursed and eyes downcast. “We didn’t—”

“We did.” He answers simply, a sigh escaping his lips. “It was my fault. I’m sorry I let this happen—”

There it is again, the rejection. You feel your throat close in on itself, and it’s hard to form words. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it’s useless. “I should go.”

Yixing’s head snaps up, eyes wide. You see a flash of panic on his face. “Wait. Um, you can wear my shirt.” He hurries to his closet, plucking out a large t-shirt and sets it on the foot of the bed. His face is flushed, obviously embarrassed. “Please meet me in the living room…I think we should talk.”

With that, he leaves, closing the door shut softly behind him.

You slip the t-shirt over your head, the shirt hanging off your frame since it’s too big. It feels nice though, and smells like him—

Stop.

You take in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. He’s your soulmate…or he’s supposedly your soulmate. Is sleeping with your soulmate really that big of a deal?

Yes, since he doesn’t want you.

You shake away the thought desperately, suddenly scared to go out. What could he possibly want to talk about? About how he wants to go separate ways? That last night was a mistake and he really hates you?

You don’t think you can handle any more of this.

For a moment, you consider crawling out the window, but he lives way to high up so there’s no way out but through the living room.

You sigh.

You suppose it’s better to just get it over with. You steel yourself for what’s to come as you turn the knob of the bedroom door, walking slowly out to the living room.

Yixing is sitting on his couch—it looks very familiar, by the way, though you don’t remember what happened last night—sipping on some coffee. The sight looks so domestic you almost don’t know how to react.

He notices you, and you see the way he sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes roaming over your form for just a second. “Come, sit.”

You tentatively sit opposite to him, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt that barely goes over your mid-thigh.

You watch Yixing hesitate, his expression conflicted. Then he sighs, setting down his coffee cup and leaning back against the couch. “I should probably start from the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?” You blurt out, not exactly sure what is happening at the moment.

He gives you a tight smile. “Why I ran when I saw you last week.”

Oh yes, you definitely want to know why.

He pauses, as if trying to find the right words. “You know I can heal, right?”

“Yes.” You answer, cocking your head and wondering what it had to do with anything.

“This power…” he clasps his hands together, “is rare. Very. But a few years ago I realized that this power comes with a price.” His face becomes grim, his lips pursed together tightly. “Every time I heal someone, I lose a bit of my life.”

You gasp then, eyes becoming wide at the revelation. “What?”

He nods, solemn. “Yes. I didn’t…” He squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “I didn’t want you to have a soulmate like me. Someone with such short lifespan. You deserve better and—” He chokes, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “And I can’t give you that.”

You think back to the time you were little, how he healed your wounds. And when you bumped into him a week ago, he healed you again. From the look of things, he isn’t exactly using his powers carefully. Which means he probably has a much shorter lifespan now.

You find yourself standing, making your way to him. He looks at you with confusion, and he’s stiff when you cup his face tenderly, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips. He shudders, breath shaky, eyes blown wide.

“It doesn’t matter.” You whisper, eyes softening. “Even if you only have a day left, it’s ok. You’re my soulmate. We are made for each other. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, shaking his head, though you see his resolve beginning to crack. “No…I-I don’t want you to be sad.”

“Being without you makes me saddest.” You say, kissing his temple. “From now on, let’s be together.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. He’s trembling, and you wonder if he’s crying. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry you ended up with me—”

“Hey,” you bring his face to yours again, leaning your forehead against his. “I’m happy. I’m happy that it’s you, Yixing. Back when we were children I already loved you. I waited so long for you. Please don’t run anymore.”

He hesitates, but nods, pulling you in close again. He presses a kiss against your jaw, whispering, “Thank you.”

You feel like you’re going to throw up. You’re so nervous and excited and impatient at the same time that you’re bouncing on the soles of your feet—which isn’t too smart since you’re wearing high-heels and you suck in heels.

“Someone’s excited.” Your best friend—who is your bridesmaid today—chuckles as she straightens the veil over your head. “I can’t believe you’re getting married before me.”

You laugh, pulling her in for a hug. “Well, I did meet my soulmate as a child. I had a head start.”

“True, true.” She grins only to gasp upon seeing the time. “It’s almost time! Quick, get ready!”

And then you are rushed into a beautifully decorated car that would take you to the wedding venue.

To think that on the other side of the aisle is your soulmate. It’s so hard to believe it’s actually happening.

When the doors slide open, you see Yixing smile, his eyes crinkling and dimples showing and he looks so incredibly happy that you can’t help but let out a wide smile of your own.

As you make your way towards him, you resist the urge to run up to him and just kiss him. So badly you want to be his wife already.

When he takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger, you think you might cry. You always believed you would have a happy ending with him, but it just feels so surreal. You see his eyes glisten with tears as he holds you so tenderly.

He leans in, brushes his lips against yours, capturing them in the sweetest kiss ever.

“Till death do us part.”

“I need you to push, miss.”

