#I’VE SUFFERED THROUGH THREE WHOLE QUARTERS AND I’M FINALLY DONE

[re-decorate]

GUESS WHO JUST TOOK HER LAST OCHEM FINAL EVER

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Leon brings Merlin and Lancelot in on his underground enterprise;

Turns out, Leon is the biggest Magic Ally out there. Confusion, bonding, and sneaky hijinks ensue.

I imagine it starts fairly normally.

The Gang (King Arthur, Merlin, and the five knights) have literally just arrived back at the castle after a fairly uneventful hunt (I mean... nowadays, getting attacked by bandits only once in three days counts as uneventful).

Merlin is left behind to help the stablehands untack the horses, like usual, except he leaves the stables half a candle mark later to find Leon awkwardly loitering around outside, the evening dimming around him.

He thinks maybe the First Knight had gotten injured, and was too embarrassed to ask for help in front of everyone (something that is common in all of the knights. Merlin thinks it’s very stupid, and has told all of them this at least once), so doesn’t question it when Leon asks Merlin for a quick word, and leads him back to his quarters.

Leon locks the door behind him. Not unusual, the man was very private. It’s when he puts a chair in front of the door and draws the curtains, that Merlin starts to get a little nervous. He’d cast a small enchantment on one of the bandits, to make him confused enough to trip over his own feet (as opposed to skewering Elyan, which is what he’d been about to do) but Merlin was certain that no one had seen him. He was certain.

And... Leon was a knight. He’d been a knight for longer than Arthur had been King, longer than he’d even known Merlin. Surely if he saw... he would've said something, accused him or just killed him.

(He has to remind himself to have a little faith in his friends. But also: “This might be completely unrelated, so just act natural.”)

Leon turns around to look at Merlin, and instantly recognises how nervous the younger man is, despite his poor attempt to hide it. The knight keeps his distance, and gives him a slow nod:

“I just wanted to let you know, Merlin, if you ever need... ah, a way out of the city, unseen, at short notice, then I can sort something for you.”

At that, all of Merlin’s racing, terrifying thoughts, stutter to a stop, and he looks at Leon with nothing but confusion on his face. He tilts his head slightly, asking, ever so eloquently:

“...What?”

Leon sends a soft smile and a knowing wink his way:

“Or, you know, the back up of a noble in court, or an alibi, I can do that to. I have a feeling that, considering you haven’t done a runner yet, you’re planning on sticking around.”

Merlin just furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment:

“I... Leon I have no idea what you’re talking about. What do you mean, done a runner? Why would I need your help in court or... or an alibi??”

Leon just raises an eyebrow, and tilts his head.

Merlin copies him.

A look of realisation crosses the blonde’s face, and he lifts his hands in surrender:

“Ah. Ok, before I say anything else, I promise Merlin, you are entirely safe. I would protect you with my life if I had to-”

Merlin slowly nods, still confused:

“-I know about your magic.”

Merlin gasps and steps back, but Leon just smiles at him again, nodding his head slightly; it does nothing to relax the servant, and his breathing continues to get deeper as he backs himself against the wall, tears filling his eyes.

Leon frowns, his heart cracking slightly, but resists the protective urge to walk towards Merlin to comfort him. Instead he takes a step back, not lowering his hands. Before he can open his mouth to utter more reassurances, a tirade of broken, cracking apologies fall from Merlin’s lips:

“I... Leon I swear I’m not evil, I... I don’t hurt people, I promise. Please, you... please believe me, I would NEVER-”

Leon interrupts him, shaking his head rapidly, and forcing a reassuring smile on his face:

“I know. Merlin, I know that. I know you’re not evil, I know that you use it to protect us, I know. It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone, you’re not in danger, I would NEVER hurt you, or tell anyone, ok? I swear it. You’re safe with me.”

Merlin gulps, but relaxes (only slightly, but it’s a start. Leon doesn’t know why he’s so surprised at Merlin’s reaction, I suppose he thought he had been clear in his brotherly affection and protectiveness towards the younger man. Apparently not; he would have to fix that). He gives Leon an assessing once over, and it strikes the knight how efficient he is. He wonders how many times Merlin’s eyes have flicked over someone: checking their face for any sign of deception, checking how close their hands are to a weapon, checking their stance to see if they’re preparing for a fight.

Leon stays in place, forcing himself to untense, and giving Merlin a weak smile, hoping that the servant doesn’t mistake his slight heartbreak for fear or anger.

After a few moments, Merlin relaxes even further (though is still understandably ready to bolt at a moment’s notice), and steps away from the wall, Leon’s smile widens, and he nods once again, patiently waiting for Merlin to say something:

“You... you offered to smuggle me out of the city?”

Leon nods, glancing to the door behind him before gesturing Merlin to keep his voice down as he replies cryptically:

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

The servant gulps, giving the knight an assessing gaze, magic buzzing under his skin, alert and frightened at the idea of a Red Knight other than Lancelot knowing the truth:

“You’ve smuggled others out?”

Leon nods and moves ever so slowly to sit on the edge of his bed, still holding his hands up placatingly. He doesn’t gesture for Merlin to join him, understanding the other man’s remaining jumpiness, but leaves space next to him, just in case.

Merlin hesitates for only a second before settling on the bed next to him, forcing himself to relax. The knight wasn’t currently armed, and anyway, if Leon had been planning on accusing him or attacking him, then he wouldn’t be doing this. None of what he said could, in any way, make sense as some sort of trick.

Once Merlin settles, still a little uneasy, Leon begins his explanation in a quiet voice, obviously still worried about startling Merlin (and obviously not wanting to risk someone overhearing him):

“It started when I was fifteen. One of the serving girls in my father’s household was born with magic, though it didn’t manifest until years after the purge started. She was my age, sweet, kind, I couldn’t possibly believe her to be evil or corrupt, but under The King’s law, she would’ve been burned. Poor girl was terrified of being found out, but Uther was so paranoid, they were basically interrogating anyone who entered or exited the city; she had nowhere to go. I had already started my training at this point, so I used my knowledge of guard rotations and shift changes to sneak her out. I left her with some family in a village nearer the border, snuck back in a few days later. From then on it just... kept happening. I suppose I got good at recognising the specific brand of fear that magic-users in Camelot suffer from, and I’ve got a good eye; I know magic when I see it-”

He gives Merlin a knowing look, but the servant just turns indignant and says:

“Well, I was also born with magic, and it took you ten years to figure it out, so-”

He sticks his tongue out at the knight, and Leon raises his eyebrow at him, before laughing and nodding, thankful for Merlin’s lessening fear:

“-yeah, I suppose. But still. It started off with just the occasional person; one or two a month. And then it was whole families or groups of people who either had magic, or were scared of being accused and wanted out. It became a bit of a side-career, though I always refused any payment they offered.”

Merlin stares at him, thoughtful and in awe, before yet another look of realisation crosses his face:

“Is this why the Druids are so fond of you?”

Finally, it’s Leon’s turn to look confused, and Merlin continues:

“Whenever we come across them, they always seem less wary of you than the other knights, like they know what you’ve done.”

Leon takes in slow breath, quirking his eyebrows slightly and shrugging:

“I’ve never really noticed, maybe. I’ve never been into a camp, but when someone I was sneaking out had nowhere to go, I’d take them as close to a Druid settlement as I dared, and pointed them in the right direction; I suppose word might’ve spread.”

Merlin nods, looking to his lap, thinking. Leon stays silent, understanding that this is probably a lot to take in, and not wanting to interrupt Merlin’s processing time. 

After a few moments, Merlin, still staring into his lap, reaches across to Leon and takes the knight’s hand in a shaking one of his own. It’s then that Leon notices the slow tears on the other man’s face, but before he can say anything, Merlin looks up at him, his voice shaking as he whispers a rough:

“Thank you.”

Leon smiles, squeezing his hand and bumping their shoulders together:

“Anytime. Like I said Merlin, I would protect you with my life. If you ever need anything...”

Merlin takes a deep breath, standing and wiping the tears from his face quickly before dragging Leon to the door:

“There is one thing. Come on.”

Leon allows himself to be dragged, and Merlin moves the chair to the side before stepping out of the way, allowing Leon to unlock the door with the key hanging around his neck. He doesn’t question where they’re going, though he is slightly confused when he notices that they’re heading deeper into the castle, as opposed to outside or to Merlin’s chambers like he was expecting.

They finally come to a stop outside Lancelot’s door, and Leon nods to himself in realisation. He had suspected that the other knight had known the truth, but hadn’t wanted to ask or push it in case he was wrong.

Merlin knocks rapidly after checking the corridor for other people, and the door had barely been opened before he’s pushing his way through, still dragging Leon behind him. The two men move to stand by the opposite wall, Lancelot still by the door looking increasingly confused:

“Merlin, Leon, is... is everything alright?”

Merlin waves his hand casually, not even needing an incantation as his eyes flash briefly gold and the door shuts of it’s own accord (... or Merlin’s accord).

Lancelot immediately gasps and makes a jump for the sword sat on the table, but Leon holds his hands up in surrender as Merlin rushes to speak:

“Lance it’s fine!! Leon knows about my magic, and he’s been smuggling people out of Camelot for decades, he’s safe.”

Lancelot looks to Leon with a mix of suspicion and relief, still picking the sword up and holding it loosely in one hand, but the older knight is too distracted staring at Merlin in mild outrage:

“Dec- How old do you think I am, Merlin?!”

Merlin looks up at him guiltily, and Lancelot lets go of his suspicion, instead clamping his free hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing at Merlin’s squeaked reply:

“Uh... there’s no safe way to answer that, is there? You said you were fifteen when you started, and I know you’re older than Arthur, so...”

Leon scoffs, rolling his eyes as Lancelot snorts:

“I’m only five years older than him, Merlin. I’m thirty-one, you can say “decades” plural when I hit thirty-five, and not a day sooner.”

Merlin holds in a smirk, and nods. Lancelot clears his throat, dropping the sword back on the table and asking the obvious question:

“So... how much does he know?”

Merlin spends the rest of the night explaining everything, from Kilgharrah calling to him when he first arrived, (”You mean that thing was under the castle the whole time?!”) to just last week, when he had to sneak out of the city to deal with a particularly insatiable Succubus that was causing problems with the border patrols (”Huh. I wondered why the men had just... stopped disappearing. I’m not complaining though, thank you.”).

He included all the information about the prophecies and being Emrys and how Arthur was the Once and Future King and the coming (potential) Golden Age. Leon was especially curious about that, and interrupted often to ask questions.

Lancelot also interrupted rather often, but only to correct Merlin when he underappreciated his own genius or power or selflessness, much to Merlin’s embarrassment and annoyance.

Merlin also tried to miss out as much of his own suffering as he could, but Lancelot wasn’t having it, and Leon was horrified to learn of the Serket sting, the countless, almost fatal fights he’d had with various people (Nimueh, The Cailleach (”I did also wonder how the veil just... repaired itself. Nice one.”), Morgause, Agravaine, etc (Morgana is good in this, though her magic is still hidden)), and all the other terrible things that had happened.

When he finally finishes, Leon is speechless.

The knight had just thought that Merlin had learned a few tricks to keep himself and Arthur safe when they went out and about, but he was actually, apparently, the most powerful Warlock ever, and had a whole series of prophecies and battle scars to back it up. Lancelot’s face was an odd mix of prideful and mournful, and that only drove home to Leon how much Merlin had suffered over the years.

After a few minutes of silence, Merlin awkwardly waiting, as if for judgement, Lancelot pipes up, his voice oddly cheery:

“So, Sir Leon, fancy two extra sets of hands in the little smuggling ring you’ve got going?”

~

And that is essentially... exactly what happens. 

It’s usually Leon who discovers the sorcerers, being the most observant of the three, but it’s Merlin they send on the first approach more often than not. Leon had always been painfully aware of how scary a Camelot Knight going “I know you have magic” must be, so the trio takes advantage of Merlin’s non-threatening look. That, paired with the fact that he’s well known and well loved around the town, makes starting things off a lot easier.

A lot of the time, the people they approach don’t want to leave. They’ve kept themselves hidden for over twenty years, and they plan to continue to do so, but it’s a weight off their back to know that the option is there if they need it.

Merlin introduces Leon to the tunnels under the city, hidden and warded with his magic. The older knight is very much relieved at that; taking advantage of gaps in guard rotations wasn’t the most reliable plan, and he’d been paranoid for years that something would go wrong one day and he’d get caught.

They worked well together, though all three of their lives got a lot more complicated. Lancelot and Merlin were pulled into Leon’s secret smuggling life (despite him insisting that they could sit it out, considering they were already so busy trying to keep Arthur alive, which is apparently a lot harder than Leon had first assumed), and Leon was pulled into Merlin and Lancelot’s secret “bring about the Golden Age” life (despite the two of them insisting that Leon didn’t need to help, considering he was already so busy running a smuggling ring right under the nose of the King).

To be honest, the two lives sort of swirled together. Anyone that they sent to the Druid camps was told to spread the word of the Once and Future King, and when Leon was sent to distract Arthur when Lancelot and Merlin needed to do something Magicky, Lancelot was sent to distract Arthur when Leon and Merlin needed to do something smuggly.

Eventually Gaius finds out. Because of course he does. Because he’s not stupid. And whilst the three of them are unwilling to put him in anymore danger than he’s already in (harbouring a Warlock is... pretty dangerous. Though Arthur would probably forgive the older man anything.), they never turn away the small, portable medkits he passes along to them, and don’t complain when he offers to talk to Arthur about a promising new treatment for the flu for a few hours.

But overall, they have a proper little (unpaid) enterprise going, and no one suspects a thing. 

~

Mistakes are made of course, some a little bigger that others. But most of them get a laugh from the trio when they think back on them later.

Ironically enough, this mistake came when the trio mistook a “need to save Arthur” problem, for a “need to save this poor scared sorcerer” problem.

They’d been getting complacent. No one had tried to kill Arthur directly in a while, so when a visiting Lord brought with him a very nervous, very secretive stablehand, they didn’t even consider that it would be the young servant who wanted to kill Arthur as opposed to the visiting noble (who was an arsehole, and therefor automatically under suspicion).

Merlin, being the most powerful of the three of them, was keeping an eye on the noble; trying to keep him away from Arthur as well as trying to figure out if he knew that his stablehand was a magic-user. Leon was distracting Arthur, with the help of a report Gaius had written, by talking endlessly about certain weaknesses in the knight’s armour and the injuries that Gaius treats most often and the link between the two.

That left Lancelot to trail the stablehand, whose name they had discovered was Alban. He wasn’t wearing any armour and didn’t have a sword, only a small dagger up his sleeve, so as not to frighten the boy.

Which of course was a huge mistake.

Considering how innocent Merlin looks, but how dangerous he actually is, they really shouldn’t have underestimated the boy, but alas, with how well both of the secret lives had been going, their egos had grown, and they weren’t as careful as they should’ve been.

It was only after the Lord had retired to his chambers (and Merlin had come to the annoying conclusion that he was an arsehole, but certainly not smart enough to be dangerous), and Leon had exhausted every possible line of enquiry about armour and injuries, that the two of them thought something might be wrong.

It had been hours since they had heard from Lancelot, and by the sounds of it, no one had seen him in that time either.

The stablehand also couldn’t be found.

They tried not to assume the worst; all of them (Merlin, most often) had disappeared for longer before, so before they panicked, the two of them went about methodically searching for the other knight.

The wards down in the tunnels hadn’t been disturbed, Lancelot’s room was untouched (the sight of his armour and sword laid out on his bed did nothing to quell their growing anxiety), and no one had seen him leave the city. The Camelot stablehands had no idea where the visiting servant was, and had apparently barely seen him in the stables since he’d arrived anyway.

Now it was time to panic.

The two men rushed back to Lancelot’s room, shutting the door behind them, Merlin hurriedly asking:

“What’s the last thing he touched, do you reckon?”

Leon raked his hands through his hair for the dozenth time, looking around with wide eyes:

“Uh... we had training this morning, and he took his armour off after that, and immediately went to follow Alban, so his armour? His sword?”

Merlin picks the sword up in careful but hurried hands. He closes his eyes, concentrating, as he mutters a quick spell. The sword shimmers for a moment before Merlin throws it back down on the bed with a huff:

“Nope, the trail is there but it’s weak, I need something more recent.”

Leon curses quietly to himself:

“Try his water goblet? Or the wash bowl? God knows that man doesn’t like to be grimy.”

Merlin hums, walking to the wash bowl before halting in his tracks:

“Wait... no, you’re right. He doesn’t like being dirty,-”

With that, Merlin changes direction, heading to the small desk in the corner and opening the draws at random, rifling through them. Leon walks up behind him:

“Merlin? What are you-”

He’s interrupted by Merlin exclaiming in victory, and straightening up. He turns around with a grin on his face, holding out a small comb:

“-he will have run a comb through his hair after washing,-”

He pulls a short, brunette hair from between the wooden teeth:

“-and an actual piece of him is WAY better to track him with than something he’s just touched.”

He repeats the spell from earlier, the smile returning to his face when he begins to feel the pull in his heart, leading him to the lost knight.

The two of them leave the room hurriedly, Leon trailing after Merlin, both of them trying to look an inconspicuous as possible.

They walk briskly down the corridor, hope and excitement blooming in their chests at the idea of finding the friend they’d been so worried about. Leon puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, but neither of them stop moving as he speaks lowly:

“Can you tell how far away he is?”

Merlin hums, before replying equally quietly:

“Yeah, I think he’s about... actually... no, no I can’t- what?”

With that, he stops dead in his tracks, stumbling when Leon runs into his back with a gentle “oof”. The knight looks down at him, his face back to looking panicked. They’d stopped at a crossroads in the corridor, and Merlin’s head twitches from side to side, like he can’t decide which way to go.

Leon shakes his shoulder slightly:

“Merlin, he’s been gone for hours, we need to hurry. Close your eyes, breathe, which way is Lancelot?”

Merlin does what Leon says, shuffling on his feet slightly before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and relaxing his shoulders:

“Where are you, Lance?”

He mutters it quietly to himself, and Leon barely dares to breathe, not wanting to distract him. After a few moments, Merlin’s head twitches to the right, the corridor that leads to the servant quarters. The servant opens his eyes, nodding briefly at Leon, before turning and walking down the corridor. 

He passes the first few doors without hesitation, thankful for the late hour; all the servants are either eating their own dinner, or serving dinner to their masters. Which is probably where Merlin should be right now, but he had more pressing matters, he could deal with Arthur later.

He slows as he reaches the end of the corridor, frowning in confusion. There are no more doors, they’ve reached a dead end, and Merlin tilts his head whilst Leon stares at him expectantly, periodically checking the corridor behind them. Merlin begins muttering to himself again, flexing his hands as if he were in pain:

“This is... wrong. I don’t come down here very often but... there’s... this is wrong. I can feel it and I can... see it, like there’s something out the corner of my eye that shouldn’t be there-”

He gasps, turning and looking at a specific part of the wall, hovering his hand over the stonework:

“-or something that should be there!”

Leon’s gaze flicks between the wall and Merlin as he quietly asks:

“A hidden door? Can you... unhide it?”

Merlin takes a second to snort and roll his eyes, before pressing his hand against the wall, muttering spells to himself. Leon turns around, hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip as he stands guard. After a few minutes of Merlin getting more and more frustrated when the wall stays... well... a wall, he finally lets out a whispered exclamation; Leon glances behind him to see the stone rippling, and finally fading to reveal the door. 

With one last check down the corridor, they enter the room slowly, shutting the door behind him. Leon whispers Lance’s name into the darkness tentatively, but Merlin just shakes his head, summoning a light.

It’s just a normal storage room filled with dusty shelves and empty crates, but Merlin moves through the debris to the back, cursing under his breath when he finds what he’s looking for. Leon moves up behind him, staring over the younger man’s shoulder to the precise symbol drawn onto the floor:

“Merls?”

Merlin huffs speaking lowly, not looking away from the symbol:

“It’s a teleportation spell, it’s why I was being pulled in two directions. Lance went through this portal, but it probably took him somewhere outside the city limits.”

Leon gulps, before taking a deep breath and gripping Merlin’s shoulder again:

“Can you activate it? Do we follow through the portal, or track him out of the city??”

Merlin shakes his head roughly:

“No, that would take far too long, we don’t actually know how long he’s been gone, it could have been all afternoon, remember? Look around, there should be a crystal or an orb or something, like a switch I have to push magic into to activate the spell.”

It only takes a few minutes of rummaging for Leon to uncover a rough looking crystal, and Merlin smiles weakly at the comically fearful look on the knight’s face as he holds it as far away from himself as he can; he may trust Merlin’s magic, but he is still logically... unnerved by things he doesn’t understand.

Merlin takes it from him, eyes turning briefly gold as he mutters an incantation and his hand is engulfed in a blue flame. The flame dies down after a few seconds at Merlin’s command, and he hides the now glowing crystal back where Leon had found it, before looking back to the symbol on the floor.

It takes only a few moments for the lines to start softly glowing, and when nothing else changes, Merlin takes a deep breath, reaching behind him blindly for Leon’s hand, and muttering:

“Well, here goes nothing.”

He feels the knight take his hand and step up next to him. With one last nervous glance to each other, they nod, and step into the circle.

~

MEANWHILE

Thankfully, whilst Lancelot hadn’t been seen in a while (on account of being camped out in the hidden storage room, waiting for his stalkee to reappear out of the weird glowy circle thing), he had only actually been kidnapped by Evil Alban the Not-Stablehand for about half a candle mark.

And he was currently very bored. The younger man finally reappeared, only to fly into a rage at the sight of another man, crouched like a gremlin, almost asleep in the corner of the entrance to his secret lair.

His eyes had flashed sickly yellow, and Lancelot found himself falling over the edge into sleep, and waking up an undetermined amount of time (like five minutes, but it was so fucking dark where he was, he had no way to guess what time of day it was) later, tied to a chair (not gagged, thankfully).

He had realised the trio’s mistake fairly early on in Evil Alban the Not-Stablehand’s monologue; something about vengeance and sins of the father and yadda yadda yadda. Honestly? He tuned it out pretty quickly, he’d heard it all before... multiple times, and he wasn’t too worried; he had faith that Merlin and Leon would arrive to rescue him soon (though he wasn’t looking forward to all the comments along the lines of “who’s the real princess?”).

It was when he almost nodded off that Alban stuttered slightly:

“...after all, surely someone who is strong enough to take the crown should... should deserve... it... are you falling asleep?!”

Lancelot’s head whips up with a quiet snort as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, and looks at the outraged criminal with guilt in his eyes:

“Uh... no? You’re doing wonderfully, Alban, very riveting, keep going.”

The knight’s words do nothing to calm the other man down, and he exclaims slightly as he stamps his foot petulantly. Lancelot bites his lip to stop himself laughing, but before he can get himself under control and say something else, Alban puffs his chest out and grins triumphantly:

“Your mind games shan’t work on me, Sir Knight. I will not be distracted by your mocking or... or distractions.”

Lancelot raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Alban huffs, shaking his head roughly before looking back at Lancelot with wide, expectant eyes:

“Well? What do you think of my plan, noble Sir? Ineffable, no?”

Lancelot purses his lips, once again looking guilty as he chooses not to point out the younger’s misuse of the word ineffable (definitely NOT ineffable, considering he’d banged on and on for half a candle-mark):

“I don’t suppose you could... sum up the last twenty minutes or so worth of... plan? Then I could.... let you know my thoughts?”

Alban let out an inhuman screech, stamping his foot again, much to Lancelot’s hidden amusement. The Great Villain stalked off into the darkness, huffing and grumbling to himself, and Lancelot just rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath:

“For fucks sake. Better not leave me here. Where the fuck are you guys?”

As if the Gods themselves answered the knight’s question, he hears another inhuman screech come from the darkness; though this one was a lot more high pitched, and was immediately followed by Leon’s unmistakable voice growling out:

“Where is he you pre-pubescent piece of shit?!”

Lancelot allows himself to snort at the likely look of terror on the Not-Stablehand’s face before yelling:

“Don’t make the kid shit himself Leon, if he does, you’ll be the one carrying his unconscious body back.”

He hears Merlin’s laugh and the distinct sound of a skull making contact with the hilt of a sword, before the two of them appear like ghosts, lit only by the glow of Merlin’s golden eyes, and the magical light floating between their heads.

Lancelot gives them a grin, shuffling in his binds slightly as he says:

“Took you long enough, he’s been banging on about how clever he is for fucking ages. Cut me loose, would you?”

Merlin clicks his fingers, the ropes falling the the floor as Leon checks him over for injury, and affectionately ruffling his hair, much to the other knight’s chagrin.

The three of them move to crowd around Alban’s crumpled form, hands on their hips as they stare at him, unimpressed. Lancelot sighs:

“You really didn’t have to hit him that hard, I don’t think he was that much of a threat.”

Merlin huffs and stalks off to reactivate the teleportation spell, leaving the chastising for Leon to deal with:

“Not much of a threat?! Lance no one had seen you in hours, we thought you were dead!”