You heard that phrase at least twenty times now, but you just don’t have the strength. You find it hard to even keep your eyes open, the pain unbearable.

“Hold on, please hold on.” You vaguely hear Yixing mumble beside you, his hand wrapped around your arm in attempt to bring you comfort, though nothing’s working.

“It doesn’t look good.” The nurse tells the doctor urgently, doing everything they can to get the baby out of you before you both end up dying. “She’s losing too much blood.”

You hear Yixing choke, eyes brimmed with tears. “No, no. Please be okay. You can do it, love.”

You try to keep your eyes open, trying to focus on his face but it’s hard. It’s too difficult. You feel yourself slipping away.

His sobs fill your ears and you want to wipe away his tears. To hold him close and kiss him and see him smile. “Yi…”

“It’s okay.” He whispers, brushing hair away from your face. “It’s going to be okay.”

But you know it’s not.

He knows it too as he watches the nurses and doctors rush about in the delivery room, trying to help you any way they can.

“I love you.” Yixing says. “I love you so, so much. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

There’s something wrong with the tone he’s using. You try to say something, to stop him, but he leans in and presses his lips against yours and you feel a wave of energy wash over you, suddenly it feels easier to push.

You try to pull away from Yixing, but he doesn’t move as he continues to press his lips against yours, healing you with all the energy he has left within him.

In seconds, you hear the baby cry.

“It’s out!” The doctor and nurses cry out in relief, picking up your baby and showing it to you. You let out a relieved, breathy laugh, so glad you made it through. “Yixing…look…”

But he doesn’t answer.

“Yixing?”

There’s a thump as his body hits the cold tiled floor, and your mind goes blank.

“Look, it’s daddy.” You point to show your daughter where he is.

“Daddy!” She squeals, running over and wrapping her arms around him. You chuckle, ruffling her hair as you set down a bouquet of flowers in front of him.

“Yixing,” you run your finger over the picture of him smiling widely, his happiness preserved. “I miss you.”

You choke up again, like you always do whenever you come visit him. You miss him so, so much. He couldn’t even see his daughter. He gave everything to save you, to protect you.

“Mommy, look!” Your baby girl holds out a flower bud to you, though once she presents it to you, it starts to open and bloom.

“It’s beautiful.” You smile, taking the flower from her and putting it in your hair as she laughs happily. “You’re just like your daddy.”

You press your forehead against his picture, imagining him still here, sitting right next to you. “I love you so much.”

A/N: I’m sorry it’s angsty and I’m sorry I made him die 😣This idea just popped up one day and I got a lot of feels from it so I hope you felt the same way too. Love you guys! 💛

©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

[writersindigestion]

tipped | edward nygma x reader

“what goes up, must come down.”

reader gender: female

words: 2536

warnings: SUICIDAL IDEATION, mention of gore, violence, abuse, paranoia, trauma, ed didn’t stopped being evil while i was gone. he’s not dark!ed, he’s just ed, and edward is a villain.

notes: hey there, kiddos. sorry it took me so long. i’ve had this part done for a while, but i’ve got another bajillion words to add. i cut it in half once again for your ease of reading. please leave a comment or shoot me a message! gonna try my best to get back into writing!

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART SIX

also available on: AO3

The next morning, she put on a plain dress that extended just past her knees, made her hair appear presentable, and made way to the church. [Y/N] had used the phone just for a few minutes yesterday, attempting to find the cathedral’s number from the directory. When she got the information she needed, she made contact and asked when confession was.

Lucky for her, it was sooner than she’d hoped.

The confession booth was small and claustrophobia-inducing, and her paranoia rang vicious bells all around her psyche. She swallowed her fear, however, and crossed herself. “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” Her tone was low, quivering, “It’s been… Probably close to a decade since my last confession.” Was it doubly wrong to lie to a priest?

She interrupted herself, “Pardon me, father… That wasn’t honest.”

“Take your time, daughter. I am listening,” The priest calmly replied, his age-wizened voice spreading over her like a warm breeze.

“I’m not Catholic. I have never been,” [Y/N] breathed, trying vainly to soothe her nerves, “I’ve never been to confession, nor would I know how to give confession…”

He did not speak, and so she continued.

“I’m am guilty of a great many things, father, and I don’t know that I’d ever personally been able to atone for them, but I need help,” She said, fighting through the strangle of tears, “I wrote down what I have to say… It might not be safe to say such things out loud. Forgive me.” Her fingers pressed a well-folded piece of paper through the decorative gaps in the confession booth, hoping beyond hope that he would accept it.

The priest took the note from the woman, taking just a few short minutes to read it in its entirety. He made a small sound of grief, of pity, and received a small sob in return for his acknowledgment. “Is this what you need me to do, my daughter?

[Y/N]’s cries became ugly, sloppy, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was so shattered, so suffocated beyond repair. It seemed like a century had passed since a stranger had so easily offered their assistance. “Please, please - it’s all I could ever ask for. I’m so scared, I’m so-”

“You need not plead any longer. It shall be done as you have asked,” He interjected softly, and she heard him rise from his place, and step quietly from the booth.