Lancelot frowns and shuffles, suddenly looking apologetic:

“Ah, sorry. He took me less than a candle-mark ago, though I guess I lost track of how long I’d been sat waiting for him before that. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Leon huffs, but drops the subject as Merlin calls back to them. The curly-hired knight picks Alban up, laying him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before following Lancelot in Merlin’s direction. They stand around the glowing symbol, and Lancelot rolls his eyes at Merlin’s glower:

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Mister I regularly show up after three days covered in bruises and blood with “The Tavern” as my only excuse.”

Leon snorts and Merlin rolls his eyes but smirks, and with that, the trio step into the circle, reappearing back in the storage cupboard with no one else in Camelot even vaguely aware of the mini adventure they’d had.

~

This happens for a while. Saving people (mostly Arthur) from the batshit insane things that happen in Camelot that no one but them seems to be aware of.

Of course, rumours fly about the oddly close connection the three men have. Lancelot is head over heals in love with Guinevere (which he ardently denies, despite Merlin and Leon’s repeated dramatic attempts to get them together) and everyone knows it, but even Arthur starts to (jealously) suspect something is going on between Leon and Merlin, especially when Merlin’s lack of talent when it comes to making up excuses is displayed yet again.

Leon and Merlin had been sneaking out of the castle, on their way to meet the teenage son of a noble who desperately needed to escape. Lancelot, who had a late patrol, was to meet them by one of the tunnel entrances outside the city limits, and assure that no other guards were nearby.

Unfortunately, the pair came across a sleepy King, on his way to the kitchens for a midnight snack.

The King stared at them with wide, shocked eyes, and the pair stared back. Leon grimaced slightly, and after a few moments of awkward silence, Arthur slowly asks:

“What are you two... doing?”

Leon takes a deep breath desperately trying to come up with something to say, but before he can find an excuse, Merlin pipes up:

“I was teaching him poetry.”

Leon lets out his breath before slowly covering his face with his hands as he shakes his head slightly. Merlin immediately realises his mistake and bites his lip, furrowing his eyebrows as he says:

“What I mean, is that-”

He’s cut off by Arthur holding a hand up, his face looking mildly put-off as he shakes his head:

“I don’t want to know. Yeah, I changed my mind, I really... don’t want to know.” Before turning around and heading back in the same direction he’d come from, hunger forgotten.

Merlin holds his breath until Arthur turns the corner, before letting it all out in one go and staring at the floor wide-eyed. Leon keeps his head in his hands as he mutters:

“You fucking idiot.-” before looking up at the man besides him incredulously:

“-Why??”

Merlin looks at him indignantly, and loudly whispers:

“I don’t know!! It was just the three of us in a dark corridor like last time and it just popped into my head and I said it! At least he didn’t push, I suppose.”

Leon shakes his head again, before a look of realisation crosses his face and he looks at Merlin with dread in his eyes:

“Yeah... except when you used that excuse on me- shut up, of course I knew you were lying, I’m not an idiot- I thought you and Arthur were uh... well, I thought you were sleeping together...”

Merlin’s eyes go wide and he sputters for a response before he lets out a quiet, deranged laugh, and shakes his blushing head:

“First off, no. Second off... at least he didn’t push.” he repeats. Leon squints at his friend, before he gasps and grins:

“Oh my God, you like him!-”

Merlin scowls at him, and Leon laughs gleefully (though still quietly) before whispering:

“-all this time we’ve been ribbing Lancelot about Guinevere, and we should’ve been ribbing you! Oh my God, wait ‘til Lance hears this.”

Merlin turns on him, face bright red as he angrily (or as angrily as he can, when he’s the colour of Leon’s cape, and the knight is trying not to wake the castle up with his laughter):

“I swear to God, Leon, I will turn you into a fucking toad if you breath a word to anyone! I’ll do it, I swear I’ll do it!”

Leon forces himself to breath and coughs slightly as he catches his breath, putting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder:

“Fine, fine. I won’t say anything, but only if you help me hang mistletoe up in Lance’s doorway next week.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but nods his head with a grin, and with that, they resume their sneaking around.

~

This happens for what feels like years and years, but really, Merlin only gets one day into looking at Leon with a shit-eating grin and saying that the old man has been doing this for “decades”, when suddenly... they don’t have to do it anymore.

Arthur repeals the ban on magic. 

And to be honest, it was a complete surprise to everyone. Of course, the whole Kingdom knew that he was more tolerant than his father had ever been; he hadn’t executed anyone in years, and unless accusations were serious or life-threatening, he rarely ordered investigations.

As it turns out, he’d been working on it in secret for months, with only  Morgana’s help (not that he knew about her magic, she was just the only person in his life who’d always been vocally against the ban). All the work they’d put in meant that when it came time to present it to the council, all Arthur had to do was hold his head high and say something along the lines of “I am your King, you do this, or you lose your seat.”.

The drafts were so well-worked, so perfect, the council had nothing to argue against, no excuses worth more than a roll of the eyes and a dismissive wave of the hand.

The repeal went through seamlessly, and Arthur was announcing Merlin and Morgana as his Court Sorcerers within a week (after of course a few hours of raging at the lies and deception, in which they defended themselves and each each other with sharp tongues and entirely valid descriptions of their terror, and with Leon and Lancelot stood behind them the whole time ready to pull their swords at a moments notice).

Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin told the King about all their adventures saving his arse, which he floundered at before abashedly thanking them, but they never mentioned the now obsolete smuggling ring they had going.

Of course, there were moments when they missed the excitement of sneaking out at night, the victory of seeing a family off to the Druid’s, or to a safe village, but ultimately they were ecstatic that they weren’t needed in that capacity anymore. It was undeniably a good thing.

Their plan to keep their heroics to themselves failed miserably however, when a crowd of around two-hundred gathered in the courtyard, led by a woman in her mid-thirties who looked mighty familiar to Sir Leon.

The gang met them down there, armed and worried at first, but quickly relaxing when they realised this was the furthest to an attack a group this large could get.

The King led the party, Morgana, Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival to his left, and Merlin, Leon, and Lancelot to his right, Guinevere and Gaius waiting by the castle entrance. It was only when Lancelot gasped, and grabbed Merlin and Leon’s sleeves to point at a specific family near the front of the crowd that they understood. All these people, all these happy, joyful, alive people... were people they’d saved over the years.

The three of them gulped, suddenly teary as more and more of the crowd pointed their way, wide smiles on their faces. They knew that this wasn’t even half the people they had saved (if you include Leon’s sixteen years doing it alone), but still, it was astounding to visually see it.

The familiar woman stepped forward at Arthur’s gesture, and the trio suddenly realise what’s about to happen. “Oh shit.” and variants of the above are muttered by all three as they wait with baited breath. There’s not really anything they can do to stop this:

“Your Highness, firstly I would like to thank you, for accepting my people back into your Kingdom-”

Her voice quietens slightly as she glances to the floor, her eyes filling with tears before she looks up again:

“-many of us haven’t been home in... in a long time, and it’s good to be back.-”

Arthur nods, giving her a smile despite his still growing confusion at the crowd behind her. The woman looks quickly to Leon, giving him a brief smile as he gasps, recognising her. She looks back to the King, raising her voice and her head as she continues:

“-Secondly, I would like to extend an even greater thank-you to Sir Leon, and his two companions, without whom many of us would have died. They risked their lives sneaking us out of the city when your father hunted us, and after, when we were still at risk of execution, but they never stopped, and never gave up. We are but a fraction of the hundreds of people they saved, and we have nothing to offer them but our unending gratitude, and a humble demand that they are rewarded for their service to Camelot’s people. They are heroes to us all, and always will be”

Arthur looks slowly over to a very teary Leon, who doesn’t even glance his way as he stares at the former servant-girl, a weak smile on his face. Merlin and Lancelot meet The King’s gaze in his stead, smiling sheepishly and shrugging as they nod, confirming the woman’s story.

Arthur shakes his head minutely, half proud of his friends, and half annoyed at being caught off guard, before turning back to the woman, the smile back on his face:

“I’m glad to welcome you home, all of you, and I apologise that it took so long for me to right the wrongs committed by this Kingdom. Sir Leon and his companions will indeed be rewarded for their service,-”

At this, Arthur turns to look at the trio, a soft, meaningful smile on his face as he nods at them:

“-and I extend my thanks to them also, for being brave enough to protect my people, when I was not.”

Leon finally meets The King’s gaze, and returns his nod. Merlin and Lancelot each clap him on the back, before the three of them descend into the crowd. A loud cheer goes up around the courtyard, the rest of the knights, Morgana, and Guinevere looking on in shock as the trio greets person after person, accepting thanks and hugs and laughing joyously at the reminder of the good they’d done, despite their fear.

~

THE END!!

I really loved writing this one😄! Honestly this idea started out as crack, but I’m glad that it ended so wholesomely :)

Same as usual lads, someone wants to write it up properly or extend it, go for it, credit and tag me ✌️

[snelbz]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 1}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

A/N: Fun fact about this one, y’all. I wrote the first chapter over 3 years ago and it was for a completely different story. This one has evolved on it's own and Tara and I are so excited to finally share it with you.

Word Count: 3493

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Zeus

– King of the gods and ruler of Mount Olympus; god of the sky, lightning, thunder and law.

The waves lapped against the sand as Aelin sighed. Strong hands rubbed the muscles in her back and worked out the kinks in her neck as the warm sun heated her body. The smell of the salt water filled her senses and she settled into the cushioned chaise. Another set of hands set a fruity looking drink with a little pink umbrella on the table next to her head. She smiled at it.

“Can we get you anything else, miss?”

Aelin opened her mouth to tell them exactly what they could do to her.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Aelin’s eyes snapped open and she glared at her phone, chiming at her to get up.

She groaned, reaching for the offending device and silenced it, pulling her pillow over her head. She began to doze back off when her bedroom door flew open, smacking into the dresser on the wall behind it. She sat bolt upright and found her roommate leaning against the doorframe, a bowl of cereal in her hands and a gleam of mischief in her emerald eyes.

“Rise and shine, princess,” Lysandra drawled. Aelin just continued to scowl at her roommate. The bright warmth of the sun in her dream faded away as she looked out the window. Ice coated it and she could see a fresh layer of snow coated everything. “Aedion is about to be up, too. If you’d like any chance of taking a warm shower before class today, I’d suggest-.”

She was up and in the hallway before Lysandra could even finish her sentence.

Thirty minutes later, she sat on the kitchen counter, hair wrapped up in a towel, eating an apple and going over her schedule for the thousandth time. Her four classes were split into two days each, mercifully giving her Friday off.

Her cousin, long golden hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, came into the kitchen, pulling the jug of milk out of the fridge. He leaned on the counter across from her and drank straight from the plastic bottle, glaring daggers at her.

“Can I help you with something,” she asked him sweetly.

“You used the last of the hot water,” Aedion sulked, taking another swig.

She looked over, blowing him a quick kiss. “Maybe you should have gotten up earlier.”

He rolled his eyes, identical to her own, and came over to look at her computer screen. “What classes do you have this semester?”

She scrolled down the list, reading them off. “Pathophysiology, Caring for the Childbearing Family, Health and Gerontology, a few labs, and Mythology.”

Aedion’s eyebrows pulled together as she read the last one. “That doesn’t seem like it will be very helpful to a nurse.”

She shrugged, closing the laptop and sliding off the counter. “I needed one last elective. I’ve always been interested in Greek and Roman mythology and it’s a freshman level class. I figured why not study something for fun for once?”

He couldn’t fault her logic and began pulling ingredients out of the fridge to cook breakfast as Aelin headed back towards her bedroom. “Whatever you’re cooking, make two,” she called over her shoulder. She didn’t even need to look back to know the obscene gesture being flicked in her direction.

-------------------

Aelin was regretting studying something fun for once as she looked at the map of her classes.

All of her classes, save for one, were in the nursing building. Of course, that one other class was all the way across campus, in one of the general education buildings. At least walking there would take her right past her favorite coffee shop on campus and with an eight am every Tuesday and Thursday morning, she knew she’d take full advantage of that.

Thankfully today was a Monday, so she’d be spending the entirety of her day in the nursing building. But first, she had to have coffee. The first day of the semester required coffee.

Aelin parked in one of the student lots close to the nursing building. Throwing her leather bag over her shoulder, she slammed her car door. It was absolutely freezing and she suppressed a growl as she saw soft white flakes drifting toward the ground.

What a great way to start off the semester, she thought.

She made her way across campus, hands deep in her pockets and face buried in her scarf. As she crossed the quad, she pulled her phone out to check the time. She still had about twenty minutes to get coffee and get to class. Snow crunched under her boots as she picked up the pace, wanting to be sure she made it on time. Aelin was big on first impressions.

As she approached the door of the café, she reached for the handle, but the door swung open suddenly, slamming into her and knocking her off her feet.

The young girl, eyes wide, apologized profusely but said that she had to get to class and ran off. Aelin was mumbling something about where the freshman could go, when she heard a deep chuckle and a tan, tattooed hand appeared in front of her face. She glanced up and the air was pulled from her lungs.

The owner of the hand was a handsome man in his mid-twenties, with hair the color of the snow swirling around his head and green eyes. Not emerald like Lysandra’s, but deep and rich like a pine tree. A tattoo, similar to the one on his hand, snaked up his neck and onto his face. She’d be willing to bet it ran down the whole length of his arm. She’d love to find out for herself. He smiled at her, a wicked, beautiful smile. She could only stare at the gorgeous stranger as she gripped her hand in his. He lifted her to her feet.

“You okay?” He asked. Aelin nodded, pulling her hand out of his. He opened the door and motioned for her to go ahead of him. She stepped into the delicious warmth and immediately got her wits back.

“I’m Aelin,” she said, giving him a man eater’s smile.

“Rowan,” he said, a slight incline of his head in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Rowan,” she said, letting his name slip out of her lips like a purr, as she’d heard Lysandra do it to her cousin many times. She knew it drove Aedion crazy and for some reason, that’s exactly what she wanted to do to this man. She walked to the line. He got in line behind her and she pulled out her phone, figuring that would be that. A bit of shameless flirting with a stranger was never a bad thing. She ordered her coffee and was surprised when the barista handed her the paper cup, a phone number written on the side. She quirked an eyebrow at the girl, who gave Aelin a knowing glance and looked over her shoulder. Aelin turned around, meeting a pine green gaze, and smiled at him. She headed back out into the frost and snow, pulling her phone out to snap a picture of the cup to send to Lysandra, knowing her best friend would love this.

Finding the classroom in the nursing building where she’d spent the bulk of the past two years was a breeze and she made it into the classroom with seven minutes to spare. She enjoyed her time with Professor Hafiza in the fall and anticipated she’d like her this semester again, too. Nonetheless, she settled in about three-quarters of the way up and looked at the coffee cup again.

Feeling bold, she entered the number into her phone and sent a quick text.

Any chance you want to sweep me off of my feet again and grab drinks later? I’m free anytime after 5:00. – Aelin.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

My last class lets out at 6:00 and I have to go to the gym afterward. How does 8:00 sound?

She typed a quick reply and placed her phone back on her desk.

Sounds like a date. The Beer Cellar, on Church Street.

She smirked to herself and glanced down at her watch. 9:58. Not even 10:00 am and the semester was off to a great start.

She unlocked her phone, shooting a quick text to Lysandra, letting her know about her new plans for the evening when she heard the door open and students started to hush.

It wasn’t the most exciting class, Aelin had to admit, but she supposed the information was necessary. Hopefully it wasn’t an indication of how the rest of her semester would go. She needed a little excitement in her schedule, that was for sure.

Aelin liked to be kept on her toes.

After two classes and a crappy salad for lunch from the school cafeteria, Aelin was hurrying across campus and down the street, toward her apartment. Lysandra was nowhere to be found, which meant she was either snuggled up with Aedion somewhere or still in class. Aelin’s bet was on the former.

After organizing her deskspace, Aelin went to her closet, and attempted to pick out what she should wear for the night. It was her first date of the semester, which either meant that it could be a complete win or a complete fail.

She ultimately decided that the sluttier the better.

Laying the gold dress out on her bed, she let herself into the Lysandra’s room, borrowing a pair of strappy black heels she knew her roommate would absolutely approve of and was back out the door, ready to suffer through her first lab of the semester. Three hours was going to drag by, but thankfully, it was only once a week.

And drag by it did, but Aelin wasn’t sure if it was thanks to the monotonous recap of her previous semester’s information or thinking about seeing Rowan again. She usually wasn’t so forward, even though Rowan had clearly been the one to start it all, giving her his number. But still, she typically would have at least waited a day or two before texting him.

But there was just something about him that she couldn’t get out of her head.

She grabbed her gym bag out of the car, thankful she had a bit of time to get a work out in before she went out. Thanks to tonight, Aelin was a pent up ball of energy and needed to get it out someway. After a solid forty-five minutes on the treadmill and nearly thirty on the free weights, Aelin was heading for the locker room when she noticed a silver head of hair across the gym.

She watched him as he pulled himself up on the bar, his chin going over the piece of metal each time. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, sweat poured down his chest as his arms swelled. Aelin had been right.

That tattoo went across his chest, and all the way down his arm. He did the pull-ups so effortlessly, and Aelin’s mind began to wander to unholy places.

It wasn’t until his feet hit the mat beneath him that she was brought back to reality and hurried into the locker room. If he was here, that meant their date was approaching, and she had to get ready. She checked her phone. It was nearly seven.

Aelin hurried back home and showered. She had once vowed, during her freshman year, that she would avoid the gym showers at all costs and only used them under emergency circumstances. Luckily, her and Lysandra’s apartment was only five minutes from the gym.

After a shower and a full-body shaving session, Aelin was brushing out her long, golden hair and blow drying it until it was flowing freely down her back. She kept her makeup decently simple - at least, that’s how she made it look, and straightened the slight waves out of her hair before putting on her little, golden dress.

Once she had slipped on Lysandra’s heels, she was looking at herself in the mirror and even she had to admit that she was looking hot.

After grabbing her clutch, she hurried down the hallway and into the living room, where she found Lysandra and Aedion snuggled together on the couch, watching a movie.

“Going out with a stranger?” Lysandra asked, brow raised. “I'm so proud of you.”

“Yeah, just keep it in your pants,” Aedion mumbled.

“I thought I’d bring him back here,” she said, winking at Lysandra. “You don’t want to have breakfast together tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not,” Aedion mumbled and Lysandra chuckled, leaning into his embrace.

“Have fun, call me if you need me,” Lysandra called as Aelin blew them a kiss and headed for the door.

Her Uber was waiting when she walked out front and before she knew it, she was walking down the stairs into her favorite bar. Glancing around, she didn’t see Rowan sitting at the bar or any of the booths around the room.

So she bought herself a drink and claimed one of the pool tables, setting her coat and clutch on a bar stool nearby. Over halfway through the game, she felt eyes on her and glanced up to find Rowan standing at the other end of the table. Giving him a smirk, she knocked the cue ball into the yellow-striped 9 ball. It sank into the pocket.

“Playing with yourself?” Rowan asked, and Aelin caught a slight accent that she had missed earlier.

Aelin’s grin widened. “Well, if I’m left hanging, a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.”

Rowan breathed a laugh. “Fair enough. And if I asked to join?”

“You sure you don’t just want to watch?” she asked, leaning on the table, making sure her cleavage was perfectly visible.

Rowan’s tongue shot out and subtly licked his bottom lip. “Tempting.”

Aelin pushed herself back and grabbed the rack, starting to collect the balls. “Buy me a drink and then we’ll talk.”

Rowan bit his lip to hide his spreading grin. “Fair enough. I’ll be back.”

Aelin watched as he left, watched as he went to the bar and bought her another drink, alongside one for himself. He came back with two glasses. One was the color of the sunrise, the other a caramelly brown.

“Sex on the Beach?” Aelin asked, brow raised.

He shrugged and handed her the glass. “Sounded promising.”

“So… Rowan,” she said, letting his name drag out as she said it. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and the black Henley he wore made his hair seem even brighter in the dim light of the bar.

“Aelin,” he purred right back, pulling a pool stick from the wall behind her, nearly boxing her in. She realized then how much larger than her he was.

She loved it.

“I hope your coffee helped you get through the rest of your day,” she said, resetting the game and racking the balls. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she reached into the middle of the table, and he was watching her, staring at her ass.

Slutty was definitely the right option tonight.

“It certainly did, especially considering how boring it was,” he replied, reaching around her for the chalk that rested on the edge of the table. “But when I got your text, it gave me something to look forward to. Even if it made the day last twice as long.”

“Happy I could help.” She picked her drink up and stirred it, before taking a long sip through the straw.

“Would you like to break, or should I?” He asked, nodding to the pool table.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

He grunted as he stepped forward, lined up his stick, and knocked the cue ball into the others. They broke apart, but none of them fell into the pockets. Rowan stood there for a moment, his lips pursed. Meanwhile, Aelin tossed her head back and burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Rowan said, straightening up and turning to face her. “So pool isn’t my thing.”

Aelin stepped up next to him and aimed her stick, leaning over the table, her ass nearly rubbed up against Rowan’s front. “Hopefully you’re better at other things.”

Rowan’s hand brushed along Aelin’s hip, just as she got ready to shoot, causing her shot to go haywire. She spun around, eyes narrowed. “That’s foul play.”

“No one said we were playing fair,” he countered.

“What about playing for drinks?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted his own eyebrows and he said, “I’ve got an eight am…”

Shrugging, she said, “So do I.” Then she leaned in close, thankful for the three-inch heels she’d pilfered from Lysandra’s closet and breathed into his ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re up in time.”

“So sure of how this night is going to go,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear him, and she felt his hand skimming over the curve of her ass. “Fine. We’ll play for drinks.”

It turned out Rowan hadn’t been lying about pool not being his thing. They played three games back to back, and he lost them all, but every time he returned with a drink for Aelin, he had one for himself as well. By the time she dragged him towards the small dance floor in the center of the bar, they were both stumbling and his lips found her neck before his hands even gripped her hips.

His lips were soft, gentle, nothing like she had expected. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was just getting tired, perhaps he was usually rough.

But, when his hands found Aelin’s hips and he brought her back into him, she felt that roughness. It seemed Rowan was the best of both worlds. Gentle when prompted, rough beneath the surface.

Aelin turned to him and slung her arms around his neck, bringing his lips to hers. Their mouths crashed into one another, and their bodies slowed until it felt like they were the only two on the dancefloor.

Rowan pulled away, just a little bit, and breathed, his eyes wild, “Aelin-.”

“Take me to your place,” she said, her mouth finding his, once again.

Before she knew what was happening, they were in the backseat of an Uber, unable to keep their hands off of one another. Thanks to it being a college town, the driver didn’t say a word, just dropped them in front of an upscale building, just off the east side of campus.

She noticed how nice it was on the short elevator ride up, but was much more preoccupied by the way his hips pressed into hers. He dragged her along the hall, his lips never leaving hers, until her back was pressed against a cool door and he was fumbling to get it unlocked. It swung wide and she gripped his collar, pulling him inside.

Throwing her clutch and coat by the door, Aelin let her hands dive into his cropped silver hair and he responded by cupping her ass and lifting her up. Her legs were around his waist and he carried her through the apartment and into his bedroom. Neither of them had any delusions about how and where this would end and Aelin felt like she was going to combust as he dropped her on the bed and gazed down at her.

His eyes were full of lust, full of hunger, a wild animal with his eye on his prey. He wasted no time stripping Aelin down and admiring her body with his hands, his tongue, his lips. Rowan may not have been good at pool, but he was right when he said he was far better at other things.

He worshipped her, and Aelin knew it wasn’t the alcohol when she was sent into utter bliss.

When he rolled off of her, breath still uneven, Aelin watched as he dealt with the condom and fell back into the bed beside her.

She cleared her throat. “I can go…if you want me to.”

Rowan turned to look at her, and she could tell he was still just as drunk as she was. “What? No, of course not. You said you’ve got an eight am, too, right?” She nodded and he tugged on her hand, pulling her closer to him. They were both still gloriously naked and she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. “Then we can both make sure the other is up so we aren’t late. Or too hungover.”

Aelin snorted softly, resting her head on his chest. “I think that particular ship has sailed.”

“You’re probably right,” he mumbled and she could tell he was already starting to doze. She was on the brink of sleep herself.

Aelin decided then, as her eyes closed, that she didn’t care if she was hungover in the morning, or if she was late to her eight am. A night being praised by Rowan had been perfectly worth it.

[nmikaelsonimagines]

The Way I Loved You, Part Three: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

So here we go! The final part! Thank you so much for all the love on this series; it’s one of my favourites that I’ve written, so all your support means a lot! Hope this is okay for you guys, and enjoy x 

Need to catch up? Find the rest of the series just below:

The Way I Loved You

He can't see the smile I'm faking And my heart's not breaking 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all And you were wild and crazy

Y/N would never forget that last meeting with her boyfriend. She would never forget the way she had thrown the letter at him, never forget the way she had screamed at him. She would never forget the rage in his eyes as he realised he had been caught, as he realised that she knew the truth.