She did not follow. She didn’t want to leave the sudden comfort of the tiny room that protected her from unwanted stimuli. She didn’t want to leave the little box of forgiveness for a world that was tinged with green.

When the priest returned, he extended his hand towards her and guided the woman from her hiding place. His expression was grave, and he could barely stand to look at her.

Her blood went cold. She’d been so close. She could’ve tasted freedom only seconds ago, just to have it snatched from her needy grip.

The father undid his collar, frustration in hands that had been so peaceful for so long. He gripped the cross that rested around his neck, and gracefully removed it, before turning to place it around the head of [Y/N]. It pained him to see the look of confusion, of loss in her eyes.

“God has forgiven you, daughter, and I must ask that you forgive me in return,” The priest lamented, before turning away from her, “It seems it is no longer my place to offer advice - but may you also forgive yourself.”

He would not make a return to his place in the Catholic church.

An old, feeble nun gripped her by the elbow, gently leading her into a side room, away from all the stained glass and overused pews. She sat her down at a table; a simple, landline phone lies in its round center. The nun’s hands grasped [Y/N]’s shoulders just moments before she left her alone.

With bated breath, the isolated woman awaited his call. When the phone finally rang, she still hadn’t fully prepared herself, listening to the ring for several seconds more, her teeth gnawing at the skin of her knuckles until her lips were painted with blood. There would be no ignoring him. She picked up the phone and did not speak.

“Once again, you color me surprised, Miss [L/N]. Using a priest to do your dirty work? Terrible. I hope you don’t mind that I took a page out of your book, then,” Edward began, sounding quite like a man who had just won the jackpot, “Don’t bother responding. Just follow my instructions, and no one will be hurt. You have God as my witness.”

She couldn’t breathe. She wished that she wouldn’t.

His voice was crisp, commanding, “Turn around. There is a set of stairs - take them to the top. When you get to the balcony, wait for further direction.”

[Y/N] didn’t move - she didn’t want to, certainly, but her legs felt like gelatin just sitting down, how would they ever carry her all that way?

Edward didn’t relent, barking into the receiver, “Move - now!”

She scrambled to her feet, dropping the phone on the table and beginning her ascent. Flights passed her by, and she peered out of the windows as she marched towards whatever fate was sure to meet her. The people below were busy - probably content, and absolutely oblivious to her peril. In one of her frequent moments of morbidity, she saw her intestines decorating the cathedral spires, painting the church’s outside walls with the blood of a sinner.

This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this. This isn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve this.

In the middle of the balcony sat another telephone, its winding cord disappearing off towards a distant wall. When it rang this time, she didn’t hesitate to pick it up.

“Nicely done - you’ve proved you can follow instructions, imbecile,” Ed vibrated, the sick sound of joy clearly evident in his words, “What I will ask you to do next is very simple. When I hang up, you will climb onto the balcony ledge. I hope your balance is good, [Y/N], but you won’t be there for long.”

She spoke lowly into the phone, “Do you want me to jump? Is that what you’re looking for? Cause... I’m not exactly afraid of heights…”

“Did I tell you to jump? Clearly, I’ve overestimated your ability to listen. I would say that insubordination deserves punishment, but we’ll have plenty of time for that later,” He chattered, hardly able to contain his excitement.

“Just looking out for you, Eggma. I know you want this to be as painful as possible.”

“It’s adorable to see you pretend to know anything about me,” Ed teased, completely ignoring her jab before his tone grew serious again, forceful, “Get on the ledge, or people will die.”

He hung up before [Y/N] had the chance to ask who he planned to hurt. She placed the phone lightly back in its place and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. In her overwhelmed state, she nearly forgot to be afraid, but the knocking of her knees together reminded her that she was still wasn’t as strong as she needed to be. Could she not be like Jim Gordon? Or Chryssie? Or Kristen? Or the priest? Why did she crumble when it mattered most? Why couldn’t she stand her ground? Tears rampaged down her face for the zillionth time in the past months, and she pressed her hands to the stone ledge, pushing herself up onto it.

Her eyes were immediately trained downwards, the safety of the confessional booth was now light years away. She calculated that the balcony was roughly over one-hundred feet in the air and that a nice tumble onto the thin rug below would effectively kill her. The prospect of death was tempting, tantalizing, and the urge rested against the small of her back. [Y/N] stared at the pews, all aligned in perfect little rows for the masses to gather in during sermons. She imagined, like she always did, that none of this had happened to her. Kristen hadn’t died, Jim Gordon never went to prison, her sanity was never stolen, and Edward Nygma was never born.

The fantasy had yet to fail at comforting her.

An acronym was what broke through her daydream, an acronym that she’d heard for a generally happy several months of her life. In any other situation, perhaps it would have been a blessing to hear those four letters.

“G-C-P-D!” A strong, booming voice cracked the foundations of her reverie, bringing the woman back down to Earth with a figurative splat.

Jim Gordon gazed up from the ground floor of the church, seeing the teetering form of [Y/N] [L/N], a former coworker that he’d known so little of during her time at the precinct. Cursing to himself, he started for the stairs, his partner taking the lead in coaxing her down.

“Miss [L/N], we are here to help you!” Harvey Bullock called upwards, raising his voice despite the silence of the cathedral, “Suicide is not the answer - please step down from the ledge, and we will get you the assistance you need!”

Typical Harvey. He was well-meaning, but not completely helpful. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his words, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. No one appeared to notice, however, thanks to the distance between them. She put her hands up in surrender, turning just slightly to step back onto the level ground, when she spotted the slithering form of Edward Nygma, winding his way between the officers behind Bullock.

Suddenly, she remembered why the implications of suicide had been so tempting. He stared up at her, his expression unreadable regardless of her vantage point. What alarmed her most was the curling of his right arm through the crook of her girlfriend’s elbow.

She let out a cry of frustration, of exasperation - would [Y/N] never be free of this man? Would her friends ever be safe? Would she ever have control of her life again?

While she would have loved to continue her turmoil over taking a leap, the strong arms of James Gordon wrapped around her middle, tugging her, unwilling, from the balcony ledge. Having just breached the boundaries of hysteria, she let out a deafening shriek, catching the marble rim with the tips of her fingers, stopping Jim from tearing her away from what felt like the only escape she had left.

The detective’s brow furrowed at her resistance, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. She was a woman in distress - distress that reached the point of wanting to die. Inwardly, he tried not to think about how close he’d been to the same position in the recent past.

Granted, he’d been hypnotized by a psychotic madman, but it didn’t mean the impulse wasn’t there. A part of him considered her reasons, to which he’d collected just a few, and wondered if she was being coerced as he was.

He pushed the thought into the back of his head for later, pulling firmly on the woman’s waist until she lost her grip on the ledge. What really surprised him, however, was how rapidly her hands went from the stone to his eyes. Jim let out a grunt of pain, his face pinching together in an attempt to avoid the assault, his arms still wrapped around her to keep the woman from jumping. What hurt more than her fingernails against his face, was how goddamn loud she was screeching.

“You can’t do this to me. I have nowhere else to go!” [Y/N] screamed, battering around the man’s head, frantic in her attempt to get him off of her. This would likely be the last chance she got in a long, long time - if she had any idea where she was headed.

The struggle didn’t last much longer. A few more officers joined Gordon’s side, one of them making an executive decision to tase the suicidal woman. She immediately dropped, stiff like a board, but the cop held it for almost fifteen of the thirty recommended seconds before Jim reprimanded him.

“Officer, stand down,” He bellowed, lying [Y/N] on the ground before she could get hurt during the fall. When he was sure his colleague had stopped, he leaned down to check on the female who’d been so keen on dying just moments before. With help, James pulled her back to her feet, letting her use him as a crutch.

As they started to lead her downstairs, she grappled with her feelings, with her body, with her tongue - mostly unable to form words. This was the only time she’d be separate enough from Edward to tell them what was going on. But was he listening? How would she know? Was his plan still to hurt innocents if she didn’t cooperate, as she’d done thus far (she assumed)? Had she even cooperated at all? What was for dinner?

[Y/N]’s teeth were clicking and chattering far too much for her to even attempt to speak in the first place. She didn’t quite feel herself getting tased - or at least didn’t feel the electricity coursing through her - but she definitely felt the effects. Her muscles locked up all over her body - head to toe, and back again. Screams of pain, of terror, of confusion - they tore up her throat and sat, paralyzed, underneath her tongue. She had said so many things, asked so many questions, pleaded for them to stop hurting her, but she was dumbstruck, and in reality, said nothing at all. Now that the tasing had ceased, she felt around her cottonmouth for the syllables that had been so deeply swallowed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been tased. Curious fifteen-year-olds tend to do stupid things around unsupervised stun guns. One that was used for public defense, however - it was a little more effective. Consciously, she knew that it didn’t particularly hurt, but the sensation was so very, very uncomfortable. And while she would never go out of her way to get electrocuted again, if the opportunity arose in a social situation, [Y/N] probably would. Stupid? Yes, but she enjoyed playing devil’s advocate for the sake of experience.

Maybe that made her a little like Edward, she thought, but there was an incredibly fine line between playing devil’s advocate, and just being the devil.

Was it appropriate to think about the devil in God’s house?

In her mental limbo, she’d missed her chance entirely to tell the cops what was going on. If the walk had taken any longer, the battered woman probably would’ve forgotten what was happening in the first place. They rounded the corner, coming back into the central chamber of the church, and [Y/N] was greeted with a new perspective on the place that she’d nearly jumped from. Suddenly, ghostly images of her fallen corpse spread across her cerebrum, painting the wooden benches with her blood. She promptly bent in half, her vomit narrowly missing Jim’s shiny combat boots.