He had lied to her about Klaus’s death, had hidden countless of letters, even pretended that the time he broke her phone was an accident. And when she asked why, all he said was the truth. Because you would go back to him.

Well, she was going back to him now. She needed to see Klaus, needed him to know that when she smiled at him, it was genuine, needed him to know that she loved him. She didn’t feel anything when she thought about her now ex-boyfriend, anticipation bubbling in her stomach.

She was done with her perfectly boring life. She wanted the wildness back, the love that came with being with Klaus Mikaelson. She froze as she finally laid eyes on him on the familiar streets of New Orleans, and couldn’t contain the smile that eventually grew on her face.

He was alive. Klaus Mikaelson was alive.

Just so frustrating Intoxicating, complicated Got away by some mistake and now

Klaus wasn’t in control of his actions as he pushed past the crowds, desperate to get to her, desperate to get to Y/N and make sure she was real. He was pulled along by an intoxicating force, sure that this moment was too good to be true. Surely this was a mistake. After everything he had done, everything he had said to her on that night, he didn’t deserve her to be looking at him and smiling.

Because she was smiling, that beautiful smile he had spent nights dreaming of. She seemed to have got over her shock – he wondered what that was about – and now she was looking at him like he was everything.

The way she had always looked at him before complications ensued.

The gap between Klaus and Y/N seemed to stretch for miles, and he started to run, frustrated that there were too many people, that he couldn’t get to her. He wondered why she had shown up now, wondered why she had disappeared for so long. He would ask her later. All that mattered now was that the gap was closing, that she was only a few inches away, that –

That Klaus had reached Y/N.

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain It's 2AM and I'm cursing your name

Klaus didn’t say anything to Y/N as he reached her, and she didn’t really know what to say either. He looked so alive, like nothing had changed. His eyes – those eyes – were of the deepest blue that she remembered, but yet so different from the last time she had seen him. They had been so full of hurt, so full of rage then, but now they looked at her in awe, like she was everything, the way they had before that night in the pouring rain.

She couldn’t believe he was standing there, so she said the only thing she knew. “Klaus?”

His lips curved up into a small smile. “Hello, love.”

Y/N could’ve cried, could feel the tears building in her eyes. He was alive. She had spent six months mourning him, six months regretting ending things with him, trying to move on with someone who was supposed to be perfect but had turned out to be nothing more than a liar, six months without the love of her life, and now he was standing in front of her, perfectly whole.

She swallowed down her tears. “Hi.”

She expected questions, expected him to ask where she had been and what she had been doing. But instead, Klaus only stared at her, as if not knowing how to react. She almost laughed; for the first time, she was watching Klaus Mikaelson rendered speechless.

I'm so in love that I acted insane And that's the way I loved you

Klaus didn’t know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but he didn’t know all the details of Y/N’s return just yet, so kissing her would have been insane. She could have confirmed his greatest fear; she could have been here to tell him that she didn’t love him anymore.

But from the look in her eyes, the way her voice trembled, he had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

God, she was beautiful, just as stunning as he remembered. He wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers in her hair, to kiss those lips softly and passionately, to look into her eyes and tell her that he had never stopped loving her, not once in the time they had been apart. But he couldn’t say that, not yet, not when he didn’t know, so he stayed silent, speechless.

He watched as she reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. She looked at him as she held it up. “I got your letter.”

Y/N smiled at him as tears threatened to fall from her eyes, and Klaus made to wipe them away before thinking better of it. He finally spoke. “And what did you think?”

Breaking down and coming undone It's a roller coaster kind of rush

Y/N could see the hope in Klaus’s eyes, could practically see his lip trembling as he waited for her to tell him what she knew he wanted to hear. She was so close to breaking as she spoke – here was a moment she thought would never happen, a moment that she thought was lost to her forever. There was a strange rush about reuniting with Klaus, about doing it in such a manner.

The rest of the world, the bustling crowds of New Orleans, faded into nothingness as she focused only on Klaus. She saw the anger in his eyes as she explained what had happened, explained how she had been lied to for so long. She saw the sadness, the sorrow, and then finally, that bit of hope returned.

Y/N was crying now as she reached the end of her explanation. “I’m so sorry, Klaus. I never should have ended things.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Klaus reached across and brushed the tears away from her cheeks. Y/N fell into his touch, her heart beating fast like it had all those months ago.

She looked up at him, looked into eyes, and confessed her greatest secret to Klaus Mikaelson, something she had been hiding from everyone for so long. It was a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I still love you.”

And I never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you oh, oh

Klaus felt ready to commit murder. As Y/N spoke, he pictured all the ways he would kill that ex-boyfriend of hers, all the ways he would make him suffer for keeping her from him. But there were more important things to do first.

Klaus cupped Y/N’s cheeks, looking into her eyes as he replied to her confession, his heart fit to burst. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He smiled, earning a tearful chuckle off her. And then he closed that gap between them with a simple dip of his head.

He captured her lips in his own, and he felt his heart soar. It felt like yesterday that he had done this last but felt like an age too. He fell into her, felt her fall into him. He had never felt anything quite like what he was feeling now, but trying to figure that out wasn’t worth the time.

Not when Y/N was back in his arms, not as she slid her arms around his neck, not as he moved his hands up to tangle in her hair as he used to.

It felt like everything was back to the way it should be.

Klaus Mikaelson had the love of his life back. He had Y/N back.

Never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you

Three months later, a group of tourists walked out of the restaurant they had just frequented and decided to take a stroll through the French Quarter. It wasn’t long before they came across a couple, illuminated by street lights as they looked out onto the river that flowed under the city.

The man had an air of power about him, light bouncing off golden curls, illuminating golden flecks in deep blue eyes. He looked at the woman next to him like she was the most beautiful person in the world, like he couldn’t live without her, and he kissed her cheek, wrapping his fingers around her own before bringing her knuckles to his lips.

She smiled as he spoke to her, and the tourists watched on as he knelt to the floor. They didn’t hear the question he asked, but it was obvious from the tears in the woman’s eyes, the grin that grew on the face of the man as his partner nodded her head. The tourists watched on as he slipped a ring onto her finger, as he kissed her passionately, before moving on, love in their hearts.

They had witnessed a momentous occasion in the lives of two people who were clearly in love, who clearly felt things towards each other that couldn’t be explained.

They had witnessed the start of a story that had no intentions of ending anytime soon.

Not as long as Klaus Mikaleson and Y/N Y/L/N, the newly engaged couple, had any say in the matter.

Masterlist

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light Chapter 16: Djinni

A/N: Posting this now so I don’t accidentally go back on my word and post the Tess chapter. Seth is up to Shenanagains of the life-threatening sort, just as he ought to be. Baby tries so hard.

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

Chapter 15: Djinni

           Unfortunately, they could not leave that afternoon to investigate the poisoned pool like was planned, as the Triclops didn’t give them an opportunity. It spent the whole afternoon and evening swinging an uprooted tree back and forth around the confines of their little sanctuary.

           “All right,” Seth said, that night, “Need a new plan.”

           “The plan is to get some sleep and try again in the morning. This island is big, he’ll go somewhere else eventually,” Warren said, rubbing his eyes, “You’re on Fablehaven’s timezone, right? No way you aren’t exhausted.”

           “But the longer we wait to get a good look at the pool, the more likely we lose our clues,” Seth pleaded.

           “Believe us Seth,” Vanessa said, “We know and we don’t like this. If it is still there in the morning, we’ll change the plan so that Warren and I act as decoys, luring the triclops away so your group can investigate. Preserves are too dangerous at night if it can be avoided.”

           “Maybe too dangerous for you,” Seth scoffed.

           “I understand your frustration,” Vanessa said, “I love Kendra too, and at least she knows that you are her brother. I will not face her having lost her brother, the only one she knows even a little bit, to preventable dangers. Sleep. I have potions for you if you need it.”

           Seth looked behind her to Warren, who gave him a warning look that his arguing was at an end. He looked back at Vanessa’s dark eyes and firm set features.

           “Fine,” Seth said. “I’ll take a sleeping potion, but not one that knocks me out completely.”

           “More of a drowsy solution, I promise,” Vanessa said, going to her dufflebag. She mixed some powders and fruit juice, and held it out, “It will not work right away, so you can get back to your room, even if you drink it now.”

           Seth tilted his head, “Hey, if you controlled me in my sleep, could you use my shadowcharmer abilities? Shadewalking, speaking to the undead, that kind of stuff?”

           Vanessa didn’t answer until he drank the potion, then said, “I do not know. I have controlled wizards and felt their magical cores, but without their knowledge of spellcraft, I was unable to use their magic. Magic is not for the use of mortals. The best comparison would have been controlling Kendra, but her mind was protected, and I could not seize her. I would have to re-bite you and attempt, as Bracken broke off our previous connection. I could not attempt to guess, Seth, and I won’t experiment with you. If your abilities are needed, I trust you to use them well, as I hope you trust me to keep you safe during the attempt.”

           “That’s actually really touching, I’m touched Vanessa,” Seth said, holding a hand over his heart, “I must be the most unique thing you aren’t interested in biting.”

           Vanessa rolled her eyes, “I have bitten creatures of the dark, and they all taste nasty. Creature of the shadows, and teenage boy? That is a very easy pass.”

           “You actually taste people when you bite them?” Seth asked, “Who tasted the best? Was it Kendra? I bet it was Kendra. I bit her once when we were kids.”

           “And we’re done with that conversation,” Warren said, stopping Vanessa from answering. “Forever. Off to bed before the drowsy hits, scoot.”

           “What? You don’t want to know if you tasted better or worse than—” Vanessa started teasing, and Seth was quick to back out of that conversation. Fourteen years old, and he did not need to know biting preferences for Vanessa, and how her boyfriend ranked.

           Seth fell asleep, and woke up to the moon hitting his face, almost blinding. He felt refreshed and awake, not a hint of drowsy. It was rare he woke up like this, normally Kendra was awake first. Seth sat up. Or, he tried too, but sleeping in a hammock made sitting up a test of abdominal muscles. He rolled out of his hammock, took note that Tanu was sleeping across from him, Calvin wrapped up in a handkerchief for a blanket on the windowsill, and Seth quietly made his way out of the hut.

           He wandered until he realized that the whispers of the undead were getting louder. Then he walked with a purpose up spiral stairs and across rope bridges he stopped before a door carved into what had to be the biggest tree in existence. It felt like the Blackwell, though a little less desperate. Instead of suffering pleas, there were questions about directions.

           Left here, and again…or was it right?

           A thousand repetitions of this circle should get me out…

           Does wandering endlessly truly break up the monotony of eternal existence?

           “I see…this is what it means to be a shadow charmer,” Savani’s voice broke his listening, and he saw the woman step onto the platform behind him.

           “Yep, walking around in the middle of the night to figure out where the undead are,” Seth said. “And your excuse?”

           Savani held up a bracelet of three large shells and several smaller shells, “We have three caretaker homes at this preserve, each designed to better weather certain seasons. This is the winter quarter, even though I should have welcomed you in the spring mansion. This bracelet alerts me whenever someone or something approaches one of the prisons at any of the homes, and will transport me to interfere. I assume you were not planning on releasing these entities.”

           “No, just wanted to know where they are,” Seth said, looking back at the door, “They sound different than most of the undead. Like they’re…wandering. They think they are going somewhere.”

           “The spirits here are trapped by a maze, just as much as they are by the barrier,” Savani said. “My people learned how to draw unwanted entities into certain designs, tricking them into wandering those corridors rather than through the village. It is a complicated magic, but one that does not require a wizard if you have the right blood and soul.”

           “So like, at least they get puzzle books with their prison sentence, I approve,” Seth said, “They sound a little less miserable than the undead usually do.”

           “Are you familiar with Djinni?” Savani asked.

           “Genies?” Seth said, the name sounding familiar, “A little. My other Grandma tried to make a deal with one, it got to ask her three questions she had to answer truthfully. When she refused to answer one, the Genie turned her into a chicken.”

           “I lost one of my staff to similar circumstances concerning the Djinni that rests just inside this door. A spirit that wandered here from the mainland; they were not so easily trapped by our mazes, but fell remarkably easily to four walls,” she said, thinking, “My sister, Alma, engaged in the question game, three for three, taking turns, and learned that the sunset pearl had been taken off the preserve before Djinni asked how to unweave spirit mazes and she refused to answer.”

           “They only know about stuff inside the preserve right?” Seth asked.

           “Only when asked can she gain access to her sight, which extends to past and a little into the future,” Savani said. “My sister’s remaining questions that she could not ask were about who took the sunset pearl, and the location of the Weki flute that soothes the triclops.”

           “I can go in and ask her,” Seth volunteered.

           Savani laughed, “I could never ask you to go in with so little preparation!”

           “Seems to me everyone fails at the game because they had too much preparation,” Seth said. “You need to let your non-local idiot walk in with absolutely no preparation. I don’t know anything about this preserve or what might free her. Sure I know some secrets, but nothing that would help her get free. And it’s just information. She can’t ask me to do things for her, right?”

           “The young always risk their lives for so little,” Savani said, shaking her with a quiet laugh. “Even if I were willing to lose another ally to that monster after losing my sister, something I’m sure you understand, none of your protectors would let you go over them.”

           “That’s why we do it here and now,” Seth said, “I’ve negotiated with tougher customers than this. I’ve talked down both the Totem Wall and the Singing Sisters. And I convinced a centaur to let me ride on his back. I’m pretty talented at walking away from these things.”

           “That is impressive,” Savani said, “But even with those dangerous consultations in your past, our situation is not so risky. And wandering towards the most secure prison at night alone does not convince me that you have the discipline to converse with this creature. Any word out of your mouth that is not the answer the answer to her question after you enter her chamber is a lie and gives her freedom to leave. You strike me as the sarcastic sort, and that will get you killed.”

           “Yeah, some of my wraith friends didn’t get my jokes either,” Seth said, remembering Whiner. “I suppose knock-knock jokes are out?”

           “Most definitely,” Savani said, “You are refreshing to speak to. Much like Warren, but less burdened. Does the chill of this dungeon not bother you?”

           “Chill?” Seth asked, looking around, “It’s been ridiculously hot since we got here. It finally feels nice.”

           “The unnatural dread make many fail to converse with the Djinni,” Savani said thoughtfully. “After speaking, I am a bit more inclined to let you try with the Djinni, and hold back my assent almost solely on the rifts I do not wish to cause with the rest of our allies. Should the triclops still haunt us when they awake, I will allow you to present this plan as an option to them.”

           “Sounds like permission to me,” Seth said. He spun and grasped the door handle. In that touch, he found himself on the opposite side of door. Apparently just touching the doorknob was enough to get a mortal inside the prison, though he was willing to bet it would take the caretaker to get out. There was a single door to his right, and beyond that a spiral staircase covered with woven mats of crazy designs. He felt the presence of wraiths and the undead just before him, and it took a bit to figure out that they were trapped inside the mats.

           Then a phantom stumbled up the stairs, and he realized not all of them were trapped in mats. Just to his left was a door with another handle and no hinges.

           Expecting it this time, Seth reached out and grasped the handle.

           “Oh? Two visitors so close together after a century of silence,” the Djinni said. “A baby shadow charmer, no less. I assume you are here to play my riddle game like that last one.”

           The Djinni was surprisingly pretty. Usually Kendra got the pretty ones, and he got the cool ones who were half skeleton half putrid guts. The flowing pink dress threw him for a second. But she had white skin, red eyes, and choppy blue hair. Her skin was smooth, except for the bags under her eyes, and her hair looked like it could use a good washing.

           Seth nodded to the Djinni’s question.

Then he breathed in, and a hand came up over his mouth to stop him from gagging. His eyes left the Djinni  to the ground next to her, covered partially by her cloak. For some reason, when Savani said her sister had been killed by the Djinni, he had never imagined what had happened to her sister’s body. This wasn’t like the zombie farm, or even when Coulter died in his arms. The body was weeks decayed. Skin and organs were liquifying and leeking over the floor, bones starting to jut out on the ribcage and he could only be glad he couldn’t see Savanni’s sister’s face.

           “I have a fondness for little adventurers,” the Djinni said with a rosy smile, watching him watch the body. She even threw in a casual caress of her last victim. “I will recite the rules for you if you nod now.”

           Seth nodded, suddenly regretting everything. He made himself focus on the Djinni.

           “Very well, my rules are simple,” she said, standing up but still leaning against the wall of her prison cell, “You may only speak the answers to my questions and questions of your own. You have as much time as you need to answer. Should you speak else, I may extract a price from you for disturbing me, and as you can see, it includes killing you. Should you speak a lie, I am freed from my prison and will enjoy wrecking the meager protections left to this house on my way out. My sight it limited to this preserve, but it extends to everywhere in this preserve and all the way through the past, and twenty-eight days into the future. You may indicate you are unsatisfied with my answer, but may not ask follow-up questions, I can do the same. Upon being satisfied with my final answer, you will be teleported out of my diminutive abode. Nod if you are ready to begin, little adventurer.”

           Simple rules. Follow the rules, and they can’t touch you. He would just have to think through his answers before speaking. Despite what Kendra says, he can think before talking. At least, that’s what Kendra used to say, and probably wouldn’t take long to say again. Seth nodded and made himself remove his hands and accept the smell. The smell wasn’t worse than the zombie farm, even if the body was.

           “Then I, Skamboli, ask this for my first question: what are the ways out of my confinement that you know about?” she asked.

           Seth thought for a minute, going over each way he thought might work.

           “I only know a few,” Seth said slowly, “if I tell a lie, you are free. I assume that if the caretaker released you, you could go free. I don’t know for sure, but I assume if someone busted down your door from the outside, you would probably be freed. Burned the tree prison down, though you might die that way. And…a trained shadow charmer, not me, could probably unlock your door. People have told me that once I learn control over my powers, I can undo locks, but I don’t know how yet.”

           Skamboli waited, but nothing happened. “Very honest, I approve. Though a wiser adventurer would not volunteer information about their weaknesses. You may ask your first question.”

           Better ask Savani’s questions first. “Who took the sunset pearl?”

           Her red eyes flashed white for a second then went back to red. “The dark unicorn goes by many names, but you know him as Ronodin. He stole the pearl on his first visit to this sanctuary.”

           That was bad and good. Bad, because Ronodin likely put it where he was keeping Kendra, on the Phantom Island, but good because it narrowed their goals and they were already working on getting to the Phantom Isle anyway. Maybe he could use the horn to send a message to Bracken to pick up the pearl on his way out with Kendra?

           Seth nodded at the Djinni, hopefully indicating he was satisfied with her answer. Not looking at the body. She never said he could verbally say if he was satisfied, just dis-satisfied, and didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want to talk more than he had to.

           “Is there any questions I could ask that you would be unwilling to answer?” Skamboli said. This was the question that left grandma laying eggs for months.

           Again, Seth thought carefully.

           “Plenty of things I wouldn’t want to answer,” Seth decided, “Embarrassing moments, secrets about our plans against the dragons in the upcoming dragon war that I promised not to share, too much information about my friends and family. Secrets that would result in my death if I shared them with you due to other promises I have made. Really don’t want to share that one, it wouldn’t benefit you at all and would end up with me dead. That one is about my dealings with the Singing Sisters, and wouldn’t interest you at all, so please don’t ask that one. But I would share any of it, if you asked, because I need to take the answers to my questions back to my friends.”

           Skamboli waited, then nodded at Seth. Seth hesitated for a moment, because the name of the flute Savani mentioned five minutes ago was already lost from his head. He needed a minute to carefully pick his words.

           “Where is the magic flute that can soothe the currently rampaging triclops?” Seth asked at last.

           Again, her eyes flashed a blinding white.

           “The Weki flute is buried amongst the treasure of the Fairy Queen’s shrine on this island,” Skamboli said.

           Uggh, normally they left the fairy shrine stuff to Kendra, though the Fairy King might let him take something from there. Or maybe getting Fairy Struck Tess to ask would be better. Still, much better news than the flute being lost forever. Seth nodded.

           “What would convince you to free me from my prison, little adventurer?” she asked, sounding tired.

           Seth had not expected that question. What would convince him to free a dangerous being? He took longer to think through his answer to this one than any other. The smell and taste of the last life she had taken all around him, so much worse than the zombie farm.

           “A sincere and binding promise to never hurt another sentient being again,” Seth said, at last, and his eyes finally went back to the body. He saw the swollen, distorted face of Savani’s sister, and knew he wouldn’t ever forget it. “But from everything I know, that is against your very nature and an impossible promise to keep.” He looked away and back at her, “Still, if you were able to convince me you’d do that? I’d do my best to help you. I would do my best to convince Savani that you won’t attack her, help find a nice new lair for you somewhere on this preserve. You could have been a lot meaner, a lot stricter and done more to trip me up, but you didn’t, which makes me like you. I have been double crossed a lot in my life though, so I refuse to free you on anything less than a perfect, binding promise.”

           Skamboli waited, then nodded, a small smile on her lips. Now it was time for the real reason he had jumped into this encounter, the information that would make it all worth it. He thought over his question a couple of times, looking for loopholes or ways to get more information out of it, and asked.

           “Where will my sister Kendra be on the preserve in the next twenty-eight days?”

           Again, her eyes flashed white, though this time they softened slowly back to their red. “The future is not certain, but many futures show Kendra at this preserve in 77 hours and making her way to the sacred pool. She will venture into the domain of a wraith, then leave. It grows hazier, but Kendra will also visit the Bridge Cove, then Baga Lao sometime after that. Leaving Baga Lao, she does not return within the time of my sight.”

           Kendra. Here. Seth almost said something, almost said thank you, then stopped himself with a snap of his jaw. He nodded.

           “That concludes my little game. Congrats, you are the first to pass without retribution in a while. You are right, I cannot promise not to harm in exchange for my freedom. Still, this has been quite entertaining, and in Jighandi even. You have goodness in you, little adventurer, try not to die too quickly on this preserve.”

           Seth was transported out. Savani was standing in the little hallway, arms folded, when he appeared. She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him towards the exit

           Savani forcibly shoved him out of the prison, where Grandma was waiting for him.

           “So, good news, I wisely used my resources and found out vital information on where Kendra is going to be, as well as the sunset pearl and the flute to stop the triclops” Seth said. “Bad news, I’m going to throw up.”

           Seth rushed to the edge of the platform and started heaving, losing the dinner he had eaten.

           “I understand now what Ruth and Stan warned me when letting you out of my sight,” Grandma Larsen said, putting a hand on his back. “Of all the trouble I was watching out for, you purposefully going to chat up a djinni never even crossed my mind.”

           Tears leaked out of his eyes as he threw up some more. It was horrible, he’d thought that after everything, after regularly conversing with the undead for years, after seeing so many people die, he would never loose his stomach over something like a dead body. But the smell…

           …he gagged some more, even though there was nothing left. He was sticky and gross and the humidity made it feel like the vomit was sticking to him more than he knew it was. Eventually a glass of water was offered, and he used it to rinse his mouth. He nodded his thanks at Savani, and accepted the wet towel as well.

           His breathing evened out and he said, “For Kendra. I did it for Kendra.”

           “Seth, you are part of a team now,” Grandma said, “And you aren’t leading things here like you were back at Wyrmroost. We work together, or not at all. Savani told you she didn’t want you to speak to the Djinni, and you disregarded her. This is her home, hers to protect, and you violated that trust. How is what you did any different than Knox going into the dungeons with Tess to check out the barrel?”

           “Savani said the only reason she didn’t want me to talk to the Djinni was that she worried about setting off everyone’s ‘protect Seth’ sensors,” Seth said, not looking her in the eye, “I thought I figured it out, but you’re right, I didn’t know, I wasn’t ready. It’s what I thought I had to do, and I’m sorry.” Savani’s sister’s body flashed in his mind again, the way Skamboli stroked sagging flesh, and he pressed his face into the towel.

He was stronger and braver than this. He was. He had proved it over and over, and he’d seen people die. He’d seen his sister poison herself into a frothing, empty shell. He’d seen battle wounds from the battle of Zzyzx.

This shouldn’t be worse than that, but it was.

           Grandma sighed and rubbed his back. “What happened? Tell me.”

           “It’s nothing,” Seth said, pulling himself to his feet. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. It just…I wasn’t prepared. I promise I won’t act on my own again.”

           “That is not the answer to my question,” Grandma scolded, standing as well, “I don’t care about how Ruth and Stan let you run about and keep secrets, and I don’t care about what you’ve seen before. We are going to confront a demon for training tomorrow, and you have been unsettled and you have been reckless, so we are going to talk until I trust that you can handle what’s going to happen.”

           “It doesn’t matter if I talk about it or not,” Seth said, “We need to get me trained so I can get to the Phantom Isle, and we need to do it fast. I can handle a demon, I won’t lose it like that again.”