[anxious-vigil]

Misunderstandings (pt 1/5)

Summary: Virgil needs someone to help him through panic attacks, and Logan seems to be the perfect solution. However when he approaches the other side, assumptions are made and soon he's left alone and confused, trying to track down Logic just to ask him where things went wrong. Romantic identity angst fic with like a paragraph of crack at the very end. I've since realised it's also heavily inspired by Platonic by @randomslasher so you should go read that as well if you haven't already. On Ao3 here - http://archiveofourown.org/works/13503786/chapters/30969534

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of self harm, discussions of sexual/romantic identity, some aro-phobic language, lots of arguing and self-deprecation

Pairings: Analogical, background Royality  

Chapter 1

Virgil sank to his knees, breathing heavily. Thomas was about to upload a new short, they were all so proud of the work put into it. He hated that he managed to ruin what should be a moment of satisfaction EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN TIME. Sometimes he really hated how he was, he tried so hard to change, be better, for Thomas, but all the roads seemed to lead back here, him shaking on the floor of his room, struggling to suck in air, scratching at his arms for a distraction. Anything to stop his fear leeching across the connection to Thomas. For a second he considered snapping the connection, just until the video was up, but hey, we all saw how well that went last time, right? Oh yeah, absolutely terribly.

Virgil shut his eyes and gasped at the pang of pure terror. Tears streamed down his face as he shook, grasping for something to ground him. Patton floated into his mind, the smell of cookies, a warm hug, overenthusiastic chatter, the noise, it's overwhelming, the arms are constricting, the smell's too sweet, saccharine, he can't mean it, he's like this to everyone, he's just humouring you, when did his hands start to strangle me? No, not Patton it's NOT HELPING, breathe, just breathe, think of something else, but what?

He snapped his eyes open and stared straight into the gaze of Sally. His posters. Roman. He's been nice...ish lately... though he's rarely seen apart from Patton and anytime him and Roman are alone together it tends to end in a fight. Yelling, a shove, a raised hand, a sword, no, shit, NO, Roman wouldn't, he's not like- the blades coming for you, DUCK!

Virgil's breath stopped, his face wet. A thread of panic had shimmied it's way past his defences and down to Thomas. Roman would be furious, no, stop, don't, think of Thomas, you're not the villain anymore, you need to be better for Thomas, do it for him. A ping of insecurity echoed back from Thomas. Fuck. Think. Keep calm. Breathe. Think rationally. Rationally... Logically...? What did Logan say....? Cognitive distortions? That didn't mean anything to Virgil. He wailed quietly, berating himself for his stupidity, what would Logan say if he could see him now?  Idiot. Logan would say you're an idiot, wait, no, too emotional, he'd say that you're acting irrationally, that fans have always liked previous shorts and there's no reason this should be any different. He... he would reassure you and give you that small patient smile and maybe... just maybe, if you were really lucky, he'd open his arms and he'd tell you it was logical to ensure Thomas' well-being through making you feel heard and acknowledged but you'd see the care in his eyes and know it's no chore to him and he might... you might...

A wave of relief and anticipation followed the posting of the short and Virgil's eyes cracked open slowly. He reached back gently and slowly placed his hands over where he swore he could still feel the warmth of Logan's arms. His breathing was steady and the tear tracks were dried on his face. He stumbled over to his desk and found the My NEGATIVE Thinking video, pressing play with shaking fingers. Listening to the soothing voices, following the small but significant leaps of logic, by the end he was almost feeling... calm? He'd stopped shaking anyway. He couldn't remember feeling like this in... a while. It was nice, he thought. Virgil pressed play again, this time focusing on his own expressions, how he fought, wincing at each reminder of how he acted as Anxiety, no wonder Roman used to hate him, but by the end card his pixelated face was smiling softly, even though the cause may have been Logan's slang, not his calming influence. In his past self's defence though, that shit was hilarious.

He'd since purposefully taught Logan some slightly... twisted definitions. Not enough that it was an outright lie, Logan wouldn't forgive him for corrupting facts like that, just perhaps leaving out some of the, uh, subtleties of a word's usage. Roman's reactions were amazing and the best part was that he couldn't even correct Virgil's definitions as they were technically correct.

He pondered his tentative acquaintanceship with Logan. He liked the logical side and his calming presence was often the only thing that got him through group events. He loved hanging out with Pat, especially when he invited Virgil to help bake (Patton wasn't allowed in the kitchen alone after the devastating Incident of 2009) , but sometimes he could get exuberant and overwhelming and wherever Patton was, Roman wasn't far behind, the literal definition of exuberant and overwhelming. (Yes, he's told Logan the fanders were using that definition, and yes the other side has used “that was a bit too Roman” in conversation, and yes, it was AMAZING. Roman sputtered a bit but he wasn't too mad, which was good cos Virgil had been a little worried, ok a lot worried, but not enough to not do it.)