           “Seth, Honey,” Grandma said, and she pulled him into a hug he resisted, “Even those of us who have done dangerous missions on magical preserves our entire lives need people to talk to. People to trust. Time to break down. Mortals aren’t meant for the kind of exposure you and your sister have been through. Special abilities or not. Talk to me.”

           “It’s nothing, I mean it,” Seth said, and his eyes found Savani over Grandma’s shoulders, who had been watching patiently the entire time. “It wasn’t worse than seeing Kendra’s stingbulb kill herself, and I got through that, so I’m okay.”

           “Shadow charmers have a reputation,” Savani said quietly, “Of moving and operating in the dark, with demons who seal their secrets sworn in blood. I would recommend  letting things come to light, if you can. If you are trying to spare me, I think I have guessed what unsettled you. I had hoped this Djinni to favor the clean and quick kill, but we knew the consequences.”

           “I’m sorry,” Seth said, hoping she understood the extent of his apology.

           “Ahh,” Grandma said releasing him, “Death. You have dealt far too much with loved ones and friends dying for your age, and you have dealt much with those long dead, the process in between is…unpleasant, unsettling.”

           “It smelled really bad,” Seth admitted, closing his eyes and seeing the body all over again. “Worse than the zombie farm. I don’t know how I breathed, much less talked. It was just…everywhere in that small cell. I won’t try something like that again, not without a lot more preparation and talking it out with everyone.”

           Savani said nothing for a long moment, “You make raising my own son look easy, Seth Sorenson. I believe your sincere desires, though it will take a while for me to trust your restraint. Gloria, remain by Seth’s side for the remainder of his stay here. He does not understand our magic, and while that saved him from knowing anything that could help the Djinni, it also made him dangerous to the integrity of the Woven Prison.”

           “That is acceptable,” Grandma said.

           Savani sighed, and shook her head, “That being said, the information you gathered is invaluable and I am also in your debt for asking. I was listening at the door and recorded everything. We will work on securing the flute, preparing for Ronodin’s return, and locating the Sunset Pearl. We will have much to discuss when the rest of our companions awake.”

Grandma nodded, “I agree, come Seth. There is still three hours until dawn, and we need what rest we can, even if sleep is gone. You will be sleeping in my room from now on.”

           Seth winced, but it was hardly the worst punishment he could have gotten. Probably better than he should have gotten. The women turned to leave.

           Seth went to the room his Grandmother had been using, to laid down in the second bed, while Grandma Larsen curled up in hers. No more hammock after tonight. He thought he had been past his impulse issues. He had been careful at Wyrmroost to not take unnecessary risks, to consult Kendra in most things, and he had felt good. Like he had learned his lesson and finally grown into someone worth trusting with important stuff.

           Now it felt like he was back to square one. Back to being the dumb kid that captured fairies overnight and trusted demons.

           Seth missed his sister.

[sondepoch]

A Sleepover of the Ages (Simeon x Reader x Asmodeus)

When Diavolo's retreat gets extended, you want to relive your favorite human tradition: a sleepover! But you quickly learn that there's a difference between a human sleepover and one with an angel and a demon. Still, that won't stop you from enjoying the night with these two precious boys.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

Three days and two nights.

That's how long this retreat was supposed to be.

And you've (miraculously) managed to survive three days and two nights. So why is it that you're still in Diavolo's castle?!

"I can't believe the retreat got extended," Asmodeus murmurs, groaning. "I would have brought even more luggage if I'd known this would happen!"

"Don't worry too much," Simeon responds with a light smile as he opens the door to your room. He pulls it open and sighs at the bareness of it. Each of you have already packed up and prepared to leave, but it seems that you'll all be needing to unload your things once more. "At least, Lucifer will be making sure that there won't be any other pillow fights."

You let out a light laugh at that, remembering the Avatar of Pride's hour-long assault from the night before. It had resulted in everyone collapsing on the floor somewhere or the other, knocked out by one of his many pillow throws of death. Even Solomon's protective spells ended up useless, the white-haired mage just another body on the floor after Lucifer's anger was unleashed. (Though you suspect that the elder demon was also doing it to have fun.)

But this retreat hasn't been all that bad.

You've managed to secure another pact altogether, with Asmodeus—but now that you'll be spending an entire night in the same room as him, you can't help but think that it might end up being a curse in disguise.

"Hey, MC~" He coos, using his demonlike strength to pull you into his bed. "Now that Mammon isn't here to disturb us, how would you like to sleep with me?" You feel your face heat up at the words. The demon made it sound innocent enough, as if all you'd be doing was sharing a bed, but you can already tell that his intentions are far from pure.

"Asmodeus, don't disturb MC." Simeon's disapproving gaze flits over the demon as he pulls you from his grasp, and you're forced to remember that while demons are of unimaginable strength, angels seem to also share in those superhuman qualities. You have to avert your eyes from Simeon's toned muscles when he unclasps the white cloak around his shoulders.

"Oh my~" Asmodeus teases, at Simeon's side in an instant. "Is this what you've been hiding from us these past three days?"

Asmodeus wraps Simeon in a strange embrace from behind, not hugging the angel as much as he's feeling up his muscles. "Don't worry, I could treat you instead."

"Asmo, stop flirting with him," You murmur, flopping onto your bed. You toss a glance toward your luggage which Barbatos had magicked back up here before turning your gaze away. Nope. You're not going through the hassle of unpacking all over again.

"Thank you, MC," Simeon murmurs with a sigh, his usual smile back on his face. He flashes you a look-what-we-have-to-deal-with look, and you can't help but wonder how he manages to stay in such good nature all the time, especially when he's constantly in the presence of his natural enemies. "Anyway, I was planning on sleeping now. This whole retreat has been rather exhausting, wouldn't you agree?"

"Wait!" You murmur, startling the two men. You let an eager smile spread across your face, silently praying that your human charms will be able to convince them of what you're about to suggest. "Why don't we all stay up?"

"Oh~?" Asmodeus coos, clapping his hands together. "A three-way! I didn't know you were confident enough to take us both at once, but if you're up to it then—"

"I don't think that's what MC was trying to imply." Simeon shakes his head and you can't help but think that he's like a chaperone for Asmodeus. He turns to you. "We should stay up doing what?"

"Just stay up! We do it all the time in the human world!" You let your smile widen, memories of your time with friends in the human world flashing through your mind. "It's called a sleepover! If you have a few friends gathered together and you're all supposed to be sleeping in the same room, you just stay up the whole night and watch movies or talk and have fun and stuff. They're awesome!"

Simeon brings a gloved hand up to his face, considering the idea. "I suppose Diavolo's objective with this retreat was to bring the three realms closer together. Trying this human tradition may not be such a bad idea."

Next to him, though, Asmodeus pouts. "Ehh? But if I don't sleep my face will be all puffy in the morning!" He brings two hands to his cheeks, feeling his soft skin. "And my skin is already suffering from Lucifer's pillow attack last night..."

"Nope!" You jump off the bed, suddenly refreshed. When you proposed the idea of a sleepover, you were really only trying to get Simeon to agree. With his consent, you have no hesitations about forcing Asmodeus to play along irrespective of how the demon feels about it. "You're staying up! It's decided! We're having a sleepover!"

You clap your hands eagerly, and the two men in front of you seem to let go of their final doubts after seeing how happy it makes you.

"So how does this 'sleepover' begin? A traditional ritual? A prayer for a fulfilling night? A sacred chant?" Simeon's gaze is serious, and you have to stifle your laughter.

"Um, most of the sleepovers I've been to have started off as a pool party. But that doesn't matter!" You pinch the fabric of the bed you've spent the past two nights sleeping on. It's a bit on the thicker side, but it should work. "Let's start by building a fort!"

You started off eager, beyond optimistic about the idea of having a sleepover when you haven't had one since leaving the human world...but you quickly find that there are some differences between your normal human friends, and the demon and angel sitting in front of you.

"A fort? You want us to cast a fortification?" Simeon asks with concerned eyes, uncertainty creeping in. He glances around the bedroom, wondering how you plan to turn it into a protected stronghold.

It takes all your power not to facepalm then and there.

At Asmodeus's next words, you can only stare in disbelief. "No! MC means a military fort! It'll be tough, but we should be able to transform these walls with some high-level sorcery."

After you manage to explain that what you meant was a blanket fort, though, both Simeon and Asmodeus end up being shockingly helpful. Apparently, living for thousands of years gives you a pretty deep understanding of how to manipulate fabrics, and within minutes the two of them have suspended your bed-sheet in the air, somehow managing to tie the four corners to the three bedposts that are closest to the center of the room.

From there on, you all work together to double up two quilts on the ground as a makeshift carpet, and after the skeleton of the blanket fort is completed, everything becomes about the aesthetic.

You and Simeon creep around on your knees inside the fort, straightening out corners and tightening knots that need to be tightened. Outside, Asmodeus dances around, tossing additional blankets on top of the fort to create velvety walls to the structure. He spends nearly five whole minutes fiddling with the two blankets closest to the door, attempting to get them to match the shape of an opening curtain before you finally pull him inside.

"This is perfect!" You exclaim as you gaze around the fort. The bedposts that support the blanketed ceiling are fairly high up, so you're able to lean your back against the bedframe and sit upright with no problems. Simeon, on the other hand, is struggling.

"It's...low," He murmurs, craning his neck down. He keeps a hand on top of his head, earnestly trying his best not to disturb the ceiling of this fort, but you can tell that it's a struggle.

"No problem!" Asmodeus exclaims, extending a hand outward. He's more energetic than usual, which is surprising, given how mopey he originally was about the idea of staying up the whole night. He closes his hand into a fist and instantly, the entire fort begins to glow a faint purple, a mirror of the magenta hue radiating off Asmodeus's body.

You glance at Simeon, wondering whether the angel is as concerned over Asmodeus's actions as you are, but he seems nonchalant as the demon continues casting his magic.

And after the spell is complete, you understand why.

"Woah!" You exclaim, glancing around wildly. "I had no clue you could do that! Why didn't you tell me? This blanket fort looks amazing now!"

You glance upward, unable to even close your mouth in awe of how brilliant the fort looks. In truth, the fact that the three of you had managed to erect a ceiling for the fort already put it above all the blanket forts you'd built with your human friends, but this? Asmodeus's spell completely reworked all the blankets in the fortress: the fabrics move on their own, straightening and reknotting themselves until the structure has completely shifted. For starters, the ceiling is now a dome, the topmost part of the blanket knotted around the chandelier in your quarters. And the way the rest of the quilts draped down from the top truly makes your fort look like a princess's room, the most brilliant fort you've ever seen.

"A job well done, Asmodeus," Simeon compliments, now able to sit upright.

"Call me Asmo," The demon says with a wink. Asmodeus—or Asmo, rather—then turns his gaze to you, where you still have your mouth dropped open in awe of how beautiful this whole setup is. "Oh my, MC~ You certainly seem impressed. If you want, I have something even more remarkable in my pants that I could show you. I'm sure you'd love it~"

Yep.

Moment ruined.

Congrats, Asmo.

You flash the demon a dirty look, but even you can't hold up the facade for long before your frown turns into a laugh. You flop down on the soft floor, spreading your limbs out like a starfish while Simeon stretches next to you. "This is the best fort I've ever seen."

"I'm glad. This was...surprisingly fun, given that all we did was rearrange blankets." Simeon ruffles your hair, his smile bright as he gazes down at you. "What's next on the sleepover agenda?"

"Ehhhh?" You let your mouth drop in mock disbelief, ignoring how much your whine sounds like Asmo's. "You don't want to savor how awesome this is? Lie down on your back! It feels so good to appreciate all our hard work!" You pat the empty spaces next to you, inviting both Simeon and Asmo to lean back with you.

You know that they're only doing it to humor you, but they finally lean back by your side. "Oh," Simeon murmurs softly when his back presses into the ground. Asmo makes a similar sound, and you can't help but smile.

It's something you've done in every sleepover.

People always live such rushed lives. Even in their relaxation, it's hard to fully lie back and just chill, which is why you always make your friends do this. It doesn't even matter if the blanket fort attempted was successful or not—there's something about just leaning back and looking up, letting every muscle in your body loose and simply bathing in repose, that nothing else can replicate.

And while your human friends didn't always appreciate it, the sounds of contentment coming from Asmo and Simeon are more than enough to tell you that they understand you. 

They get it.

"I could stay like this for the rest of the night," Asmo murmurs with a content sigh.

"Do that and you'll fall asleep," You respond. "And that breaks rule number three of all sleepovers!"

"Rule number three?" Simeon asks. "There are rules to sleepovers?"

"Of course," You stretch your hand up above your hand, shifting it with one eye closed until your palm is centered in the blanket fort's dome. You extend one finger up. "Rule number one: What happens in a sleepover stays in a sleepover."

Next to you, you hear Asmo smirk at that rule. You can already hear the flirtatious comment on his tongue before you raise a second finger and continue, not even giving the demon a chance. "Rule number two: No secrets! Whether you're playing truth-or-dare or FMK, you have to be completely honest! And you don't need to worry about any secrets getting out, because rule number one prevents that!"

"What's truth-or-dare?"

"And what's FMK?"

"Um...on second thought, it's best not to play either of those games when Asmo is here." You chuckle lightly, holding back a shudder at all the lewd innuendos that he would throw your way if you were to introduce either game to him. "And the third rule, the last rule, is to stay up as late as possible! That means no sleep!"

"Eh?" Asmo whines. "But it's called a sleep-over!"

You let your hand drop to the blanket you're on top of.

"Hm," Simeon says, thinking out loud. "So how do we bind ourselves to these rules? Do you swear on your lives? Or perform rituals? Or is it just that you're subject to God's wrath if you fail to properly adhere to them?"

You twist your head to the left, staring straight into Simeon's emerald eyes at his question. He's not serious, is he?

And as usual, Asmo somehow manages to top his comment, suggesting something even more outrageous.

"Oh, you angels are so uncreative. Humans obviously make blood pacts."

You sigh helplessly, unable to do anything but shake your head at the ridiculous propositions tossed forth by Simeon and Asmo as they continue to debate how humans ensure that these rules are followed through with, each idea worse and more unrealistic than the last.

"It's an honor system," You finally say, when their debate comes to a standstill. "A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with, and letting them see a new side to you, no matter how vulnerable. You just have to trust that everyone will stay true to the rules."

"I had no clue you trusted us so much~" Asmo teases, rolling over so that he's on his side and staring straight at you. He tilts your chin up toward him and leans in dangerously close. "Is it truly wise to trust a demon?"

You stiffen.

Asmodeus's eyes are bright with the fire of his namesake. Lust, his eyes spell out as he looks at you, gaze unwavering with that devilish smirk on his face.

You're frozen. And as Asmo's lips draw closer, you feel a smidgen of fear seep in.

Simeon is the one to snap you both out of it, placing a tender hand on your shoulder and a more admonishing squeeze on Asmo's. It's subtle, but the protective gesture means more than words can say.

Next to you, Asmo laughs, sitting up to face Simeon. "You two are no fun~" He teases, the normal flirtatious grin back on his face.

Simeon sighs for the umpteenth time. It suddenly dawns on you that it was no coincidence that Diavolo placed you in the same room as a demon and an angel. There's no doubt that Solomon can hold his own against his roommates, but Simeon's purpose here isn't just to rest in the same room. He's here to protect you, the only other human in the entire Devildom. So that his angelic qualities can negate whatever demonic attributes Asmodeus may have brought with him into the room.

But still, your words from barely thirty seconds ago flash through your mind.

A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with.

You drag your hand forward, hesitating for a moment before you place it on top of Asmo's. His hand is larger than yours, but you give it a squeeze. "I do trust you, Asmo." You flash him a smile and turn toward Simeon, lacing your fingers with his when his palm is under yours. "And I trust you, too."

Your smile is dazzling as you grin at them, all fears of angel and demon alike vanishing. That alone is enough to melt all the tension in the room, and within seconds both of the men and your sides are relaxed once more.

"What's next, hm?" Simeon asks. He'd started out hesitant about this whole idea, but he now seems eager to see what plans you have in store for them.

"We should tell scary stories to each other and cuddle up when one of us gets scared~" Asmo exclaims with a chuckle. He says it as a joke, but his guess is spot-on.

"Actually, Asmo's right."

"Whoa! Does that mean you'll reward me, MC~"

"No, Asmo." You smack Asmo's arm before he can protest, giving it a gentle whack to tell him to tone it down. Given that he's one of the strongest demons in the entire Devildom, you probably had no reason to hold back on him, but your more docile instincts from being surrounded by non-indestructible humans always prevail. "But you can start us off!"

You flash the demon an expectant grin, pulling yourself into a seated position. In truth, you have high hopes for this story. Back in your days in the human world, the scary stories used to be your favorite part of every sleepover—but none of the tales ever really measured up. (Except for that one time your best friend read off a horror story about clowns and your other friend then barged into the room in full horror-clown makeup, laughing like a maniac. Yeah, that was terrifying. Short-lived, but utterly terrifying.)

"Get ready to be scared," Asmo warns as he lets his body glow purple again while he casts another spell, and when the purple light has faded it's so dark that you can't even see Simeon's face. You wrap your hand around his, the eagerness you were feeling one second ago now turned into a queer mix of both dread and excitement.

A horror story from a real demon. That's the dream, isn't it?

And so Asmo begins.

And so Asmo also fails.

By the time he's complete, you're left more confused than anything else.

"Asmo...what was the scary part?" Simeon asks, voicing your every thought. You think back to the plot of the story Asmo just shared, from the beginning where there was only the princess in the castle guarded by the dragon to the end, where she and the prince who saved her lived happily ever after, and the middle which was mostly about her falling in love.

"Yeah," You agree with Simeon after another moment's deliberation. "Was the fight scene between the dragon and the prince supposed to be the 'horror' part?"

"Eh?" Asmo exclaims, using his magic to turn all the lights back on. He turns to you with his mouth wide open. "The entire story was terrifying! The dragon was the most handsome in the entire kingdom of dragons—he was protecting the princess! But then the prince came and saved her, and he wasn't even super attractive. And the princess chose the average prince over the beautiful dragon just because she was raised to believe that the dragon was a monster! How terrifying is that?"

You stare at Asmo in disbelief. A part of you should have expected this from the demon; it might have been scarier if he'd actually come out with a true horror story.

"Oh, Asmo. Did you find this story scary because you're afraid that you'll be the dragon and that some prince will steal the princess MC away?" Simeon murmurs with a twinkle in his eye, a slight smirk on his face. "Oh my, does that make me the prince?"

For the first time, you see Simeon teasing and Asmo sulking as the latter pouts and crosses his arms. "Dragons are cooler! Right, MC? Aren't demons better than angels?"

You smile, pressing a quick kiss to the cheeks of both Asmo and Simeon. You had hesitated before doing it, but the look of surprise and wild blush on their faces makes it worth it.

"They're equally cool. Now, Simeon! Your turn!"

You and Asmo give the angel a moment to collect his thoughts before he takes his turn to regale you with a brilliant story. To his credit, he really tries to include horror. You can tell by his use of the "evil clown" and "omniscient witch" that he's trying his best. Unfortunately, his angelic spin on the entire plot makes the story sound like a kid's movie.

Impressive, but not quite what you're looking for.

"That...wasn't scary, was it?" Simeon drops his head when he's done. You pat him on the shoulder, comforting him by saying 'at least it wasn't like Asmo's' and then it's your turn.

And if there's one thing you're good at, it's telling horror stories.

It takes you a moment to pick one, but you finally settle on the tale of Bloody Mary.

By the time you finish, ending with an ominous warning about mirrors (more directed to Asmo then anything else) you're satisfied, and you can feel how stiff Simeon is. The uncomfortable look on his face lets you know that you did a good job with your telling, but you can't help but feel a pang in your heart when he quietly asks why you had to make it so scary.

But if your horror story was bad, Asmo makes it even worse.

"Hey, guys..." He trails off, and for the first time, you hear what must be Asmo's completely serious voice. You and Simeon look at each other worriedly, probably wondering the same thing. Did we break Asmo? But the demon's next words are truly chilling. "The human tale of Bloody Mary is true. She's a demon. I met her four thousand years ago. And...I think we should summon her."

Asmo pulls out a mirror—you momentarily wonder how he managed to pull one out so quickly before realizing that this is the narcissistic Asmo himself—and he begins to recite a demonic chant.

In seconds, you and Simeon are wrapped in each other's arms in a meek sort of protection, screaming together and at Asmo to stop and not summon the terrifying woman you just spent the past half hour depicting as the scariest entity in the world, before Asmo finally drops the mirror.

The pin-drop silence that follows is deafening, and you cling to Simeon tighter, quietly thinking that if Bloody Mary really does appear, then you'll sacrifice both men in the room and make a run for Lucifer's quarters before anything can happen to you.

But Asmo is the one to break the silence.

"Just kidding~"

Cue the next round of screaming.

You and Simeon team up to throw every pillow in sight at the demon, snatching them back as soon as they hit him to leave him with nothing to defend himself. "Ah!" Asmo exclaims, covering his face. "Not my face!" You suddenly wish for Lucifer, furious at Asmo for being such a little devil. You were actually scared for a moment there.

"Enough, enough!" Asmo groans out after what feels like an eternity of whacking him with feather-stuffed pillows. He breathlessly crawls next to Simeon and leans his back on one of the only spots in the entire blanket fort with a bed. "If I'd known you two were such scaredy-cats, I would have been a little less convincing," He murmurs with a wink, snuggling up against Simeon. "But this angel here looks so cute when he's scared~"

Simeon makes no motion to shake Asmo off, only leaning back on the bedpost.

"What time is it?" He asks with a yawn, and you can tell that the sudden exercise of assaulting Asmo via pillows tired him out.

You check your D.D.D. and are surprised to find that it's already well past four in the morning, telling him as much.

"But we can sleep now if you like," You murmur when a wave of drowsiness hits you. Like it's contagious, you can tell that even Asmo seems tired.

"B-but rule three!" Simeon exclaims, surprised.

"Rules are meant to be broken," You smirk, stretching yourself out across Asmo and Simeon. All the pillows in the room have been tossed to the corners of the room courtesy of Asmo, so these two boys' laps would have to suffice for your slumber. "That's why we don't have any stupid blood oaths to bind ourselves to them. Humans need sleep, hm?" Your words tumble out in more of a mumble than anything else, and you can feel the smile on Simeon's and Asmo's faces as they watch you drift off in their laps.

Vaguely, you hear them continue to talk. For how long? You can't be sure. But by the end of the hour, the room is dark and silent once more, the three of you separated only by the thin veil of dreams.

***

"I'm sorry, Diavolo," Lucifer mumbles in a huff, crossing his arms. The demon is worked up, Diavolo can tell, but he's unsure of how to comfort his friend so he simply lets Lucifer continue to rant. "All three of them were down on time these past three days, so I just assumed that they'd wake up on their own today as well."

"Do not fret, Lucifer!" Diavolo exclaims with a pleasant grin. His walk is brisk as he makes his way to the room where he knows you, Asmo, and Simeon are to be staying in, and he's almost excited to hear what excuse the three of you will throw his way.

In fact, that's the one thing he loves about the members of the House of Lamentations.

The seven brothers are each exotic in their own way, only Lucifer being responsible enough to give him full honesty and transparency. The other six are reliable, no doubt, but their methods are always entertaining.

Diavolo opens the door with a master key, entering the room with Lucifer hot on his heels. But the sight that greets him is beyond strange.

"What did they do?" Lucifer asks. Diavolo can sense his anger, and a small part of it finds it amusing. Truly. Lucifer's anger exists for my lack thereof.

He glances around the room, wondering how much time it took to do all this tampering. Every single blanket in the room has been stripped off the bed, likely stuffed inside the large dome-like structure (which, in turn, is also made of blankets) in the center of the room.

"Why, they've created their own castle in my castle," Diavolo jokes, pulling back the makeshift curtain that forms the entrance. He's about to enter when his eyes catch sight of the three people he's been looking for.

Next to him, Lucifer's breath catches in his throat.

For the first time in four hundred years, both men are stunned into silence.

All three of you are sleeping on top of one another, the first union Diavolo has ever seen of the human world, Celestial Realm, and Devildom.

"What are they..." Lucifer mumbles, but Diavolo places a quick finger to his lips. He doesn't want to disturb this.

His eyes skit over the three of you, taking in the image so that he can perhaps describe it to a demon painter. It's...truly inspiring.

For the first time, demon and angel are slumbering together in peace, with both Simeon and Asmodeus sleeping in upright seating positions. Their backs are pressed against the bed, and while Simeon rests his head against the pillar in what seems like a somewhat uncomfortable position, Asmo has made himself cozy, resting his head delicately on Simeon's shoulder with a hand wrapped around the angel's muscular arm.

You, on the other hand, must have been reluctant to sleep sitting up. You lie on the floor, lower body stretched out with Simeon's white cloak draped across your legs, upper body thrown across Asmo's lap. Your head rests on Simeon's upper thigh, arms wrapped around his waist while you bury your head in his stomach in what looks like an awfully human, childlike pose.

And the two men both have their arms resting on your body, one of Simeon's gloved hands nestled in your (h/c) locks with Asmo's free arm tossed over your body in a quiet pull to get you closer to him.

It's a sleepover of the ages: the first of its kind in thousands of years. 

All of you rest with smiles on your faces, and the way Diavolo's face brightens up at the sight of you is enough for anyone to know that this is what he's been seeking in his journey to unite the three realms.

The future ruler of the Devildom pulls Lucifer out of the room, giving the younger demon no chance to disturb the three of you in what Diavolo hopes is the first of many more nights of happiness and union.

I'll extend the retreat even longer! He thinks joyously, a grin spreading across his features as he recalls the sight of the three of you once more.

It's the first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have all been so content with one another. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have been comfortable with each other enough to sleep without any protections. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have placed enough trust in each other to slumber so vulnerably.

Diavolo grins.

His plan to unite the three great realms of the world has finally begun to piece together.

The content, trusting smiles on your faces as you, Simeon, and Asmodeus slumber are Diavolo's testimony to that fact.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: If you guys are interested, I might consider adding a second chapter that's a bit more adult, but for now ill leave this as just some wholesome fluff~ aghhh Simeon is too precious x3 ALSO YEY IVE FINALLY ENTERED THE OBEY ME FANDOM

Comment & Like

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[xxjewellynwatts]

The shop owner - A James Gillies x OC (you!) story

Request: Hello:))) I don't know if you still write for James Gillies... but if you do then it would really be great with some fluff or something. I'm honestly a sucker for any James Gillies x reader content! Also, you're an amazing writer and I really appreciate that you write for Murduch Mysteries!! Hope you have a great day!!:))))

Answer: Thank you so much ! I haven’t written in ages, so I hope you’ll enjoy this! @mylifecrises

Warnings: contains spoilers of Gillies’ first episode.

The sound of a bell got you out of your daydreams. A tall, confident, well-dressed ginger-head boy who seemed to be around your age got into the shop you now owned ever since the death of its owner.

His eyes paced for a while around the room, glancing back and forth from item to another, thinking fast before he at last locked eyes with you and briefly smiled.

Charming, you thought with a hint of mockery.

‘Good morning, how can I help you?’ you said politely.

He stopped walking towards you for a second, taken aback by the elegance of your voice. You were one of those people who didn’t ‘sound like they look’ but in the most flattering way.

‘I need a few tools for a physics experiment’ he said as he walked again towards you while showing you some of the said tools.

As you packed them for him, you looked curiously at him.

‘Are you a student at the Toronto university?’ you asked without sounding too intrusive.

‘Yes’ he smiled, happy you were quick to understand. ‘I’m Professor Bennett’s assistant.’

As soon as you heard that name, he could have sworn your mood shifted. Your face seemed a bit darker, and you had subconsciously furrowed your brows.

‘Oh’ you coldly said. ‘Well, have a nice day’ you quickly said as you handed him the package.

He smiled, less convincingly, very intrigued.

‘Thank you, you too’ he said slowly as he headed back to the University.

You sighed as he got out and went back to daydreaming the life you could’ve had had it not been for an unfair society.

A few days later, the young man came back to the shop. He noticed you had a different dress, nonetheless unique in the way it looked like it had been made just for you. Your (h/c) hair was tied up and your curls loosely fell around neck. You were reading a book before he interrupted you.

‘Oh, hello again’ you said with an unintentional smile. ‘How did the experiment go?’ you enthusiastically asked.

‘Quite well’ he said with the same smile. ‘If you ignore the fact one of the nails fell right when the machine was starting to work’ he sighed.

‘Oh’ you puckered your lips. ‘Isn’t it the most frustrating thing when something creating with our own hands fails us?’ you empathised.

The young man frowned and smiled at the same time, surprised by your poetic choice of words and relation to the situation.

‘Actually, yes. It’s really... frustrating. How come you know that feeling?’ he asked, curious.

‘Oh, trust me, I’ve been on both sides of the “creation”. I’ve felt the strong pride of succeeding in creating something as much as I’ve suffered from the pain of failed attempts. I like creating things, little objects to make my daily life easier like small machines just to... test a theory’ you shrugged.

‘Why, isn’t that quite surprising!’ laughed James. ‘Oh, I’m James Gillies by the way’ he said as he reached for your hand to shake.

You shook his, surprised by the sweetness of his touch as he was of your little enthusiastic roughness.

‘I’m (y/n), nice to meet you’ you smiled, suddenly shy.

‘It’s really nice to meet people who are so imaginative and creative. Sometimes I feel as though all students want is their degree, sadly missing the experience of intellectual stimulation thereby’

‘Oh, trust me I know...’ you answered, raging inside again. ‘Had it not been for this... stupid professor, I would have been experiencing things by your side, as the student I deserve to be.’

James starred in shock.

‘Wait... are you... a physicist?’

‘Officially? No, because I’m a woman. But in reality? Absolutely.’

You pointed towards the book you had left on the counter to meet him. It was a physics book, of a higher level than James’ current syllabus.

When James left your shop, he couldn’t stop thinking about you and how unfair it was that you were rejected from the University on the basis of sex. Had it been up to him, he would have gladly accepted you. You were certainly smarter than most of the students here.

It was already dark when he left. You two had been discussing Physics theories the whole afternoon and did not notice the sun setting down nor the moon coming up. James didn’t even want to leave deep down. He was eager to talk to you and discover your wonderfully unique ideas and contributions to the field. But the rage he felt could not even represent a quarter of yours. You were a passionate, determined and very curious person. And it made you sick people stopped you from showing your true potential.

Ever since that afternoon, you’d meet up occasionally in a café with James to discuss Physics or anything. You two got along so well you seemed to have known each other for years. You were even one of the very few people who could make James actually laugh.

One afternoon, as you were sitting in front of each other, leaned a bit due to your eager interest in your conversations, a silence fell between you two and you got lost for a split second in each others’ eyes.

‘It’s a shame’ said softly James. ‘I wish I could study and work with you everyday.’

By the time the words were out, James realised what he said, and got a little bit nervous. He never felt that way, it intrigued him. He starred down, and around, trying to ignore your (e/c) eyes.

‘I wish so too’ you answered, not ashamed a bit but sad. ‘If I could kill Professor Bennett, I would.’

James immediately looked back at you.

‘Wait, who?’

‘The professor Bennett. He is the one who convinced the jury of teachers I wouldn’t be able to stand the competition and would never be better than all those young men. He refused my application even though I had a perfect education and threatened to leave the University if they accepted me.’

You had spat the last words with the quiet rage and sadness you had confined within you for months. Tears rolled slowly down your face and James did not even notice his eyes were discretely tearing up too. He suddenly wanted to take you in his arms, reassure you, just like he wanted to shout at the professor Bennett he used to admire so much. He suddenly took your hand. Startled, you looked up at him, across the small table. He hesitated for a second and, too nervous from the proximity he had created, stood up. He gave you one final hesitant look before turning around and nearly running away.

After that meeting, you thought James had had enough of your conversations. After all, no matter how intriguing and curious he was, perhaps you didn’t intellectually stimulate him anymore. But your ego was not shattered yet. His absence had only brought up a feeling of longing to see him again, for reasons you couldn’t understand at this point. Weren’t you supposed to be jealous of him? After all, he was studying something you were desperate and passionate about. He wasn’t the victim of his own gender.

A few days had gone by and you were starting to really miss him. But there was no way you would ever go back to the university.

Then one day, you woke up to read a really intriguing news in the newspaper. The Professor Bennett had been killed by an ‘invisible’ murderer. Your eyes paced restlessly trying to grasp the meanings of the words printed. You felt your heartbeat accelerate dangerously as a suspicion crippled dangerously in the back of your mind. You turned around, hoping you’d see James coming running to tell you about the professor’s death and how deeply he was affected by it. But there was no one around.

You hardly fell asleep that night. And you had to say farewell to the idea of ever sleeping well when you heard a strange noise at your balcony at three in the morning. You stood up, covering yourself in your blanket on top of your nightgown, and slowly approached your balcony (you lived just above the shop you owned).

You had to cover your mouth to shut down your terrified scream once you saw James climbing on your balcony. He stood up at your window and smiled once he saw you. Startled, you didn’t move until he softly knocked on the window-door. You shook your head, trying to get a hold of yourself and ran to open the door.

It took you by surprise when James immediately punched his lips against yours in an adrenaline rush. You stood back. You immediately understood.

‘What have you done?’ you whispered, your voice shivering in terror.

James slowly smiled. He knew you would understand. He knew you would receive his love letter through a terrible - but brave - act: a revenge.

‘I love you’ he said, smiling even more. It felt good to say it. He never felt anything like that for anyone. He didn’t even care that much about his own family.

You thought, fast. James was clearly a dangerous person. Yet as twisted as it could have been, you felt touched by his act.

You kissed him, finally making your decision. He kissed your hands and forehead.

‘Don’t worry. Even if they find out, I will always get back to you’ he promised.

[wickedsingularity]

Can’t Sleep Without You [One-shot]

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x reader (but not really), Leonard McCoy, mention of Spock Words: 2359 Warnings: Use of medication, use of possible addictive medication, insomnia, nightmares, almost graphic description of a disturbing dream

Note: A somewhat self-indulgent story that I posted a little while ago, but had panic about after a few hours and then deleted. It felt too personal, too self-indulgent, amongst other things. I planned on giving it some time, and then rewrite it so it was less personal. I did give it time, but I haven't rewritten it, just edited. And now I'm giving it another go, hoping that I don't panic this time around and telling myself so fucking what if it's self-indulgent. And hopefully people enjoy it because I do like this story.

Summary: Having suffered from insomnia for a long time, Jim is the only thing that manages to calm me enough to function when it gets bad. But Jim is off on a mission...

"You look like something the cat dragged in, Commander."

"Thanks a lot, Doctor." I glared up at Leonard McCoy as he towered over me. Even if I couldn't stand the stuff, I was now on my third cup of coffee of the day. But I was also on my fourth day of barely any sleep, and I was desperate for something to keep me alert.

"Have you had trouble sleeping again?"

I downed the last of the coffee, cringing as the bitter liquid made its way down and sat the cup down on my empty lunch tray. I closed my eyes for a moment and grit my teeth, trying not to snap at the obvious question. "Looks that way."

The doctor sat down at the other side of the table and looked at me with worry, not even phased by my annoyance. "I've seen you getting worse the last few days, Commander. Why haven't you come to see me?"

"What you gave me three days ago made me wake up after four hours with a nightmare from hell. I'm still seeing ghosts in broad daylight."

He pursed his lips. "Please stop by the medbay at 2200 hours. We'll try something else."

I sighed, knowing that there was only one thing that would help, and it was not something our Chief Medical Officer could provide no matter how good he was. But I nodded. "Yes, doc." Then I pulled myself to my feet, grabbed the tray and went to put it back in the replicator for recycling.

For as long as I could remember, I'd had some form of insomnia. It hadn't been a problem when I was younger, I had been more energetic, more durable, not to mention more careless. But as I got older it got worse. Most of the time I managed to keep it under control, but sometimes it took on a life of its own. And when it did that, there was no medication, meditation or treatment that worked better than the captain of the ship, my boyfriend.

There was just something about Jim that calmed my mind like nothing else.

Funnily enough, insomnia was what brought us together. I had been wandering around the ship one night, after several nights of little sleep. Finding myself in the briefing room, I had sat down in the chair reserved for the captain, put my feet up on the table and gazed out at the streaking stars. After a few minutes of silence, the door had slid open and Captain Kirk had walked in. We were already on friendly terms, so I hadn't bothered taking my feet off the table or giving him the chair, even when he made a joke about it being his.

He'd been having trouble sleeping too, claiming his mind was running at warp 5 after an exhausting meeting in that very briefing room earlier in the day. He'd chosen to go back there in the hopes that it would clear his head.

We sat next to each other, him in the First Officer's chair and I kept occupying his, and chatted for a while. All the while we both seemed to gravitate more and more towards each other and I got sleepier at the same time, until I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. He had gathered me up in his arms and ordered a site to site transport, dropped me off on my bed and pulled a blanket over me, before going back to his quarters, falling asleep as well. After that, our friendship had shifted and things escalated quickly from there.

Now though, he and Spock and several admirals were trying to work out a peace treaty between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. We had dropped them off on a colony near the Neutral Zone and had then gone off to survey a newborn nebula a couple of systems over. We weren't scheduled to go back for them for another two or three days, the trip itself took a whole day. And my body was kind enough to refuse to sleep properly without Jim now, no matter how much in control of the insomnia I was.

I made it through the day somehow, with at least two more disgusting cups of coffee. Thankfully, there was more than enough to do in Engineering that I decided to not leave once my shift was over, it was better to keep working than sitting in my quarters and feeling like I had been in the middle of a warp core breach. As soon as Jim and Spock came back, Starfleet wanted us to check out an uninhabited planet that a passing cargo ship had detected held large deposits of deuterium and our long-range sensors had detected too much atmospheric disturbance for transporting, so we had to adjust the shielding on several shuttlepods. I was barely conscious when I stumbled into the medbay at 2200 hours.

"Not looking any better, I see." Bones appeared out of nowhere and would have scared the daylights out of me if I hadn't been so sluggish.

"Your bedside manners are always so lovely."

He ushered me over to a biobed and pulled a tricorder from one of his pockets.

"There's no need to scan me. We both know what's wrong. Just give me what you think I need and I'll be off." I looked at the tricorder with annoyance.

He didn't answer but started scanning me anyway, so I sat there patiently, closing my tired eyes and listening to the whirring of the device. "It's a wonder they haven't found a cure for this yet, after 200 years of research," he muttered to himself.

I looked up at him and saw him analysing the results. "You've found a cure for some pretty serious viruses on your career, why don't you find the cure for this?" I argued.

"This isn't a virus, sweetheart."

"Still, I'm sure you're brilliant enough to find a solution." Bones always said that flattery would get you nowhere with him, but I found that more often than not, he enjoyed having his ego stroked. He was that good too.

He just huffed and went over to a cabinet. I saw him pull out a vial and fill up a hypospray. "I know you have tried this before and it didn't work so well. But that was a few years ago, it might work better for you now." I nodded and obediently bared my neck to him. One touch of the cold metal to my skin and it was done. "I want you to go straight to bed now. It should work quickly and you have to be in bed when it does."

"Yes, sir."

It did not work. Or, I did sleep through the night, but the dreams had me waking up more exhausted than if I hadn't slept at all. It had been worse than last time, the irrational, weird and disgusting dreams had just come at me, one after the other. I would honestly prefer good old-fashioned nightmares over this. I called Bones as soon as I had showered away the night and he was at my door by the time I had dressed.

"Sit down," he barked, the tricorder out and a deep furrow between his brows. "What happened?"

I told him all about the night, even gave him some snippets of the nasty dreams for emphasis, each one of them still crystal clear and disturbing in my mind. The way he cringed at some of it, told me just how disturbing they had been. It wasn't normal to dream that you're pooping out severed arms, after all. *

"This is very strange," he said after he was done scanning. "Barely any light or deep sleep at all. Dream sleep almost all night. I've heard about a few phenomena that cause a person to not have any dream sleep at all, but not nothing but dream sleep. You're not getting any more of this medication, and I'm making a note in your medical file."

I sighed, trying to think about what I could do to help myself that night. But Bones had suddenly gone very quiet. I looked up at him and there was a deep furrow between his brows, his eyes gazing down at the tricorder, but it looked like he was mentally lightyears away. "What's wrong, doc?"

He didn't react right away, but then he blinked and looked down at me. "There is something we can try, but it can be highly addictive if the dosage is off by even a fraction. Call Scotty and tell him you'll be a bit late. I need to take some blood for analysing."

All through that day, I felt a bit apprehensive about what Bones was planning on giving me later. And I missed Jim so much it ached. This was the worst it had been without him and it was also the longest we had gone without each other since we got together. I missed him because of his absence, of course. But in my sleep-deprived state, it felt a million times worse. It felt like there was a gaping, bleeding hole inside me where he should be. I needed him to calm my mind, to kiss me and tell me it's okay if I can't sleep, that I'll sleep when I'm ready and he would be there with me all the while. I needed him to breathe with me. I needed to feel him. He was able to relax me enough that I could function.

After working well past my shift again and forcing down too many cups of coffee, I forced back tears of exhaustion and desperation and went to the medbay, got the mysterious hypospray and went straight to bed.

Apart from the fact that I woke up every ten to fifteen minutes, this one worked a lot better. In the morning, I felt less like I had been hit with a meteor shower and more like I had just tumbled through a thick atmosphere without a spacesuit. Bones came to check up on me in engineering after lunch and I asked if I could get a higher dosage, hoping that maybe that would finally be what helped me sleep through the night. But he refused, he had given me as much as my body could handle without becoming addicted or suffering other nasty side effects. In defeat, I told him if I couldn't have a higher dosage, I didn't want it at all. Then I started counting the hours until Jim came home, and drank all the coffee I could stomach so I wouldn't feel like a zombie.

I was just starting to doze off. It was probably just an hour or so until my alarm, but I let sleep take me. I would take anything I could get. What felt like just a minute later though, the computer spoke to me.

"The time is 0630 hours. The time is 0630 hours."

"No no no," I moaned in annoyance, screwing my eyes shut to the illumination in the room becoming stronger. But then a pair of lips landed on my cheek.

"Forgot to turn that off," someone said.

I didn't process this right away, but in the back of my head I knew that voice and knew it was important, so I forced myself to open my eyes to the way too bright room. Jim was there next to me and judging by his one barely open eye, he had just woken up too. "Hi..."

My heart was beating wildly in my chest, the room seemed to be spinning a little, my vision getting blurry, but then he smiled with his eyes closed and started to clumsily kiss my cheek and jaw and everything cleared up.

"When did you come home?" I whispered.

Jim didn't answer but kept trying to kiss me, but he was struggling, he too seemed exhausted, not able to aim. "A while. Laid down minutes ago. Tired. Want lips."

I made a happy sound and rolled around to face him. He opened his eyes a fraction, revealing the brilliant blue I loved so much. His lips landed on my nose, then my cheek before finally finding my lips. The gaping aching hole inside me seemed to vanish. I moved closer, pressing my lips and my body to his and everything inside me seemed to settle down, mind was quiet, all tension washed away. When I needed air, I pulled back just enough so I could stare into his eyes and see every little shade of blue in them. "You're home."

"The time is 0635 hours. The time is 0635 hours."

"Home and tired." His breath washed over me when he spoke and I wanted to breathe nothing but him for the rest of my life.

"Ditto. Haven't slept since you left."

"I know, Bones told me. I'm so sorry, Supernova."

"'s okay. Just missed you." My voice broke, and all the frustrations from the past week made a few tears fall. Jim snuck one of his arms around my waist and I moved even closer, burying my face into his neck, breathing in the smell of stars and nebulas and galaxies. "How were the peace talks?" I asked between lazy kisses to the soft skin on the side of his neck.

Jim didn't reply right away. Instead, he kissed my hair, breathing it in for a moment. "Exhausting. I'll tell you all about it later."

"The time is 0640 hours. The time is 0640 hours."

"Have to get up," I mumbled against his skin, but my entire body felt like lead in Jim's arms.

"Computer, turn off the alarm." A gentle beep confirmed it was now turned off. Then Jim pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. "Bones told me to tell you that he has declared you not fit for duty today and that he has ordered bed rest, and if you disobey his orders, he will not hesitate to have you strapped to a biobed with a force field."

I blinked. "But..."

"And your Captain concurs. He recommends you spend the day with him in bed and sleep." He was grinning at me. "He's been flying fancy admirals in a shuttle all night and is in need of some tender loving care from the love of his life."

I knew there were things I had to do in Engineering. It would take time and almost all the Engineering staff to get the shuttlepods ready in time for exploring the deuterium planet. But as I looked into Jim's eyes, I felt exhaustion all the way to my bone marrow, and there was no point arguing with that, or the Captain and the Chief Medical Officer. I teared up with relief and buried my face in Jim's neck again.

Jim settled down on his back and pulled me halfway on top of him. I swallowed down my emotions and rested my head on his shoulder, tangled my legs with his, and laid my arm across his stomach. Peace filled me and I barely had time to mumble love you before I was fast asleep.

Note: * Yes, I have actually dreamed that as a side effect of taking melatonin.

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Part 5)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Virgil sat as still as he could in the dark space he’d been put in. He could feel the warning tingle of the binding magic at his wrists telling him not to move too much or else. He was just lucky that they’d chosen to use metal instead of cloth to apply the potion and that he’d been unconscious until it dried. He knew from experience that there was no escaping the pain that type of potion brought until it dried no matter how still you were. Now, at least, if he didn’t try to struggle against his binding it wouldn’t hurt him. It sucked because all he wanted to do was move. He wanted to struggle and pull against the binding at his wrist, but he couldn’t. Even if it wouldn’t put him in crippling amounts of pain, he’d still not be able to get away.

So, instead he just shook. He was such a fuck up. He couldn’t even remember the right room and now he was going to die. No, he was probably going to be tortured and then he was going to die. His breath came quicker and quicker the longer he remained in the closet. He’d tried to murder their king. He’d come into their prince’s bedroom in the middle of the night wielding a knife. There was no way he wasn’t going to be made to suffer for that. It didn’t matter how gently the prince and his… person had treated him so far.

He heard the muffled sounds of people approaching the closet and curled into himself. Oh, god he was going to die. He had been breathing quickly, but now he couldn’t breathe at all. It felt like someone had poured tar into his lungs. The closet door opened, and he flinched, curled into a ball and choking on nothing.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice said. Patton, Virgil’s mind offered: the other guy with the prince. When Virgil managed to flick his eyes open, he saw Patton had gotten to his knees in front of him. He dully noted that the boy had reached out and touched his shoulder. “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry. Can you breathe for me?”

What was the point? He wondered, but after a few moments, he managed to suck in a couple of breaths.

When he managed to calm enough to look around, he noticed that instead of there being a bunch of castle guards standing around waiting to drag him off to some dungeon, it was just the prince and Patton again. He blinked up at them in confusion.

“There’s been a change of plans,” the prince explained.

“What?” Virgil asked dumbly. “What do you mean?”

“My father is going to be away for the next three weeks,” the prince said. “Considering you didn’t kill the guards and your only targets seems to be my father and perhaps myself, you are likely not a real danger to anyone if you escape and I’m willing to take the risk with myself. With that in mind, Patton and I have decided not to turn you in yet.”

Well what the hell did that mean? Was that good or bad? On one hand, it meant that he wouldn’t be executed yet, but what exactly did the prince want with him?

As Virgil began to freak out about the possibilities, the prince continued to speak, seemingly more to himself than to Virgil or Patton.

“We will need to figure out how to care for you in the interim. We’ll have to provide you with more food than just snacks as well as find you a place to sleep. At least one of us will have to be with you at all times, and with Father gone, I’ll have to attend to some royal duties. Luckily it isn’t strange for Patton to come into my quarters at will.” He considered Virgil with discerning eyes. “Also, your general health seems to be lacking, so I’ll have to account for preexisting conditions. First thing, first though. I imagine keeping you in those bracelets all the time would be impractical. We’ll need another solution, especially for sleep.”

Virgil did not like the sound of that. He assumed based on what the prince had done so far that he’d enact some sort of magical bondage. From Virgil’s experience, magical bondage ranged from unpleasant to legitimately agonizing.

“Patton, if you will watch him for the time being, I need to go work on a more precise binding potion then the one I’ve been using.”

“Sure,” Patton agreed, but the prince was wondering away before he’d even finished the word. Patton shook his head fondly before turning back to Virgil. “Wanna come out of the closet now?”

He really, really didn’t, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He curled his legs into himself as much as he could and waited to be dragged out into the room, but he wasn’t touched.

“Okay,” Patton said. “That’s fine. It’s a pretty nice closet.” Virgil said nothing but did breathe a sigh of relief about being able to stay. It wasn’t very rational because in actuality he was no safer here than anywhere else in the room, but the closet felt more defensible even if they could drag him out of it whenever they wanted.

Patton seemed content to sit outside the closet and leave him in peace for the moment. A few minutes later Patton made a sound and Virgil looked over to see him yawn. He smiled when he saw Virgil watching. “It was a long night for all of us, I imagine,” he said. “Hmm… actually. Wait there.”

Like he could go anywhere else. He couldn’t get a good enough angle to see what Patton was doing, but he could here him moving around the room and rustling through a few things. He came back into view holding a comical number of pillows and blankets.

“Here,” Patton said. He offered Virgil one of the blankets and then seemed to remember that Virgil could not reach out to take it. “Hmm…” He spread out the blanket next to Virgil. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

“Why are you even asking?” Virgil asked. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Patton frowned and Virgil scrunched into himself at the expression, but it lightened the next moment. “I know it’s a bit of a bad situation and you are technically a prisoner, but I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel bad,” Patton said.