If just a recorded image and a figment of his imagination could keep him calm through a process he'd come to dread, what would a friendship with Logan be like? Virgil resolved to try. He'd be too scared to approach just for his own sake but being more calm would help Thomas as well as himself. Well, that was his excuse, he also just really wanted to see Logan. Still, he'd do anything to keep Thomas safe, play the villain, pull all-nighters crafting carefully designed risk assessments, upset Patton by keeping Thomas inside, argue with Roman even though that sword scared him to death, even leave his room.

As he shuts the door behind him he feels a little of his safety net slip away and flips up his hood to hide behind. “oh, THERE you are Sir-” Roman stops mid-insult and mid-corridor, “uh, friendo. We were beginning to worry.” Virgil turns and hoo boy, yup, Roman's as aggressively cheerful as ever. He seems to almost lighten up the mindscape itself and as a self-proclaimed creature of darkness, Virgil ain't about that. He raises an eyebrow and does his best to bring down the mood. “Sir Friendo? I don't think it's your best by a long shot, young padawan.” “That's not what I- ugh whatever.” Princey's hands flap in an offended manner before settling into a dramatic pose. “What's up with padawan anyway? It's not much better, Bitch Black.” “I'd have thought a Disney fanatic like you would know Star Wars is part of the franchise now and everyone can see that when it comes to clever insults, you are the apprentice and I am the Snark Lord.” Virgil pauses for emphasis. “...padawan.” Roman splutters, staggering as if he's been physically stabbed in the back, “And I was going to be nice! Humph. Well, I suppose, as a prince,” he pulls out a mirror to fix his hair and summons a comb “I can be gracious.” Now he's just checking different angles to make sure his highlight looks bomb from all directions. It does, it's Roman, but Virgil's not gonna be the one to tell him. He waits for a solid minute before realising Princey's not gonna stop gazing into his own eyes anytime soon and clears his throat. “So, uh, the nice thing? Just you know, I'm a busy facet. Got demons to summon, fear to spread, goosebumps to give.” The mirror snaps shut and Roman focuses his intense gaze on what he can see of Virgil's face under the hood. “Fishing for compliments, are we, Virgil-mort?” His smirk softens, posture shifting from confrontational to friendly. “Look, me and Patton,” Patton and I, whispers the Logan in Virgil's mind. “noticed Thomas wasn't really as nervous about posting this time. Sure he had enough anxiety to make sure all the settings were right but he wasn't scared. You really got the balance right.” He lays a soft hand on Virgil's shoulder. “We're proud of you.” The praise settles gently around him like a blanket and he hunches slightly, unused to the warm weight of it.

Roman waits a moment before it becomes clear Virgil's too surprised to react. “I'll let you go spread fear, there's no-one else I'd trust Thomas' safety with.” He grins at the gaping side, pleased to have finally one-upped him, and squeezes past to get to Patton's room. “I... thanks Roman.” Virgil whispers to himself in an empty corridor. He takes a moment to breathe and grins. With the help of his friends, he can do this.

His gaze lands on Logan's door, the smooth, unblemished navy paint standing out at the top of a row of glittery stickers, faded black marred by deep gouges, and intricate illustrations, reminding him why he's standing like a lemon outside his own door. He strides forward and pauses, rehearsing, knock twice, open, say hello, ok go. He knocks once, oh shit, can't do this, uhh crap, time to panic. The door swings open and he looks up at Logan from his slightly hunched posture, his hood falling back and leaving his face exposed. “Ah, Virgil. I wasn't expecting a visit, but, please, come in.” Logan lights up with a warm smile and gestures for him to step over the threshold. Virgil steps forward on autopilot, even as he protests. “Are you sure? If you're busy, I can-” “Virgil.” Logan cuts him off gently but firmly. “If I was busy I would have mentioned it. What is on your mind?” Virgil swallows. He'd planned a friendly outing and he was sure Logan would like it but now he's nervous. Fuck. “Well, uh, I was planning on checking out the memory of that time Thomas went camping and uh, saw the stars,” he chances a glance up and Logan's face has frozen. He speeds up, trying to get his idea out before it's shot down. “You like the stars and uh, I was wondering ifyou'dliketocome. Uh, to the memory... with me.” He clarifies, speaking too much but the silence is awkward and Logan's not looking pleased and oh god, he'd thought this was a GOOD idea. “Cos, um, I don't know much about constellations, and, um...”