Virgil didn’t know how to respond to that. There was no way that it wasn’t some sort of trick, but he didn’t dare outright say that he thought that.

“Can I touch you a bit?” Patton asked once again. “Just to help you get onto the blanket.”

“Sure,” Virgil agreed.

The other boy smiled sweetly and grabbed his wrists with gentle fingers. Virgil let his whole body follow Patton’s guidance until he was situated rather comfortably on an unbelievably soft blanket.

“Head,” Patton said, holding up a pillow. Virgil lifted his head slightly and the pillow was shoved underneath it.

Another blanket was settled over him the next. Patton was weird. “There you go!” Patton said. “Now you can take a nap.”

Virgil blinked up at him in confusion. That was… not happening. What exactly about this situation did Patton think was conducive to sleep?

“…Or rest comfortably at least,” Patton said after a moment. He arranged a pillow and blanket for himself and laid on his side, so he was facing Virgil. He yawned slightly again but didn’t close his eyes. They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.

“What are we doing?” Virgil finally asked when he realized Patton was not planning to ever break the awkward silence.

“We’re resting,” Patton said, “and hanging out.”

“Hanging out?” Virgil asked.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton said popping up onto his elbow to peer at him. “Let’s talk some! We can get to know each other.”

Virgil looked at him suspicious about where this was going. “Talk about what?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Patton hummed a quiet tune and his fingers tapped against the side of his face as he wiggled a bit back and forth. “Do you like cats?”

“Cats?” Virgil asked. “Uh… sure?”

“I love cats,” Patton divulged. “There are a lot of cats in the castle. Not all of them like people very much, but I like to try to pet them! I even made up a game where I get points for every cat that lets me pet it. The grumpier they are, the more points I get!”

“You… try to pet wild cats?” Virgil asked.

“Uh huh!”

Virgil thought back to the few untamed cats he’d met in his life. “Don’t they… try to murder you.”

“Sometimes,” Patton said with a shrug. He moved his arm suddenly and Virgil startled, but he just rolled down his sleeve so Virgil could see a large, fairly fresh-looking scratch on his arm. “This one’s from Mr. Calico Man. He does not like his ears touched apparently, but he will let me give him chin scratchies!”

This boy was insane.

“I think I’ve pet every single cat in the castle at least once, except for Ghost Kitty.”

“Who is Ghost Kitty?”

“Oh, Ghost Kitty is the prettiest thing in the world,” Patton gushed. “She hangs out in the gardens a lot, but no one can get anywhere near her. She’s completely black and only started showing up around a year ago. I can’t even see her for more than 2 seconds at a time let alone try to pet her, but I will someday and on that day, I’ll get 1,000 points!”

“How many points are they usually?”

“For ones like Mittens and Cleo who I’ve known since they were babies, only 1. For Sandra it’s 5 since she can get a bit tetchy, but usually won’t run away. Lily Flower and Red Hot like to run away but won’t try to scratch me if I do catch them so they’re 10. Ones like Mr. Calico Man are worth 100.”

“So, you are going to try to pet a cat that is 10x more feral than the one that slashed your arm?”

“She’s so pretty!”

“You have no survival instincts whatsoever, do you?” Virgil asked.

Patton smiled wryly at him. “I apparently have a couple,” he said.

Virgil blinked at him and thought back, connecting the dots. Only Patton and the prince knew he was here, and the prince had been in front of him when he’d came into the room… “You were the one to knock me unconscious,” he concluded.

“I’d say sorry, but you were coming in here with the intention of hurting someone I care about,” Patton said with a shrug.

Right. Virgil had almost forgotten amongst his soft tone and gentle countenance that the man laying docilly next to him definitely hated his guts and would probably relish in whatever the prince had planned for him.

Virgil let his fists clench, but otherwise didn’t let onto his distress as Patton softly brought the conversation back to the previous topic and continued to ramble on about the different cats of the castle.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 6

[mappinglasirena]

Bothersome Beams in Sirena’s Sickbay

You know how I’ve drawn a clean layout of the Captain’s Quarters to make it reflect the room as seen on screen by e.g. erasing the false door, adding in furniture and marks for the windows, etc? I've been doing that for a bunch of other places as well (toooootally not because I’m procrastinating the two Deep Dives I should be working on....), and a few days ago I started on sickbay. And now I'm stuck.

I've been staring at this so long my brain is turning to mush, so now you all get to suffer with me!

(Fair warning: there be loads of extremely pedantic observations ahead. I hope you like staring at deck plans :D)

This is the outline of sickbay on the deck plans from the blu-ray Set Me Up featurette:

(For orientation and because it will become important later: The front of the ship is on the right-hand side, the back is on the left.)

A quick reminder of the relevant main features: the round part of sickbay has walls that slope outward towards the top, a counter running along the wall around 2/5 of the way up, and three support beams cutting through the wall and the counter.

(Note that in reality, the beams are all straight across the top; they just appear curved here due to lense distortion.)

Looking at the concentric circles in the outline above, let’s try to figure out what’s what. Easiest: the broken grey lines, i.e. the largest two circles, surely must be where the wall meets the ceiling at its widest extension. (Here marked in blue.)

Next, when we look at the transition between the rectangular alcove at the back of the room (marked “med bay” in the plan) and the round “lab area”, we see that it’s smooth and there is no step in between.

(Again: the walls are straight, not curved, it looks that way because of lense effects.)

Given that and the thickness of the line, I think it’s safe to assume this is the outline of the wall, most likely at floor level:

These, as far as I can tell, are the windows at the front of the room, next to the door.

As you can see, they extend almost to the top of the wall and stop short of the unidentified outer circle. Looking at a screenshot...

...the windows sit right above the counter, so it makes sense that the remaining lines would be the outline of said counter (here in green):

So far so good.

Here’s the rub. I was trying to figure out what the vertical lines dividing the counter next to the support beams might be, when I noticed these four bits:

Those look like the places where the support beams cut through the counter.

That makes sense, right?

As you’ve probably noticed before, these beams run throughout the entire ship. We see them everywhere on the upper and lower deck, they are clearly the skeleton that holds Sirena together. You can tell how important they are to the structural integrity because all the deck plans have these vertical, broken grey lines to indicate where the beams are located.

Now, take another look at the markings where the beam towards the back of the room cuts through the counter (I magnified the one on the bottom left):

As you can see pretty clearly, the marking in the counter doesn’t line up with the normal position of the beams, indicated by the broken grey lines. It isn’t off by much. My rough estimate so far is that the beams are about a foot wide with seven feet between them, so this is a difference of maybe 15cm (~6″, apparently). But something is clearly strange here.

You can tell there’s something different at the back of the room, because where the beams in the middle and front are marked by long rectangles, the one in the back is only a small square. It looks almost as if there was only a single column on either side. If that was the case, it would probably mean that the beam at the back of the room was a fake, not technically connected to the beams at the rest of the ship like the middle and front ones.

But does that mean it was also moved a few centimetres further to the front? This has been driving me nuts.

There are a few possible explanations for what might be happening here.

1. I am wrong about those being the markers for where the beams cut through the counter. That is entirely possible.

2. Some changes were made to the set that aren’t yet reflected in this version of the layout. As I said elsewhere, these plans aren’t quite accurate to the final set in all details (e.g. the two steps between the mess hall and sickbay aren’t marked), so it’s possible that this is some intermediate version where the counter design varies a little from its final configuration.

3. The support beams at the back of sickbay do not line up with the beams in the rest of the ship. The production designers decided that they wanted sickbay to be the exact size we see in the plans, but for some logistical or aesthetic reason, having the beams at the back of the room in the logical position (i.e. parallel to the ones on the upper deck) didn’t work, so they moved them forward a little bit.

I cannot tell you how long I spent over the weekend trying to make heads or tails of this. 

At first I thought: Well, obviously the beams must have been moved to the front. The grey line marking where they should be goes right across the front of the rectangular bit of the room. They’d block the way if they were in the “correct” place, right?

Except I realized my spatial reasoning is woefully inadequate when trying to visualize a round room with sloped walls, so I did the only reasonable thing: I taught myself how to use SketchUp (again) to make a very, very crude 3D sketch of the relevant sections of this room.

Turns out: when you put the beam exactly where it’s supposed to go, it does actually work out okay. I know it’s a little too small here compared to what it should be...

...but that’s probably more due to my estimates for the thickness of the beams and especially the height of the room being off.

I did another version where I moved the beam forward so it sits where the counter is marked on the deck plan, and the difference is pretty negligible:

It looks a little closer to what we see on screen, but again, that’s probably more a miscalculation issue than an honest-to-god result.

As a last-ditch effort I had another look through my screenshot collection. My thinking was that if the beam was moved forward slightly from where it was “supposed” to be, that would mean we’d see more of it.

(On the left, the beam lines up with the grey lines. The area where it intersects with the counter (solid red) is smaller than in the right-hand example, where the beam was moved to align with the marking in the counter.)

Likewise, the distance the beams extend under the counter would be different, if not by much.

(The beam on the right is moved slightly towards the middle of the room. You can see that it dips lower than the beam on the left, which is in the “correct” position.)

If this was the case we should be able to see it in the screenshots, right? Except...

This is the view towards the front of the room. It’s difficult to tell with the perspective, but I don’t think there is much of a difference in how far the beam towards the front of the room (far right) and the one at the back of the room (far left) extend below the counter?

Maaayyybe there’s a difference there? But then again, if you compare how far they dip below the tops of the chests of drawers, that seems pretty similar...

And this is the point where I decided this insanity had gone on long enough and I should probably stop before my brain got entirely scrambled (since, sadly, I don’t have an EMH to unscramble it for me).

So, what’s the takeaway here?

1.: Short of somebody from the production team giving confirmation either way, we won’t know what happened here. I might have misread the set plan, the plan might have changed, or the beams might have been moved. It will have to remain a mystery until we get more shots with incontrovertible evidence, or somebody takes a measuring tape to the set and reports back ;9

2.: For the purposes of drawing a layout of sickbay, I’m going to assume the beams are in the correct position, since that makes more sense in-universe. I’ll move the counter markings accordingly. If I have to make a correction to that at some point, at least I have done the legwork and can refer back to this post instead of having to explain the whole issue again.

3.: Yes, I did just spend half the weekend obsessing over 15 centimetres, to the point where I taught myself SketchUp (again) and wrote a way too long blog post (I did warn you ;9 ), only to come to the conclusion that, as we say over here: “Nichts Genaues weiß man nicht.” - I guess we’ll never know. I have absolutely no regrets!

And finally 4.: staring at images of sickbay for hours on end really makes you appreciate just how beautiful that space is. Scroll up again and have a look at the screenshots. The way the circle repeats in the lights and the table and the concentric markings on the floor. The intricate holograms projected by the ceiling lights. The plants and tools all along the counters that give the room so much texture and make it seem like a real, lived-in place. The way the crisp black and white paint on the beams and the gleaming floor contrast with the cared-for but scuffed up plating and worn-off red paint all over the rest of Sirena... I just really love this ship, okay?

Anyway. If you have any thoughts on this, or you’ve noticed something I missed, I’d love to hear about it!

I was about to say “I promise the next post will be shorter”, but who are we kidding? My brain doesn’t do brief. And what is this blog for if not extremely rambly analyses that give us all an excuse to ogle screenshots of La Sirena for a few minutes?

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter One

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

He had drifted in and out of the consciousness for the first five days-- which he guessed, after the fact, had been a blessing.

His transformation, which had taken three days the first time 'round, still hadn't quite finished seven days later.

He was trying to be patient but, well, it would’ve been nice to sleep all the way through to the end. It seemed he was destined to suffer fits and jags of pain and spontaneous naps to recover from them. It hurt... and it sucked.

Dr. Cho couldn't be 100% certain as she hadn't been around after the bite, but she'd felt safe in assuming that the prolonged change had to do with all of Peter's injuries from both Titan all those years ago and the battle in Upstate New York. The concussion had been pretty significant, according to the doctor. Multiple scans had been taken to keep track of that healing, seeing as he'd been so out of it from the worst of the fever. The broken ribs still had a ways to go towards knitting back together but he could inhale just a little deeper before it hurt so that was a win. And there was no need for stitches for the deeper stab wounds—Mr. Stark’s nanoparticles were taking care of that. The dislocated shoulder, however, still required surgery.

Correction. Another surgery. Peter looked up at the clock on the wall... in about thirty minutes.

Arthroscopic surgery had apparently been performed on the second day after the battle, once all of the other wounded had been tended to, not that Peter remembered much from those first five days. Tendons and cartilage had been damaged to the point that Dr. Cho was certain it needed intervention so she'd done her medical magic per Spider-Man protocols, being as non-invasive as possible, knowing that Peter's body could do the rest-- except that it hadn't.

It had been quite the gong show, in fact—his fever had spiked along with his blood pressure and all sorts of bad things had Dr. Cho plus Mr. Stark and all the rest worried out of their minds.

... but he was definitely on the mend now.

Really.

Peter fussed at his hospital gown nervously and  wondered, not for the first time, if maybe he still had some dust stuck somewhere in him-- gumming up the works like Uncle Ben used to say when their old '97 Pontiac Firefly would stall again and again and again-- or something like that. He couldn't be sure, but yeah, he was definitely curious about it.

"Knock, knock!" The rapping of knuckles against the door frame pulled Peter from his commiserating. "Guess what surprise the most super-amazing best mentor on the planet got for his currently boo-booed Spider-mentee?" Mr. Stark grinned big and slid into the med bay room.

Peter tried to think of something he’d wanted, then brightened immediately as hope flared. He looked to the man and then at the doorway Mr. Stark had just vacated. "Is May here?!" He asked eagerly. He repressed the flinch of pain as he struggled to sit up in the bed. "Did Dr. Strange finally get May here? May?!" He called out.

Peter was too busy trying to look around Mr. Stark to notice the look of regret flashing across his face before he could school it into something more sympathetic. “I’m sorry, kid.” He stepped up to the bed and moved to help Peter lay back down. “I should have been more thoughtful.“ He pulled the blankets back up to the boy’s neck and tucked him in tight. “One of the wizards was willing to make a pit stop and grabbed you a sandwich from Delmar’s before coming back to Wakanda. It came back hot so I’ve got it hiding away in one of the kitchen’s fancy stasis units and is ready for you as soon as you get the all clear from Dr. Cho to eat after they take care of...” Mr. Stark waved toward Peter’s shoulder, “that.”

Peter flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just thought that...” He trailed off, and sighed. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, Mr. Stark, I promise! It’s just that everyone else has family being brought over and I’m sure that everyone is really busy, I only hoped that...” His eyes glistened with tears he was trying so hard to not let fall. He used his arm to brush the wetness away. “I’m just being a baby. Sorry.”

He had tried to tamp down the jealousy he’d felt when Mr. Barton had popped by to introduce himself properly and had gushed about how amazing it was to see his wife and kids after the last five years—not that he could wrap his brain around that bit of information yet, but still—

Where was May?

Mr. Stark interrupted his wandering thoughts with the brushing of his hand against Peter’s cheek. “You’re not being a baby, so stop talking that way. You’re allowed to miss her, and once this is all over and you get the all clear to leave the med bay, we’ll get you to our temporary quarters so you can have a good, long video call with her, okay?” Mr. Stark moved to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, then leaned forward, “Don’t tell anyone I said this,” He whispered conspiratorially, “But the tech here is incredible. When everything is settled, we may need to set up a play date between you and Shuri.” He gave a wink and straightened up as he noticed one of the nurses enter the room with a rolling cart full of medical supplies.

The nurse smiled kindly at the two heroes and then focused on Peter. “I’m glad that you’re awake. Dr. Cho has asked me to get final prep out of the way.” She snapped on a pair of gloves and starting pulling out supplies for an IV. “She’d prefer a new line so we can keep you on the IV nutrients during the procedure,” She assessed his still slinged arm, then moved down the bed to uncover his leg. “I think we’ll do a little reorganizing so we can just get this done quickly and be off. The surgical suite is ready for you, so if you’re good, we can get this show on the road and get you on the mend.”

Peter blanched and looked to Mr. Stark with sheer terror on his face. Being unconscious and having surgery was easy, this was a whole other kettle of fish. “Um...” He struggled to not panic. “Mr. Stark?” His breathing started to pick up.

Both the nurse and Mr. Stark picked up on the cues right away. Mr. Stark grabbed the boy’s good hand in support and gave the nurse a quick look. She backed out of the room without another word and closed the door behind her.

“Hey, hey, kiddo. You’re okay,” Mr. Stark soothed. “Why don’t you take a deep breath me, yeah?” He pulled in an exaggerated breath. “In...” and then blew it out with just as much effort. “... and out.”

Peter tried, then flinched, grunted, and then shifted to try and relieve the pain that flared in his ribs even as his anxiety ramped up and he struggled to catch his breath.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sweetheart. Sorry!” His hands fluttered around Peter, trying to find something to fix. Mr. Stark looked to be on the edge of his own panic attack but Peter could do nothing. Then Mr. Stark lit up as he apparently came up with another idea. “Okay, kid, this is gonna seem weird, but let’s keep those breaths quick and short, okay?” And then the man was demonstrating, “He-he-he-he-hooo. He-he-he-he-hooo.” Mr. Stark squeezed Peter’s hand in assurance.

Peter tried to emulate him, and after a couple of minutes of lost rhythms and wiped away tears, Peter was calm enough that he felt safe speaking again, “Sorry, Mr. Stark, I...” He dried he cheeks again, “I don’t know where that came from. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to have something fixed and all... I just...”

Mr. Stark smiled down fondly at the boy, “Maybe not, but you’re far from home and your hot aunt isn’t down the hall waiting to chew you out for doing something stupid enough to require surgery—and honestly, we’ve had a pretty shitty week, if you don’t mind my saying. I mean, I’ll be forever grateful that you’re back,” and Mr. Stark leaned over to plant a big ol’ kiss on Peter’s forehead as he said it, “but we fought a literal battle over my demolished compound, you were gone for five years, you were hurt, your powers are out of whack, you are currently situated on a different continent altogether, and the world doesn’t seem to remember that we deserve a little down time after battling for the fate of half a universe.” He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. “We’re allowed to be stressed, and if it comes out in a pre-surgery freak-out, then so be it.”

Peter chuckled, being mindful of his ribs. “Yeah, I guess. And—um, thanks, by the way for the, uh... the breathing thing.” He was confused though, “Can I ask a dumb question? Was that a breathing exercise for women in labor?”

A blush tinged Mr. Stark’s cheeks and he rubbed at the back of his neck in apparent discomfort. “Yeah, Pete, it is, but it worked so no teasin’ the old man about it, got it?!” He pointed a finger at the boy in the bed. “You were hurting and I couldn’t think of anything to help with the broken ribs and all. Short breaths made sense and it just came to me.” He laughed low to himself, “I think it was pretty ingenious, if you ask me.”

Peter blushed, himself. “I guess it was. I’m curious to know how you’d know—“

A knock on the door interrupted his question. “Hello?” Dr. Cho opened the door and peeked her head into the room. “I’m sorry for intruding, but we’ve only got the surgical suite and staff for an allotted period of time and...“ She trailed off.

Mr. Stark looked at Peter, cocking an eyebrow in question.

Peter hesitated, then nodded ‘yes.’

Mr. Stark smiled at him then gave his still gripped hand another assuring squeeze. “He’s good to go, Helen.” He finally looked towards the doctor. “But you’ve got to hurry this up. The kid has a date with the #5—extra pickles and squished really flat, and we’d like to get that to him before someone in the kitchen realizes we’re hiding the best sandwich in Queens and absconds with it.” 

Peter snort-laughed then closed his eyes to the nurse as she re-entered the room to do her prep. He didn’t want to be rude, he just couldn’t...

Ah, shit! He knew it was coming before it hit, and then—

She waited patiently for him as the pain zinged up his spine, causing him to arch off the bed and whimper as he waited for the episode to pass. She simply stepped away from the bed so Mr. Stark could come close enough to whisper words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this, kid.”

“It’s gonna pass.”

“I’m so, so sorry...”

This episode lasted only a few minutes, but it left Peter exhausted, like always. After taking a second to pull himself together, he gave the nurse the go ahead with a nod and closed his eyes again—trying to ignore the sounds of movement and the poking and prodding at his foot.

“A little pinch.” The nurse whispered, and then there was more than a little pinch, but the second line was in. “Good job.” On what, he didn’t know, but it was done and Peter worked to keep himself from jumping off the table.

Dr. Cho came to his bedside again, “Well, Peter, I’m hoping that we can get everything sorted this last time and give your transformation a chance to finish the job without having to worry about all of this extra work.” She winked playfully at him. “And then I can start doing my regular job of putting you back together with all of the standard superhero stuff. Does that sound like a plan to you?”

He understood that she was trying to put him at ease, and it would have worked, but something was niggling at the back of his brain and he couldn’t understand what was going on. He ignored it. “Sure. Let’s do this,” he replied.

Giving a nod to the nurse on his opposite side, Dr. Cho released the break on his bed and they started moving him toward the door.

“Wait!” Peter shouted in renewed panic. “Mr. Stark?!”

He popped back into view, having kept out of the way as he was sorted. “I’m here, baby. You’re safe.” He bumped the nurse out of the way and took her place as they moved down the hallway.

He tried to look brave, but—“Could you...?”

Mr. Stark didn’t look to anyone for permission. He just answered. “I’ll go with you as far as I can, okay?”

Peter could have cried from relief, but remained strong as he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and exhaled, “Uh, thanks.”

Mr. Stark ruffled his hair. “You never have to thank me, sweetheart. Do you understand?”

Peter smiled, tentative, “I guess?”

Mr. Stark huffed in frustration. “You guess? We’ll need to have a chat over that sandwich later, okay?”

By this point, they’d managed to find their way to the surgical suite. They parked the bed and Dr. Cho disappeared inside the room for a second.

Peter was about to ask if maybe she’d changed her mind about everything when she popped back out and tossed a surgical cap, mask, and gown at Mr. Stark. “Put that on, and then touch nothing, but Peter once we’re in. If you behave, you can stay with him until he’s asleep, okay?”

Mr. Stark nodded and immediately put on the gown while Dr. Cho entered the room again. He hesitated with the cap though. “No one appreciates the effort I make to look this good,” he complained. “Seriously.” He shook his head and looked down at Peter as he placed the mask on his face. “The things I do for you, kid.”  

Peter grinned at that, and for a moment he could imagine they were back in the lab at the compound and it was just the two of them being idiots while blowing crap up. “You do it because you love me,” he teased.

If they’d been back at the lab, Mr. Stark would have made a crack about doing this to keep Peter from turning to the dark side, or from working for the competition, or anything other than what he’d really said—“Yeah, kid. I really do.”

And THAT was the moment Peter realized that something had shifted in the five years. He’d heard the ‘sweetheart’ and maybe even the ‘baby’ but...

Another nurse came out of the room to address them. “Okay, we’re going in now. Once we enter the room, we’ll transfer you to a different gurney and tuck this bed away for you to use later. The room is sterile and will remain that way if everyone does what they’re supposed to do.” The nurse looked directly at Mr. Stark. “I am to remind you, sir, that you can ask Princess Shuri about the tech and sterilization methods later and that—and this is a quote from Dr. Cho—“you’d better be good, Tony, or you will be out on your ass faster than you can say ‘nanoparticle.’”

Mr. Stark barked a laugh at that and raised his right hand. “I promise I will be a good boy.”

The nurse seemed to believe him so they worked together to pull the bed through the doors and into the chill of the surgical suite. Peter would have been impressed if he wasn’t suddenly terrified.

Peter couldn’t suppress the shiver as he felt the cold press in on him and he thought again about running away—somewhere warm and vibrant and Mr. Stark could come and then—he was being transferred to a metal table, just as cold as the room.

Mr. Stark came into view again, and was again running fingers through his hair in comfort. His heart was in his throat and he couldn’t speak.

“You’ll feel a little chill here, Peter,” Dr. Cho was talking to him as someone off to the side started injecting an anaesthetic into the IV line.  

He felt it as it entered his system, the mix of standard and enhanced drugs because his body didn’t know what the heck it was doing anymore, and then whatever bits of Spider-Man that were fighting to come through did exactly that. Even as his thoughts tried to soften, he battled and ached to come back from the nothingness that was trying to catch hold of him again. His eyes flew open. He couldn’t go again! His drug weakened limbs felt weighted but still fought against gentle hands pressing him to the table, yet he tensed with anticipation of them flaking and floating off into the aether—“NO!” He couldn’t do it again, and his panic flared one last time as the anaesthetist gave one last push. “stop—“ he slurred. “don’—wanna go, ms’r star—“ Tears streamed down his temples and he finally gave up as he whispered, “’m—‘m sorry—“ 

Peter fell limp against the table—

And didn’t see Mr. Stark, as he stood over him, tried to comfort him—wept for him.

Peter also didn’t see the glare on Mr. Stark’s tear stained face as he looked at a paled Dr. Cho. “You get in. You fix it. You get out. Got it?”

Peter didn’t see her nod in agreement and start barking out orders to the medical staff in the room.

And Peter didn’t see Mr. Stark lean over to kiss his forehead and then step back into a quiet corner, deciding to not leave the boy’s side unless they dragged him forcibly from the room.

[mcu-padawan]

let it be me

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x gender neutral!Reader 

Description: Obi-Wan Kenobi. A renowned Jedi Master across the galaxy. A prized General in the Republic. But to you, he was just a shy boy with eyes as endless as the ocean. 

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of slavery (SW canon), angst, some fluff

A/N: Hey everyone! I am back!! This took me FOREVER to finish mostly because I was adjusting to school being back in session and being back on campus. Anyways, I am happy to finally be posting this because i feel like i’ve been almost done for the longest lol. Hope y’all enjoy this! 

If y’all want to you should listen to “seven” by Taylor Swift for this! It was a huge inspiration (especially the part where she sings about a braid… because… padawans have their braid… ok i’ll go)

(check out my other works!)

large italicized section is a flashback 

not my gif 

— — — — — — 

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” you say. You’re trying your best to keep up with Aayla Secura, Jedi Master, and one of your best friends. Even though you two hadn’t spent your padawan years together, Aayla is one of the Jedi you were closest to. Having spent almost your entire Jedi years away from Coruscant, Aayla is one of the only constants in your life. You first met the younger Jedi when she traveled to a planet on the Outer Rim to join you on a mission. Since that mission, both of you have made sure to work together in as many missions as possible. You loved spending time with her, and after having spent countless rotations without seeing her, you are especially happy to see her. Except for this moment in time.

“Nonsense! You haven’t been back in Coruscant in years! Everyone needs to know you’re here.” Aayla grabs your hand and pulls you closer to her, guiding you quickly down the halls of the Temple and into what you know will surely be your doom.

You’re not sure where your friend is taking you, but as you keep walking, a feeling of dread starts to settle in your stomach. You start to feel a familiar pull in the Force, a pull that you thought you’d never feel again.

-

You sit on a bench outside the Jedi temple. Your limbs are sore after all the training for the day. As a newly appointed padawan, you are still getting used to the schedule your new master has you on. Today consisted of grueling physical drills. After a week of meditation training, the physical training was a welcome change of pace, but you are now suffering the consequences of such a change. 

After the training ended, your master allowed you to return to your quarters for the day. Instead of going straight back, however, you decided to take a walk outside the temple to catch some fresh evening air. So here you sit, on a bench in the temple gardens, massaging your sore shoulder in hopes of easing some of the discomfort. 

You sit in comfortable silence for a while when you hear noise coming from behind some large bushes. You look up to said bushes, trying to see if you catch anything. Your master had been teaching you about reading Force signatures earlier in the week, but you don’t pick up anything tangible. After a few moments, you hear the sounds again. This time, you can decipher the sound of a thud followed by frustrated sighs and mumbling. You decide to get up and investigate, your curiosity getting the best of you.

You walk behind the bush to find a fellow padawan trying to float upside down while keeping his legs crossed and under (on top?) of him. You can see his form is off, and you notice the visible shakiness going through him as he closes his eyes and silently mumbles to himself. You keep watching him for a few moments until he suddenly falls out of his position and onto the floor. He quickly scrambles up, dusting his robes off in visible frustration. It’s not until he looks up that he notices you looking at him.

“Umm... hello there,” the young man says. 

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment of being caught spying. You quickly scramble up an answer.

“Hi. I wasn’t spying you know.” You mentally curse yourself at the obviously flustered response.

“Right. Well, I’m sorry you had to see that.” He mumbles the last half, looking down and dusting his robes in discomfort.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you say as you move closer to him.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, at your service,” he says and looks up at you. The two of you make eye contact and you feel your breath leave your body. 

The bluest eyes you’ve ever seen capture you. You feel like you can’t look away from the eyes of a young man you just met. You feel a tug towards him, but you can’t exactly describe what the tug is. You only know that you feel like you’ve known Obi-Wan Kenobi your whole life.

“What... what were you doing behind the bushes?” You decide to break the silence, if only to prolong the time you have to look at him. 

He laughs and averts his eyes, a ting of pink brushing his cheeks. “I was working on a new meditation drill my master taught me. Well, I guess it’s not new... I’ve been trying to figure this out for a while. As you can see, I haven’t been successful.” You can tell he’s embarrassed, as he keeps his eyes on anything but your direction. His hands are fidgeting at his side.

You hesitate, unsure how your proposal will sound, but ultimately decide it’s worth a shot. “I- I can help you out, if you’d like.”

He looks up. You’re trapped in the depth of his eyes once again, the pull you previously felt stronger now. You take a couple steps closer to him and continue. 

“My master taught me a couple of breathing techniques that helped me out with this exercise. Here, let me show you.” You move to sit on the floor with your legs crossed, motioning for him to do the same. Obi-Wan sits next to you. At this distance, you can feel the warmth that radiates from Obi-Wan. At this distance, you can feel the pull get stronger and know that it’s a product of the Force. At this distance, you feel yourself get trapped inside Obi-Wan’s Force signature, warmth and safety the only words on your mind.

And that’s how it began. Weeks of practicing drills together turned into years of friendship with Obi-Wan Kenobi. You two trained almost daily together, offering comfort after difficult training sessions, confiding in each other secrets nobody else knew.  But that was then, and this is now, ten years later, with nothing but memories of those deep blue eyes.

-

Aayla pulls you into a room. You can only assume a meeting has just wrapped up, given the Jedi chatting. You recognize several faces of Jedi you’ve met throughout your missions. You nod and smile in acknowledgment to those you make eye contact with, but Aayla keeps on pulling you away before you get a chance to give a proper hello.

Aayla finally stops in front of three Jedi. You recognize Kit Fisto, and you’re sure the other Jedi is Luminara Unduli (you hadn’t had the chance of formally meeting her yet). The third figure looks up when you join the group. When you meet his eyes, it takes all your willpower not to gasp.

An ocean, deep and endless, captures you. The pull in the Force you’d been feeling since arriving at Coruscant is as intense as ever, awakening after being dormant for more than 10 years. 

You don’t recognize his face. No, the face looking back at yours is not one you remember. Gone is the shy smile of the young man you met all that time ago. Gone is the excited expression of the young padawan you spent each and every day with. Gone is the eager innocence of the man you’d come to know and love. 

Instead, the man you face is one who’s had to endure loss, as many other Jedi had due to the war. Years of fighting have taken a toll on this man, it’s evident through the lines surrounding his eyes and the grey hair around his temples. His face is hardened with years of experience as a Jedi, a Jedi who’s seen the true evil in the galaxy.

But his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve always known. And they offer the same warmth and safety they did when you first met Obi-Wan Kenobi all those years ago.

“Hello there.” 

The rich voice with the unmistakable Coruscant accent breaks you away from your thoughts. You feel heat come up to your cheeks when you realize you’ve been staring.

“Hello Obi-Wan. It’s been too long.”

~

You stroll the gardens outside the temple, fingers grazing the various plants and flowers growing there. Memories flood your mind. Memories of when you first came to the temple as a youngling. Memories of exploring the temple’s secret passages as a young padawan. Memories of spending your day by Obi-Wan’s side, climbing trees, wrestling in the gardens after dark, gazing up at the night sky and speaking of all the places you’d explore as Jedi, places you promised to explore together. 

You stop at a bench and take a seat, trying to clear your mind of moments long gone. Everything had changed after the sudden death of your master while on Er’Kit, a planet distraught by slavery. The loss of your master forced you to become a Jedi Knight suddenly and take over the number of missions assigned to them. What followed was change: you had a chance to travel the galaxy and make a difference in countless planets. But with that change came loss: you hadn’t been on Coruscant for more than ten years, losing the only home you ever knew, and with that the person you knew understood you like no other.

You feel a change in the Force before you hear him. Over the years you had grown skilled at noticing changes in Force signatures. The Force signature headed your way is unmistakable. 

He takes a seat next to you, his cloak rustling against yours, his thigh a breath away from your own. The both of you sit in silence for some time, simply readjusting to be in each other’s presence after being apart for so long.

He decides to break the silence. 

“When I heard you were coming back to Coruscant I didn’t believe it.”

You chuckle, keeping your eyes on the garden. “I didn’t either. The council had promised me countless times I could return only for something else to pop up.”

“Well there’s no better person than you to lead our efforts in freeing those in captivity. You always were so caring of others.”

You wait a heartbeat before turning to face him and notice he had been looking at you this entire time. Your eyes scan his face, taking him in, really taking all of him in, and looking for the man you had left behind all those years ago. You find him in the warmth of his eyes, present despite all the events the war had brought with it. 

“I tried to come back. As much as I knew I needed to continue on the operation, I tried coming back. I need you to know that I tried to contact you, I tried to tell you how sorry I was for —“ You don’t realize you’re rambling, eyes beginning to water, until he puts a hand over yours and soothingly shushes you.

“Shhhh Y/N. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know. Naboo was a long time ago. You had no control over anything that happened.” His thumb is rubbing circles on your hand, sending chills and warmth through you.

“My only regret is that I wasn’t here with you when you needed it. If only I hadn’t been send on the mission to Er’Kit maybe—“

“Don’t do that to yourself.” One of his hands moves to wipe a tear off your cheek. “My love, you’ve been through so much yourself. I know I wasn’t there then. But I am here now. You’re here now. We’re here now, and that’s more than I could ever hope for.”

Your heart clenches at his words, emotions that had built up and that had been pushed down for years finally surfacing. 

“You know, I almost didn’t recognize you,” you tell him. “Look at the man you’ve grown to be Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon would have been so proud.”

“Just as your master would have been proud of the person you’ve become. You’ve done so much for the people of the galaxy. Even if I wasn’t able to say it then, know that I’ve always been proud to know one of the best Jedi this galaxy has seen.” 

“I’ve missed you.”

“As I have missed you, my darling.”

You can’t hold back anymore, so you lean in to hug him. Obi-Wan wraps his arms securely around you, enveloping you in his warmth and in his Force signature. Though its been too long since you’ve felt his embrace, it feels as if you’ve never left his side.

“I’ve always cared for you Obi,” you whisper into his shoulder. “Deeply.”

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you, my sweet. My life is a million times better with you in it. I’m glad you’re finally home.”

Home. You used to think the Jedi temple was home. But now you realize you’d been wrong. Home wasn’t a place for you, but a person. 

He didn’t need to say it. His embrace, his warmth said it all. Let me be your home. 

“I’m glad I’m home.”

-------------------

Tags (ps feel free to ignore / lmk if you’d like to be removed)

@anakin-danvers @acciokenobi​ @obirain​ @goldenkenobi​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @cherrykenobi​ @valkyrieofthehighfae​ @corellians-only​ @a-dorin​ @jediforce​ @snips-n-skyguy0501​ @anakinswhore​ @sweeetteaa​ @weirdfangirl2416​ 

[realbeeing]

ancestral trauma & healing

I’ve recently come to understand what it means to honor my ancestors. I had heard mystics and shamans talk about how we can either relate to our ancestors in an unhealthy way— by holding onto their pain and perpetuating it unconsciously— or in a healthy way, by doing our best to work through the dysfunctions they passed on to us, starting to identify the pain as not solely our own but part of a chain of experience from which now another decision can be made. Breaking the cycle, in other words. 

Lately I started to feel a lot about my Jewish heritage, especially because I got a DNA test where it was confirmed I am pretty much of three-quarters Ashkenazi Jewish descent. I already knew my father’s family and maternal grandmother’s family came from that tribe so it was not a huge surprise, but with the company I bought the test from, they reveal not just that you are of Ashkenazi descent but what that particular descent really means: usually being one-half to two-thirds Arab genetics with the other part Southern European genetics, often Italian. In my case, I learned I had about a third Arab and Near-East origins and another third Italian. (My levels were lower because I have one non-Jewish, Irish grandparent).

Going through my results brought to light a new realization for me about the story of my ancestors. The Jewish people had moved around a lot: from the Middle East, to the Roman Empire, to the German kingdom and then further into Eastern Europe. And then many of them left Europe entirely to come to the United States or to Israel, havens for the Jewish population. For some reason I had never really thought about what it took for my ancestors— really just my great grandparents — to come all the way to America  It was not like they just decided one day to to travel to a new continent for a vacation. Nowadays it’s hard to understand the scope of such travel before the time of cheap and abundant flights and a more globalized culture. I can’t imagine what it was like to uproot yourself from your homeland and go to a place where your familiar language wasn’t spoken, where the culture was totally different. No, they must have come here out of necessity. My family has kept scant records though so I can only speculate. 

I have read a lot about anti-semitism recently and the pogroms that occurred in Eastern Europe, where my ancestors were living. The Jews were always on the run, a persecuted people, for whatever reason that is still mysterious to me. Were we victims? Were we perpetuating this cycle ourselves from a victim complex? I wasn’t there to know. 

Jews have learned to make a home in many places. I feel that in myself in my need to travel and the desire I’ve had since being a child of running away, being a nomad, going to an unknown land. Yet what is my enjoyment was their serious task. In my youthful seeking phase I contacted a bunch of different eclectic religious paths, settling into the Hare Krishna way for a couple of years in Peru as well as going into strange rabbit holes about all sorts of new age topics such as aliens and lost civilizations. In this period, I hardly thought about Judaism at all, nor my ancestors. I was convinced the body is just a phantasm, that we are soul first and thus that my true ancestry was first cosmic and that any earthly ties were not a subject for any earnest consideration. Growing up on North American native land, spending time on Andean land, going deep into Vedic religion— I was a mix of many influences and those related to blood seemed like the least relevant. 

In my Krishna commune, we called our group “family” and I think genuinely felt that way about each other. It was not genetics that connected us but a spiritual purpose and a belief we were all headed to the same lofty quarters of heaven. I remember learning one Hebrew song after hearing tons of Vedic chants and seeing a Star of David in my mind’s eye during a sweat lodge, but other than that my ethnic-spiritual past seemed far away.  

Meanwhile it wasn’t until a couple of years after leaving that group when I began to do a lot of deeper healing than that which had been supposedly dealt with in my religion, when I thought all my burdens had been lit on fire by god. In a way it was true: I received a spiritual communion which rooted itself so deeply in my consciousness that I can never go back to who I was before that experience. But still there was quite a deep wound to address, namely a traumatic childhood based on being abused by a parent. A parent who was abused by their own parent. And so on: a chain not of spiritual transmission but of shit. They were not the ancestors how I would have liked to imagine them: old sages or native chiefs whispering wise words in my ear. I did not want to admit the reality of the situation for a long time because of my chronic conditioning to downplay serious events in my life, brushing them aside because I never thought they were important enough—  which was an idea I had been brandished with by my abuser. Also it went against the image I had of myself as this spiritually liberated person. It wasn’t necessarily that this image was a complete illusion, which is a tempting conclusion to make when we receive a humbling from life. It would be easier to dismiss the entire past— but nothing can be so black and white. My ancestors are not all good or all evil. My initial spiritual experimentation did yield some truly healing moments. That was real for the time being. I could find meaning as a “galactic” citizen. But then eventually I did have to come down to earth. Another layer of the spiral had to unfold. A death had to take place. 

At first I resisted it and I saw my life stagnate a lot. Besides the fact that I was forcibly stranded in a rural country not my own due to the worldwide pandemic, I was stuck creatively, mentally and socially. I was isolating myself both physically and in way of ideas. I slowly started to become more interested in conspiracy theories, especially since world events have gotten so crazy which has sparked a whole tidal wave of increased paranoid thinking among everyone. Forget my ancestors being persecuted-- I was being persecuted just for being alive! The essential message of love—which was the lesson of all my valuable spiritual trips— was sometimes forgotten and the adrenaline rush of fear or excitement at some impending catastrophic event became almost a hobby and stood in for giving my time and energy to more creative and nourishing endeavors. It took a location move and I think my Saturn return to really kickstart a new cycle for myself, one where I do want to look at the pain I have been carrying and see how this pain is both mine and is not. The suffering in my genetic line is both something I can transcend out of and something I am inexplicably bound to and responsible for addressing. 

In the recognition of pain comes the power needed to finally confront it head on. I thought I had already sufficiently looked into my past and done the emotional purging work— but it was a whole new step for me to acknowledge the abuse as well as to acknowledge that I had some degree of trauma from what I went through. What followed from taking this step was not only more self-love and psychological balance but also a razing of my mental inventory: I was not exactly who I thought I was. This clearing made space for new inspiration and motivation, for the courage to create beauty where I could. To make jewelry, paint, dance, run, sing. Things I had forgotten and filled instead with trivial information. That was okay then, and I am okay now too. It is not some before/after scenario: that paradigm of healing is over. Like I said, healing is a spiral which unfurls at its own pace. I am exactly where I need to be. And from this vantage point, I can better hear what my ancestors are speaking to me, and I listen— while also telling them, I’m going to do things a bit differently now. We are going to do things different. 

[the-fiction-witch]

Escape P2 : stuck together

MOVIE STAR WARS THE FORCE AWAKENS

COUPLE THANISSON X READER

RATING FUNNY

I loaded everything up in the escape pod getting a launch organized and just as I keyed it in I felt the ship take a hit, alarms blazing and the mass of panic above me. I quickly launched the pod and did my best to keep myself up but I was quickly floored by the violent ejection. I tried to keep focused as I saw the rebel ships attacking the finalizer if I didn't know better I'd say they where to take it down. I feared for Bill, for my friends and the civilians aboard but I knew the first order would never let them go. I took another jolt as I hit into the atmosphere of the nearest habitable planet, the third moon of Lentos I would be safe there, and soon enough the pod hit the ground and the door opened.

"Fuck! I know it's emergency escape but… a little gentler couldn't kill you" I sighed as I climbed out onto the bright blue grass, I had landed the pod fine it's cool open wide things scattered all over the floor from the landing, like a little strange sci-fi house sat into the dirt of this world, the grass blue around me, with bright white flowers growing, the pod had landed by a source of fresh water as it was programed to, a beautiful folecent pink waterfall against black rocks coming out into a beautiful pond beside the pod. The air was so fresh, crisp and clean. There was a tall wood of orange trees around the clearing and waterfall. In all honesty I didn't mind it, it was beautiful here. 

But my peace was rather suddenly interrupted, by a yell of complaint.

"UUUUGHHHHH! What stupid little bastard has upturned my whole damn-" the voice began as a girl climbed out of the pod door looking dishevelled and confused she was humanoid like me with bright purple hair, and some little green lines across her face, she was undeniably increadly beautiful, she stood in a white tank top and red jumpsuit tied around her waist some bands up her arm, her hair in a strange braid. I couldn't deny I looked as confused too see her as she did to see me. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" I asked her

"I asked you first, and what have you done to my pod?"

"Your pod? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Who are you!"

"Officer Thanisson, first order officer stationed aboard the finalizer, three years into tour aboard,... Departure control." I explained and her first move confused me. She lifted her shirt, I couldn't keep my eyes off her and what she was doing as she pulled her shirt up I had already noticed her rather… uhh voluptuous breasts but I saw under her shirt was a holster she grabbed a knife and went for me I held her back as best I could getting her down into the grass pinning her hands above her head and knocking the knife from her hand "now...you tell me. Who are you?" I ordered her 

"Never!"

"Who are you! And why did you just try to…."

"Let me go!" She kicked and complained trying get out my grip but I put as much of my weight in her as I could even if I didn't have much to do so

"I will when you tell me"

"Ughh fine!" She complained "y/n y/l/n. First commanding officer of the rebel alliance for sectors nine through twelve" she explained and I froze moving away from her a moment

"You- you're a rebel?"

"And your a first order rat"

"What were you doing in the pod?"

"I was stationed in the finalizer, tracking, coding, keeping an eye" she explained

"You'd been hiding out in the escape pod this whole time?"

"Yes, they have quarters, life support systems, escape pods are basically livable ships in their own right. I've been hiding since pento three"

"Pento three! That was galaxies back"

"I know"

"You… you're transmissions in and out, that's what I was picking up on my scanner, this whole time my little radio was, pick up you and your messages down in the pods?"

"I assume so." She says "are you going to kill me?"

"I should." I told her "but… I deserted. I'm no better than you"

"You'd have died if you hadn't"

"I know. The first order expects you… to die at your post. For the order."

"You didn't wanna die?"

"I didn't want to March blindly into my own death." I told her "either way we're dead. Or worse, the first order finds us I'm dead for desertion, and you're dead for being a rebel. The rebels find us they'll execute me anyway. And if some other ship finds us… death would be a welcome treat for where we'd end up"

"Someone will find us. Where are we?"

"First habitable planet the pod found, third moon of Lentos"

"... Wait what?"

"We're on the third moon of Lentos." I told her again she seemed panicked rushing back into the pod and checking the computer seeing I was right 

"You. Absolute. Fucking. Idiot!" She yelled throwing various things from the pod floor at me "Lentos! Is closed! The whole system! Is in quarantine!" 

"In what!"

"You dumb ass first order boys never heard of the Lentos flu! That causes lung dry, black mucus, skin blistering, and a horrible horrible death!" 

"How do you catch it!"

"You breath Lentos oxygen you dumb ass! The whole system is in a ultraviolet sun causing all animals and vegetation to form in rainbow luminescent colours!" She yelled pointing to the said environment we were now in. "And makes them release a compound that gives all non Lentos matter the Lentos flu"

"Ohh god. We're dead!" I Screamed trying so hard not to breathe.

"We guess we don't need to worry because knowone is coming to get us. And we'll be lucky were not dead within the week."

"There has to be something call a nurse or something" I explain rushing into the pod shutting the door into a tight airlock and I found the Lentos monitoring system and rang them up and a robotic voice answered

"Hello, due to Lentos flu our system is in quarantine, if you have businesses with a resident they are dead, for symptoms press one. For drop off press two. For all other issues press three."

I pressed three and it finally rang and reaches a man at a desk 

"Hello how can I help you today?"

"Hi, yeah uhh we just had an emergency evaluation from…. Our ship" I lied "were in an escape pod on Lentos three… we uhh we may have been exposed to the oxygen… what do we do?" I asked 

"Okay, you are aware you will be fined sixty nine credits for entering the planet due to quarantine restrictions." He says 

"But we crashed! In an escape pod!" Y/n complained

"Sorry but that's the rules"

"It's fine we'll pay it, what do we do?" I asked

"Quick question are you humanoid?"

"Yes, humanoid" y/n yelled

"Yes we're both humanoid."

"Okay then now you have both definitely taken a lung full of the oxygen?"

"Yes, what's going to happen to us?" Y/n asks 

"Likely not very much you see an interesting fact about Lentos flu is that humanoids reaction to is is actually very minimal the issue is once you take even a mouth full of that oxygen into your body Lentos flu fuses to human lung tissue meaning yes you are one hundred percent both now infected with Lentos flu however humanoids don't suffer symptoms or even death your just carriers if we let you out you'll be carrying the flu until your very death"

"So… it won't kill us?"

"It's a fifteen thousand to one chance you'll even get a fever" 

"Ohh. So we're carriers, what does that mean?"

"It means you need to stay on quarantine can't have the flu getting out"

"Okay, so how long for?" She asks 

"Uhh just let me translate it to humanoid life spans, one hundred and sixty two years."

"One… one hundred and sixty years!" I yelled "so we're stuck here till we either get the flu and die or die naturally?"

"I'm afraid so"

"Isn't there another option?" She asks

"We can kill you now. If you'd prefer?"

"So we're stuck here indefinitely?"

"Yes we can start up a supply delivery and other such deliveries for needed items have a nice day." He said before it cut off

"So… I guess we're stuck here together"

"I guess so" she sighed "I can the bedroom of the pod you can have the shitty room with the hammock"

"What why!"

"Because I'm a girl, and I called it" she says walking to get her things sorted.

[onewfantaesy]

Spare King AU

Taemin was ten when the explosion happened, and Boa was 22. It’s suddenly a huge shift in power and roles for the both of them; their whole lives are turned upside down in a split second.

Taemin immediately becomes King, but he’s too young to really be an active royal. Instead, Boa becomes a regent for him. She manages most of the duties Taemin would otherwise be in charge of, that he’ll eventually inherit once he’s old enough.

But all of their grandparents have since passed away, other family members are distant relatives or live outside of the country since they were fringe members of the royal family. They’re not particularly close to any uncles or aunts or cousins; as far as Taemin is concerned, he doesn’t really have any. Sure, he technically does, but he doesn’t really know them well enough to care about them all too much.

Taemin’s whole life changes overnight though. He no longer attends school, and instead has private tutors at the palace. He no longer plays soccer, or takes ballet, or sees his friends. He feels so entirely isolated and alone, and Boa is too busy and overwhelmed herself in those first few years to be able to really help him. They’re both suffering in their own ways, and neither of them really get the help they need.

But while he may not be able to go to the ballet studio for lessons, he does eventually convince enough people to bring in a private dance instructor. At first it’s only twice a week, and only if he’s done exceptionally well during his lessons. But then it’s three days a week, then five, and it quickly becomes the only outlet he has at his disposal.