“Virgil...” Logan starts. He sighs, walking to look out of the window. “I recognise that I may have given you the wrong idea in the past, I'm not the best with,” He pulls a face. “emotional signals. However, I identify as aromantic and, as such, will not be available for any... dalliances of a less than platonic nature.” Well now Virgil's just confused. He attempts to show Logan acceptance but wonders what this has to do with a star-gazing trip. Unless Logan is trusting him with part of his identity? Maybe they're closer friends than he thought already. “That's, uh, the thing where you don't date people, right? That's, uh, cool, I guess, um...” He trails off, unsure of what Logan wants from him. He just wants to know what the other side thinks of his idea. “So for the star-gazing...?” Logan frowns. “I would not be comfortable going on a romantic outing.” Virgil looks at him with horror. Does he really think Virgil would disrespect his identity like that, just after Logan came out? “No!” Logan starts and looks away from the window for the first time in this conversation. “um, as friends?” He smiles nervously but it fades as Logan shakes his head slowly, returning his gaze outside. “I fear that would not be wise given how it was planned.” Oh. He'd made Logan uncomfortable, hadn't reacted the right way to him opening up, pushed his own agenda when he clearly didn't feel like going out tonight, he was so dumb. “Right.” Virgil murmured, trying to save face through his embarrassment. “Another time?” Logan smiled tightly. “Perhaps.” “Ok. I'll, uh, see you around.” He salutes casually and shuts the door softly behind him. He gets back to his own room and thunks his head against the scarred wood of his door. See you around. They're literally different parts of the same person, who even says that? No wonder Logan doesn't want to be his friend. Too awkward. Too much work. Too much Anxiety. That made him pause, reminded him why he was there in the first place. He couldn't give up this easily, what would Thomas think? He'll show Logan, he's gonna be the best goddamn friend he's ever had.

[turtletotem]

Ghost Story

Yuuri was pretty sure he was seeing a ghost.

The first time, he'd written it off as too little sleep and too much on his mind. Frankly, it wasn't the first time he'd been tired enough to see flickers of movement in his peripheral vision, and if this time his mind interpreted those flickers as the shape of a person skating—well, that wasn't exactly a shocking leap. He'd blinked, and turned to get the light switch, and when he turned back the figure was gone.

The second time was harder to explain. He stood at the entrance to the rink, starlight barely silvering the ice, and knew there was another skater there. Yuuri could see the cloud of his breath, hear the scrape of his blades. Furthermore, he knew exactly who the skater was. Only one person he had ever seen skated like that.

Victor Nikiforov.

Which, leaving aside the improbability of Victor Nikiforov ever turning up at Ice Castle skating rink in middle-of-nowhere Japan, was impossible. Because Victor Nikiforov was dead.

Yuuri had been there, the morning of the Grand Prix Final, when it was announced. He remembered the uneasy confusion throughout the arena when Victor failed to show for his short program—and the shock when word began to spread. Yuuri might not have believed it except that he overheard Victor's own coach, a grim and forbidding Russian man gruff with emotion, telling one of the event organizers. Victor's death had since been ruled natural causes, an aneurysm, something no one could have seen coming. Rumor had it the "aneurysm" might have been of the self-inflicted variety.

Yuuri had called out to the mysterious skater, that second time—only for the figure to vanish into the darkness without a sound.

"Yuuri, I know you're taking it hard," Phichit said when Yuuri told him, his eyebrows furrowing out of sync with his words over Skype. "We all are, but yeah, especially you—I know Victor was your hero. But if you're really starting to see things, maybe you should, you know, talk to somebody?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Phichit gave him a look. "I mean like a therapist. You could probably use that anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Yuuri's voice came out much colder than he usually spoke to Phichit.

"Nothing. Hey, maybe it is a ghost. That would be exciting, wouldn't it?"

"Why would Victor Nikiforov haunt me, of all people? Because I shamed the entire sport at the Grand Prix Final, maybe." Though surely that was Victor's own fault, in some measure, for dying. Yuuri had been so shaken and upset that he completely bombed his free skate, coming in dead last, and spent most of the banquet afterward sobbing in the bathroom.

Now, lacing his skates in the echoey Ice Castle locker room, Yuuri paused to rub shaking hands on his trouser legs. If he really was worried about ghosts, he probably should wait until daylight—still an hour away—to visit the ice rink, but these days he couldn't bear to skate when anyone else was watching. Even Yuuko had lost that privilege, after letting that video of him skating Victor's Stammi Vicino routine get onto the internet. Not that he was mad at her, exactly, but it was embarrassing. He'd meant it as a memorial, a tribute, a way to say goodbye—the closest thing he would ever have, now, to sharing the ice with his hero. But with other people watching, it became arrogant, an insult to Victor's memory, someone like Yuuri thinking he could do any justice to Victor's last routine.

Anyway, ghosts didn't exist, and he wasn't going to be driven out of his rink by his own overactive imagination. Time to get started before he psyched himself out any worse.

The moment he stepped out of the locker room into the dark, empty rink, he knew he wasn't alone.

There it was, the same graceful figure he'd seen before. A mere shadow against the pallor of the unlit ice… but Yuuri would know it anywhere. The dance-like elegance almost disguising the power of his movements, the smooth lines and utterly perfect technique—damn it, Yuuri knew Victor Nikiforov when he saw him.

I guess I really am cracking up, Yuuri thought as Victor's ghost did a flawless quadruple loop. The illusion came complete with the scrape and rasp of blades on ice, the sound of weight landing after the leap. Hallucinating; finally, something I'm good at.

Well, if this was the only chance Yuuri would ever get to skate with his idol, he was taking it. Not daring to turn on the lights, Yuuri turned on the stereo instead, where his Stammi Vicino CD still waited.

The ghost on the ice—and Yuuri was close enough now to make out the shimmer of distinctive silver hair—froze in place as the music began, turning toward Yuuri and watching him. It was a little unsettling, Yuuri admitted silently, but after all, a figment of his own imagination couldn't hurt him, could it? Yuuri pushed off onto the ice, waited, began—the hand curving over his head, body half-falling back with it into the first backward slide of the routine…

The ghost, he saw with a thrill, had done the same, and was mirroring him as he continued, adjusting on the fly to make it a two-person routine. Yuuri tried to do the same, but—well, of course Victor was better at improvisation. Still, they made a pretty good go of it, circling around each other on the ice, every movement of the routine seeming to take on a new and sometimes very different meaning when it was being matched and mirrored by a partner. Yuuri had thought it a very sad piece, full of loneliness and longing, but now, when the song's plea not to be left alone was actually being answered, that longing was fulfilled and replaced with satisfaction and joy.

Skating in the dark like this was insane, of course. Too easy to get disoriented or trip on irregular ice, and better skaters than Yuuri had broken a leg that way. But it didn't feel dangerous. It felt perfect and easy, like a dream, and truly Yuuri wouldn't have been surprised to wake up and find he'd never gone to the rink at all.

He and Victor's ghost circled closer, spiraled toward each other, stretched out their hands in unison—and their fingers touched.

What.

Yuuri staggered, sudden choppy steps trying to regain his balance, body flooded with adrenaline as he woke from the dream to find himself still at the rink, skating with something that had touched him.

The ghost pulled to a much more controlled and graceful stop, head cocked, and said, in a painfully familiar Russian-accented voice, "Yuuri?"

The lights came on over the ice with their usual loud chunking noise, and Yuuko's voice called out, "Yuuri, are you skating in the da—oh!"

And Yuuri, balance already compromised, fell flat on his bottom on the ice. Staring up at Victor Nikiforov.

 "I really didn't mean to scare you," Victor said, not for the first time, handing Yuuri the cup of tea Yuuko had brought from the rink's staff room. "I thought you must have recognized me last time. Especially when you started doing my routine—I thought that meant you knew it was me."

"You knew he wasn't dead?" Yuuri said to Yuuko, his voice coming out some strangled combination of a whisper and a scream. His hands clenched around the cup of tea, shoulders hunched under a blanket as he sat on a bench by the rinkside.

"He said he was going to tell you himself," Yuuko said, exasperated. "All he wanted from me was permission to use the rink."

"You were going to tell me…?" Yuuri finally dared to look directly at Victor. "Why? Why would you tell me anything?"

"Yuuri," Victor said impatiently, "you think I just happened to end up in Hasetsu, of all the places in the world? I came here for you!"

"For me?" None of this was making sense. "For what? No, wait, back up. How are you not dead?"

"Well, I never was dead," Victor said reasonably. "It's not hard to be alive when you haven't died yet."

Yuuri just stared at him.

Victor sighed and sat down next to him on the bench. "Okay, so, I faked my death. It was really, really hard getting Yakov on board—he and Yuri, the other Yuri, Plisetsky, they're the only ones who know. And Yuri only by accident. But I just couldn't do it anymore. Any of it. I know it is very stupid to be tired of being famous, huh? Tired of being the best at the thing you like most? But it was all… what is the word for something with nothing inside it?"

"Hollow," Yuuri said, unable to look away.

"Right, yes. I had worked so hard for so long, pouring everything into my skating until there wasn't anything left to pour." Victor's voice was perfectly pleasant and cheerful. "And I woke up, the morning of the Grand Prix Final, and realized I didn't care if I ever won another medal, that I would trade all of my medals to just feel alive for one second. So I told Yakov I was dead one way or another."

That… sounded like a very incomplete summary of a terrifying conversation. Victor was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. It occurred to Yuuri that it had been a very long time since he saw a picture or video of Victor where the smile reached his eyes.

"So then I was dead, and it was very liberating! Except I had pared my entire life down to skating, and now skating was gone and as soon as I caught up on my sleep I had nothing else to do. If I thought things were hollow before—well, this was even worse.

"And then I saw your video."

Yuuko poked Yuuri's shoulder as if to say I told you so, though she hadn't told him anything. She certainly hadn't told him Victor Nikiforov was alive. Yuuri swatted her irritably away. "What do you mean you saw my video?"

"Stammi Vicino. You were amazing, Yuuri—you always have been, but to see that—well, don't take this the wrong way. But if you're capable of that when you're out of shape and at the bottom of your confidence… I saw in you, Yuuri, the passion and love for skating that I used to feel. You have so much artistry and fire and drive. And for all of that to go into a memorial skate for me, it—it felt like you were calling to me, I guess. Of course I had to come find you."

"But why? Now that you've found me, what now?"

Victor smiled, and it was crooked and uncertain and sheepish, but it reached his eyes. "I thought you might like a coach."