He dances for hours even after his instructor has left, until his legs are like jelly and his head is swimming and he falls to floor in a heap.

“Why are you still in here?” Boa asks one night. It’s pitch black outside and the lights in the room aren’t very bright, and Taemin is on the floor staring at his reflection in a mirror. “It’s time for bed. You missed dinner. Gave everyone quite a fright.”

Taemin doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t make a sound. Just continues staring at himself and watching in the reflection as Boa moves further into the room and kneels down beside him.

“Come on,” she says gently, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “It’s time for bed now.”

When Taemin still doesn’t say anything for another few minutes, Boa finally sighs.

“You’re not waiting for me to call you Your Majesty or Your Highness or some shit, are you?” she teases.

Taemin moves then, but it’s to cover his head with his arms and hide his face in the floor. Boa moves closer then, leans further down to squeeze Taemin’s shoulder and whisper reassuring words in his ear. He doesn’t cry though. He refuses to cry anymore. He already gets called all sorts of names in the papers because of ballet, he can’t be a crybaby on top of it.

“Let’s get some chocolate before bed,” Boa tries.

“Not hungry,” he finally whispers.

“Then please let me take you to your room,” Boa begs. “And be at breakfast tomorrow morning. I’ve missed you the last few days. I know you’re the King now, but you’re still a growing boy.”

She had meant it to be teasing, but Taemin just gets more upset at the reminder of being King.

“I miss my friends,” he finally admits. “I miss going to school and dance and soccer and-”

“I miss my friends too,” Boa tries to tell him.

“It’s not the same!” he argues, sitting up and turning to glare at her. “You can go out at night! And on the weekends! You get to see your friends and have fun while I’m stuck in here like some prisoner!”

“You are far from being a prisoner,” she tells him.

“How would you know?” he spits. “You barely ever see me anymore! You don’t have time for me anymore!”

“Because I’m busy doing the job you’re too young to do yourself!” she snaps.

It’s a comment that really hurts him, even if he doesn’t fully understand why. It makes him scramble to stand up and run to his quarters, slamming every door he goes through on the way. Once inside his own rooms, he slams books in the ground and kicks pillows across the room and screams.

When he’s finished, his rooms are a mess, his face is flushed, and his entire body is sweating. He ends up in the bathroom, sitting in the shower until the water turns ice cold, then drags himself to bed.

The maid that wakes him up in the mornings gasps at the mess, but still opens his curtains anyway as she greets him.

“I’ll clean up once you’re in your lessons, sir,” she tells him. “Princess Boa requested you attend breakfast this morning.”

“Tell her to get bent,” he snaps, and he rolls over to pull a pillow over his head.

“Sir,” she says, her voice a cross between horrified and amused. Then she leaves.

His maid ends up bringing a tray of breakfast foods and juices, but Taemin doesn’t touch it. He leaves for lessons five minutes before they start, and he’s in a terrible mood the entire day. He spends the entire day staring out the window of the upper floor where his lessons are held. He can see the press camped outside, waiting for anyone to leave the palace. He wishes they’d snap his picture; it would mean he was going outside.

[nmnostalgiadrabbles]

Then and Now - Iwaoi

soooo put all three together bc that’s what I should’ve done in the first place lol

 The story of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, over the years.

 -

 They’ve kissed more than their teammates might think.

The first time, they were twelve, on one of their days off from practice in the summer and they’d spent all morning searching for caterpillars. They come in for watermelon and a break from the sun and humidity, that, once they’re upstairs reading Iwaizumi’s comic books splayed out on the floor, turns into a nap. A half hour later, they wake, and Godzilla resumes defending Japan from another kaiju terrorizing the earth on glossy pages beneath sticky fingers. They talk a little as they read, about caterpillars and the upcoming school year, volleyball and what Iwaizumi’s mom is making for dinner.

“What do you think kissing is like?” Oikawa says, stretched out on his back with his hands folded on his stomach. He’s counting the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on Iwaizumi’s ceiling. “Makki and Hanna got married on the playground the other day and got in trouble for kissing.”

Iwaizumi grunts, uninterested really, but a couple moments pass and he decides he’d like to know too. After all, he and Oikawa compete in just about everything else; he can’t lose here either, even if he is feeling kind of chicken. So he sits up cross legged, and Oikawa follows, and they don’t say a lot, but before they lean in, Oikawa asks, “Should we close our eyes?”

Iwaizumi hasn’t a clue but he says he thinks so.

And it’s exactly what an experimental kiss between twelve-year old best friends should be: scrunched up faces and pursed lips that meet only for a second before they pull away and look at each other again.

Iwaizumi grunts again, shrugging a shoulder, and Oikawa agrees.

“Yeah, don’t really get what all the fuss was about.”

 The second time, they’re fifteen, and its after Oikawa’s knee starts hurting during practice. Aside from sets that aren’t up to Oikawa’s own standard – but still entirely hittable, Iwaizumi thinks – Iwaizumi knows his partner well-enough to see that something isn’t right. He doesn’t mention it during practice, and neither do the coaches; they probably think he’s just having an off day. He’d been kind of tightly wound since Kageyama had taken his place in that match, after all.

They walk home together, where usually Oikawa is skipping about in front of him, going on about his latest girlfriend, but today, he lags behind in strange silence.

Iwaizumi turns to face him and goes for normalcy. “Shittykawa, spit it out.”

Oikawa looks up. Iwaizumi wants to see his face twist into that all-too-familiar shit-eating grin. Instead, he notices Oikawa looks pale. He’s leaning to one side – weight on one foot – and says, in a voice Iwaizumi has never heard before, “It hurts, Iwa-chan,”

They make it home to Iwaizumi’s, because Oikawa’s parents are out of town and he’s staying over, and Iwaizumi helps him up the stairs and onto his bed, leaving him for a moment to retrieve an ice pack from the refrigerator downstairs. He offers ibuprofen too, but Oikawa says he needs to be able to feel it.

“What? Why?”

Oikawa mumbles out an answer that Iwaizumi doesn’t like: that he needs it to hurt to remind him to try harder.

“Don’t be a dumbass. Your play is already suffering; if you continue like this, it’ll get worse and then Kageyama will take your place for good.”

Oikawa flinches and looks away from Iwaizumi, who’s kneeling at his legs and holding the ice pack in place.

“I want you setting for me, not him.” Then he stands and chastely kisses the top of Oikawa’s head, hair unreasonably soft, in one quick motion.  

“Iwa-chan, if you wanted to kiss me you could have just said so,”

Iwaizumi slaps the back of his head and stomps downstairs to start dinner.

 The third time, they’re seventeen, cicadas call loudly, and they’ve come back from a run. They’ve just had lunch, and Iwaizumi tastes like peanut butter and Oikawa like a popsicle.

“‘Blue’ isn’t even a flavor, it’s a color,” he says, and Oikawa sticks his purple tongue out. Iwaizumi makes a face, but Oikawa’s put a hand behind his head and leisurely, like he’d done it as often as he’d served a volleyball, kisses Iwaizumi. It isn’t like when they were twelve.

Oikawa pulls back, triumphant, saying, “See, there is flavor.”

 The fourth time, they’re eighteen, getting ready for bed early because they’ve a match in the morning, brushing their teeth in Oikawa’s bathroom, play-fighting with elbows until Oikawa swallows some toothpaste and hacks over the sink while Iwaizumi, already rinsed clean, cackles behind him till his stomach hurts. Oikawa catches his breath and rinses eventually, and turns to Iwaizumi, who recognizes the danger immediately. He intends to flee from the bathroom, but Oikawa, long-limbed and oddly flexible, manages the get the door shut. Iwaizumi does his best to look intimidating, but Oikawa smiles confidently and ghosts his hands over Iwaizumi’s ribs. Involuntarily, Iwaizumi shudders as Oikawa says, “Please, Iwa-chan. In close quarters like this, you don’t stand a chance. I know your weakness.”

Iwaizumi swallows, mouth parted in a nervous, have mercy smile, but Oikawa will have none of it. The same fingers that deliver the only sets Iwaizumi could ever ask for tickle his sides till he wheezes and tears form. He breaks mostly free and reaches for the doorknob, but Oikawa seizes the opening and then Iwaizumi’s back to laughing and trying desperately to grab hold of Oikawa’s hands while still defending himself. A few misfires, but eventually he gets one and holds it behind Oikawa’s back and the edge of the vanity while he nabs the other wrist and takes them both his is calloused hand. He presses forward with his whole body, still breathing heavy, but finally, finally he can relax.

Oikawa smirks. “I could get free if I wanted to.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “No you couldn’t.”

Oikawa’s smirk remains, and entirely too confidently for someone with his arms pinned behind him, he leans forward and looks Iwaizumi directly in the eyes as he kisses him. It’s brief, so he can pull back and raise his hands and wiggle his fingers.

“Told ya,” he says, and Iwaizumi expects him to cross his arms over his chest and continue gloating, but he doesn’t. Well, he still gloats, but he puts his hands on Iwaizumi’s sides again, and Iwaizumi sucks in a breath.

“I like them here better. Don’t you?”

Iwaizumi swallows. Looks at Oikawa, all smiles and lidded eyes, and decides this time will be different.

So he pushes forward and they kiss there, in the warm light of the half-bath off the corner of Iwaizumi’s room, with open mouths and think they’ve finally understood what all the fuss is about. Iwaizumi half-wonders if maybe Oikawa understood a while ago, because he moves himself and directs Iwaizumi with a confidence Iwaizumi doesn’t have yet. At some point though, they separate, and Iwaizumi is pleased to find Oikawa’s face – and mouth – as red as his feels.

They hear the front door close and Iwaizumi’s mom call out. Iwaizumi wavers, but Oikawa grabs his face and kisses him hard, and a moment later darts out the door, down the stairs and in into, Iwaizumi suspects, the kitchen, where he’ll be hiding behind Iwaizumi’s own mother. Iwaizumi clambers after him.

 The fifth time, they’re still eighteen, but they’ve just lost to Karasuno. Oikawa knows it isn’t the end for him, but it’s bitter, because it’s the end for him and Iwaizumi.

He’s glad when Iwaizumi turns up at the Shiratorizawa-Karasuno showdown. He’d been afraid to reach out and meet up formally because what if it hurt? He didn’t feel like crying anymore; he’d done enough of that. And it does hurt, them analyzing the match together. Hearing Iwaizumi call him an asshole and laughing because he knows it’s true. Toward the end, Oikawa, unsure, says, “I was imagining it was us out there.”

“Me too.”

They get coffee. Iwaizumi remarks about how little crème Oikawa gets in his.

“I’ve got to start taking care of myself,” Oikawa replies, and Iwaizumi reads between the lines.

“Come back to my place. I’ll make dinner.”

“‘Your place?’ You still live with your parents, Iwa-chan,”

Iwaizumi huffs. “They’re out. We’ll have to stop at the grocery first. Guess I oughtta teach you how to do that too, huh.”

Oikawa smiles, but when Iwaizumi turns and heads out the café door, it slips.

He wants to enjoy these last moments together, so he laughs and teases Iwaizumi like he should, but it’s hard, so after dinner when Iwaizumi puts a movie on, Oikawa excuses himself to the bathroom upstairs, sees the toothpaste on the counter, and cries. He’s in the there entirely too long and knows Iwaizumi is probably getting suspicious, but he’s still surprised when he opens the door to find Iwaizumi flipping through an old comic book on his bed.

Oikawa sniffs.

Iwaizumi pats the space next to him.

Oikawa curls beside him with his head on Iwaizumi’s stomach and tries to breathe without shaking. Iwaizumi puts the comic book down. They’d done this before. Oikawa had cried in front of Iwaizumi more times that he’d cried alone, though he can’t help but think that will be changing. Universities across the world from each other – how could they ever hope to close that distance?

“I know you’re thinking.”

“Iwa-chan had a thought?” Oikawa hides his face in Iwaizumi’s sweatshirt.

“I’m trying to be genuine here, asshole.”

Oikawa has a decision to make – allow Iwaizumi to start this conversation, the one he wants to pretend won’t happen if he avoids it, or try to enjoy one of their last nights together. He isn’t sure he can do either.

He feels a hand in his hair, soft and warm, and though he knows Iwaizumi is offering comfort, Oikawa needs to take more. So he sits up, sets his glasses on Iwaizumi’s bed-side table, and moves to straddle his best friend’s waist.

Iwaizumi is taken aback. He’s perceptive, but Oikawa can be a mystery if he really wants to be, and now, Iwaizumi notes, is one of those times. He waits. Watches Oikawa’s chest rise and fall.

Oikawa puts his hands on Iwaizumi’s chest. He can do this. He wants to do this. He has to do this. There likely won’t be another chance. With worry and separation in the back of his mind, he leans down and kisses Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi kisses him back, moves his hands to either side of Oikawa’s waist, above the hips but below the ribs, which is an incredible relief; Oikawa had half-expected Iwaizumi to say no, we shouldn’t, not like this, or worse, just no, because he didn’t want Oikawa the way Oikawa wanted him. That just because they’d kissed a couple times didn’t mean he’d mourn him from how-ever many thousand miles away. How could Oikawa blame him? They weren’t even twenty, and Iwaizumi was going to move on from volleyball. He was going to study sports medicine in college, but that wasn’t a team sport; Oikawa couldn’t be a part of that world, and maybe that was for the better. Maybe that was what Iwaizumi wanted.

Oikawa feels sick at the thought, and decides that at least for this moment and the few that would follow, he would be something Iwaizumi wanted.

Oikawa kisses him in what he thinks is the sexiest way possible. Tongue, but not too much, just enough to tease, because that about sums up his entire personality, doesn’t it? If Iwaizumi could read his thoughts he would have said no, you’re entirely too much, all the time.

Oikawa holds back tears.

He presses his hips down and wills himself to feel something that doesn’t hurt. He trails wet kisses from Iwaizumi’s mouth to his jaw to his neck – the kind that leaves bruises – and Iwaizumi, who is breathing faster than normal, whose hands roam from Oikawa’s sides to his shoulder blades to his hair, makes a noise Oikawa hasn’t heard before. Oikawa’s chest tightens.

It stops when Oikawa pauses opens his eyes because he stupidly, stupidly wanted to see what Iwaizumi, what Haijime looked like beneath him. It’s everything he’s hoped for – flushed down to his neck, red, shiny lips parted perfectly for his own, eyes shut almost tightly, almost like it was too much and Oikawa would cement this moment, this Haijime in the back of his mind for the rest of his life – but Iwaizumi opens his eyes, why Oikawa didn’t know, and for a reason Oikawa is frustrated he can’t overcome, Iwaizumi blinks and it’s too late, it’s over Oikawa recognizes; Iwaizumi has been snapped from the moment Oikawa had tried so desperately to create, and all the ones he’d hoped would come after.

“Oikawa,”

How could he live without hearing Iwaizumi say his name like that ever again? Say his name at all?

“Oikawa, what’s wrong?”

So it had been his fault after all. He’s given himself away, but isn’t sure how until Iwaizumi brings a hand to his cheek and Oikawa feels him thumb wetness away.

Iwaizumi sits up as best he can, pillows at his back, and looks at Oikawa with the furrowed brow Oikawa had loved from the moment Iwaizumi’s face had first scrunched up when they were five and Iwaizumi had stepped in water with his sock feet.

Oikawa hunches down with his fists in the fabric of Iwaizumi’s sweatshirts and doesn’t care that he sounds like a child.

“It hurts, Iwa-chan,”

Iwaizumi puts his arms around Oikawa’s shaking shoulders.

“I know,” he says. Oikawa raises abruptly; had he heard that right? The tremor in Iwaizumi’s voice?

He finds Iwaizumi is crying too.

“I said I knew what you were thinking, didn’t I?”

Oikawa can’t help it – he laughs. They both spend a moment wiping their faces and sniffing, and then Oikawa says what he’s always felt.

“I love you,”

He’s never imagined how Iwaizumi would react to hearing those words from him because he’s never imagined himself really and actually saying them.

But maybe Iwaizumi has, because he says without hesitation, “I love you too.”

And even though not all of the pain is gone, enough is that Oikawa can grin again, honestly, and says, “Iwa-chan that’s so embarrassing!”

Maybe Iwaizumi hadn’t thought that far ahead, because he balks for a moment, but only a moment since this is Shittykawa after all, and launches himself into Oikawa’s torso so convincingly they tumble off his bed and this time, Iwaizumi makes sure he comes out on top so he can mercilessly dole out payback for that time in the bathroom. Oikawa writhes and shrieks beneath him with smiles Iwaizumi catalogues for when they can’t torcher each other like this every night. Because Iwaizumi is so pleased with himself, he takes Oikawa’s wrists in one hand and pins them above his head, further pleased at the blush that spreads across Oikawa’s cheeks and ears. He basks in his victory and tries his hand at the patented Oikawa smirk.

“You can’t kiss me now,” he says.

Oikawa goes still beneath him, surprise evident.

“Guess you’ll just have to let me do that part.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, but he grins and licks his lips.

 .

They don’t actually talk about who won or lost. There’s a jab and a comeback and then they just laugh. They separate to celebrate with their own teams, out for dinner, but Iwaizumi tells Oikawa to come by his room later.

Oikawa makes likes he’s offended, going as far as to summon a faux blush and says, “Aren’t you supposed to take me out first?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and says, “I want to check out your knee. I know you’ve got your own trainer, but a second opinion never hurt anyone.”

Oikawa leans close, and Iwaizumi breathes once, twice, his sweat and deodorant and the way he’s smelled since they were kids. Feels the hand hot on his shoulder.

“But what if I want it to?”

But then he pulls back and he’s just one big shit-eating grin.

Iwaizumi laughs. “I don’t know why I thought you’d mature,”

Oikawa’s teammates call him over, apparently there’s an interviewer waiting for him, which doesn’t surprise Iwaizumi at all, so Oikawa just says for Iwaizumi to text him his room number.

It’s late when he comes by, and Iwaizumi hounds him about getting enough sleep. Oikawa falls with a huff on the twin bed by the window.

“Who’s the one keeping me up?”

Iwaizumi comes to stand at the foot. “This doesn’t count; it’s for good reason.”

“You think you’re worth losing sleep?”

Iwaizumi forgot how often he rolled his eyes when in Oikawa’s presence. “Sit up, put your feet on the floor, legs a ninety-degree angle.”

Oikawa complies, and in his best nauseatingly-sweet voice asks a third question. “Do you talk to all your players like that?”

Iwaizumi kneels in front of him and then realizes.

“Tell me you’re wearing something under those?”

Oikawa nearly short-circuits thinking up the perfect response but he just ends up laughing and stepping out of his sweats.

“Thank God.” Iwaizumi resumes his place kneeling on the patterned carpet and put his hands on Oikawa’s thigh.

“It’s the other one,” Oikawa says.

“I know. But you can’t be trusted not to fuck yourself up for volleyball.”

Oikawa snorts. A few moments later, Iwaizumi moves to the other, pressing into the tissues carefully. A little longer, and then he uses his thumbs to dig.

“Tell me if anything hurts.” He scoffs and corrects himself. “Tell me what hurts.”

“Is it so hard to believe I’ve learned to take care of myself?”

Iwaizumi moves one hand to the other knee and feels them simultaneously for comparison. “It really is.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just watches Iwaizumi continue his examination. He thinks about reaching a hand up to feel Iwaizumi’s hair.

“Okay, lie back.”

“Oh good, the fun part.” Oikawa winks and Iwaizumi flicks him.

“The first thing you do when we see each other after all this time is feel me up and physically abuse me, Iwaizumi? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Iwaizumi holds Oikawa’s ankle in one hand and behind his knee above the calf in the other. He puts a knee on the bed and presses forward. Only when Oikawa’s thigh is entirely flush to his chest does he wince. Iwaizumi watches him for a moment, as Oikawa pointedly looks up at the ceiling.

“Fucker,” Iwaizumi says. “You’re supposed to say when it hurts.”

“I didn’t want you to stop,”

They’re quiet for a moment, looking at each other, till Iwaizumi releases Oikawa’s leg and settles between his thighs. He moves forward, slowly, because it’s been too, too long since he’d torchered Oikawa proper. One hand on Oikawa’s right side, the other on his left, and he bends down like he’s going to kiss him. But he stops and breathes, leans back just enough when Oikawa lifts his head to meet, and chuckles at his irritation. Oikawa squints, takes the fabric of his shirt in his fists and finally – because honestly it had been torcher for Iwaizumi, too – they’re kissing.

They’re steady for a beat, until Iwaizumi feels a hand tug his hair and then they’re touching all over and scrambling for purchase to bring themselves closer, as close as physically possible after being continents apart, and mold into one another.

Then Iwaizumi pulls away for just a moment because he really wants to see what Oikawa looks like kissed stupid after so, so long.

“God,” he breathes.

“You haven’t called me that in some time,” Oikawa manages, and Iwaizumi laughs. The texts, the phone calls – they’d been enough because they were all the two of them had had for months on end, for years, but now, to see Oikawa blush for him, feel his mouth open for him? Iwaizumi doesn’t cry, but Oikawa reaches up to kiss his cheek like he had. Then he licks the same spot with what felt like basset-hound level slobber and falls back in hysterics while he watches Iwaizumi furiously rub his face in the shoulder of his t-shirt.

Oikawa’s stomach flips when Iwaizumi looks at him again, and he lets Iwaizumi gather his wrists in one hand and hold them above his head. The other splays out on Oikawa’s stomach and it flips a second time.

“That’s more like it, Iwa-chan.”

 .

 It’s not entirely a grunt and it’s not entirely a groan, the noise that Oikawa makes as Iwaizumi digs his thumbs into his traps. It’s just a noise, Iwaizumi decides, that he likes – proper term irrelevant.

“You’re really tight,” he says.

From his spot on the floor in front of the edge of Iwaizumi’s bed where Oikawa sits so Iwaizumi can work more easily, Oikawa only turns his head enough to give him a side-eye and half-assed grin. Iwaizumi enjoys that he’s capable of doing something Oikawa likes enough to actually shut up.

“I hope you’re doing this yourself, too.”

“How’s that?”

“Put a tennis ball between the muscle you want to work and a wall and press back till you feel pressure that’s uncomfortable but not painful. I do it for myself all the time.”

“It is really a massage if you do it to yourself?”

“This isn’t a massage, asshole. It’s myofascial release. I just haven’t gotten to the part that hurts yet.”

“Are you sure you went to school for this? Massages are supposed to feel good, Iwa-chan.”

“You’ll feel good tomorrow.”

“Have you ever known me to be patient?”

Iwaizumi sighs. Thinks for a moment. “Alright, lie on your stomach.”

Oikawa, still half-sleep, rises with a groan (this time, definitely a groan) and crawls like a child up past their bedtime to the center of Iwaizumi’s bed. Iwaizumi grabs something from his work bag and moves to sit atop his waist. Oikawa hums with his eyes closed.

“This’ll be cold, but it’ll take the edge off.”

He sprays a menthol solution across Oikawa’s neck and shoulders and down his back. Oikawa flinches, but after Iwaizumi’s warm fingers return, he finds the familiar cooling sensation more than pleasant. It doesn’t quite numb the area, but it helps him relax the muscles he tenses unconsciously throughout the day.

“Do you foam roll?”

“Yeah, mostly my legs.” Oikawa mumbles into the comforter.

Iwaizumi works up high for several minutes before placing hands on either side of Oikawa’s spine a few inches above the waistline. They’re exploratory at first, lacking real pressure, but there’s one area that’s particularly sensitive and Oikawa jumps involuntarily.

“One hell of a knot there.”

He works it for a while.

“Sure you don’t wanna betray shorty and Ushiwaka and join our side?” Oikawa says between breathes Iwaizumi reminds him to keep taking.

“What, your trainer’s no good?”

“He’s plenty good, but nobody’s got your hands, Iwa.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Even if it’s not bothering you at the time, try and hit your back when you roll, too. You’ll end up pulling something when you serve eventually, otherwise. Do the tennis ball for your shoulders when you can’t get with your trainer.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond yet. It certainly is one hell of a knot, and he shuts his eyes and presses his lips together while Iwaizumi applies pressure that’s almost too much. Then Iwaizumi pulls back and Oikawa practically shudders.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says, sitting back. “It’s four-thirty. You should probably shower and head back to your room.”

Oikawa turns over on his back and rubs his hands up and down Iwaizumi’s forearms. “Yes, what would they say about you aiding the enemy? ‘Did you see? Oikawa returned from somewhere before the sun came up today – who could he have been visiting?’”

The corners of Iwaizumi’s lips curl. “As if they’d have to wonder.”

Oikawa props himself up on one elbow and reaches to place a hand behind Iwaizumi’s neck. He pulls him down and kisses him. Is kissed back.

“I’ll think about you tomorrow. When my neck –” another kiss. “– and my shoulders –” another. “– and my back –” just one more. “ – feel good.”

 .