#I’d say go outside and get some fresh air but maybe don’t that lest the maskwearers upset you

[eviltwinlil-la]

Are they. Like. Are they okay?

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Depths

Part Eight of Take Your Time

Two Days | Masterlist | Guilt

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand Rating: M (this may go up—if it does, I will give everyone fair warning before there is any explicit content) Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 🧡

Warnings: Cursing; angst; yearning

Summary: There are moments, small, infrequent moments, when a flicker of guilt passes between Oberyn and Ellaria.

The first day underwater is terrifying.

You’re queasy; you can’t keep anything but tea down. It’s not sea sickness, it’s nerves.

The boats are all in order, your team is set for the dive. Everyone is buzzing with excitement as they look over the plans that you’ve set out for them for the day. The first couple of days will be used for observation, planning, and photography. The water is cool; the visibility is better than anticipated. When you surface, you have fewer bubbles of fear, and more bubbles of nerves. A lot of the structures that you can identify as part of the Old Palace been very badly corroded; some have become artificial reefs for marine life, and you already know that you can’t disturb them, lest it harm the ecosystem that’s taken form. There were a few things glinting at the sea floor, a few materials that you believe are copper, but couldn’t get a good enough look at at the time—your tank had been low on oxygen, and the team in the boat had been urging you to surface for the last hour.

You tug your gear off, sucking in a breath of fresh air and raking a hand over your face. Your team is chattering around you, delighted, volleying species spotted, structures noticed. You cast your eyes back toward the water. The artificial reefs, what they were covering...Well, you’ll have to review the pictures, but you’re certain, based on what you’ve seen in drawings, that those were key components to the upper portions of the burial chambers. If you’re right, then there will be no touching them—the Dornish ecological society won’t allow it. “...Boss?” You turn your head back to your team. Someone’s said something to you and you’ve missed it. You push a smile onto your face. “Sorry guys, what’s up?” -- Oberyn and Ellaria see very little of their archaeologist in the week following. It’s not that they don’t try—they certainly do. They drop in on her classes, leave notes with invitations for dinner or drinks the desk in her office. They even take The Red Viper near the area of the dive once. They see her pulling on her gear just before she drops off of the boat and into the water. Oberyn watches her during one of her lectures. Where she’s had an ease, a joy to talking about these topics before, the archaeologist is now distracted and almost rigid in her teaching. He’s seen the papers, he knows that the early findings underwater haven’t been nearly as promising as she’d hoped. It’s beginning to wear on her, the threat of failure. And there are moments, small, infrequent moments, when a flicker of guilt passes between Oberyn and Ellaria. They know what else lays at Blackmont Cove—they know what she’s looking for, and they know that she won’t find it in the depths. But they’ve kept their anonymity for so long—they’ve managed to stay afloat by being careful. Doran and the Sand Snakes went out of their way to destroy so many depictions of them, save for the ones that remain in Blackmont Cove. If they’re found...Well, it’s not worth thinking about what may happen.

They get the notes that they leave for her back—slipped under their doors or pinned to the bulletin boards outside of their offices. They bear responses like Sorry, the dig is too busy, or, Some other time. This happens for weeks. They can’t even catch the archaeologist after her classes—she steams out of there, and they know she’s headed for the dive. Ellaria inspects the latest note that she left for the archaeologist—another invitation to the open-air market. This one just has a hurried scribble that reads Can’t. She glances up as Oberyn comes into the office, sees the slight calculation and subsequent concern in his expression. “You look troubled, my love,” He says. Ellaria holds the note out for him, and he takes it, looking over the response. She sees his brow furrow just a touch. “A disappointment, but not a surprise,” He passes the note back to her. “I suppose,” She concedes, looking down at the note again. Oberyn rests his hands on Ellaria’s hips as he considers her expression. “...What is it?” He presses. She takes in a deep breath, her eyes flitting around the office. “It’s just...Quite rare that we meet someone that understands so much about...The lives that we knew. It was refreshing.” Oberyn hums, urging her on, and Ellaria meets his gaze, “I let myself get my hopes up, and now it feels...Foolish.” Oberyn smooths his thumbs in soft circles along her sides. “It’s not foolish to want someone, or to appreciate their prowess.” “Yes. You spent many hours appreciating her prowess.” Oberyn chuckles, raising his hand and cupping Ellaria’s cheek, “Be serious a moment.” Her mirth drops away as quickly as it arose, and she lowers her eyes to his chest. “Well,” She says, “Whatever happens, I enjoyed our time together.” Oberyn nods, tipping his head up and brushing a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. “Giving up so easily? Now who is being timid?” He teases. “There is a difference between being timid and taking the proper caution. I attended her class this morning—I’ve never seen anyone so tired.”

-- The Dornish Ecological society is staunch in their insistence that you leave the artificial reefs alone, as you knew that they would. You’re on the phone with them when you hear a knock on your office door. You glance up and spot Oberyn there. Something in your gut clenches—something nervous and twisty. You hold your hand up and point to the phone.

Oberyn nods.

And you figure he’ll leave, but instead he steps further inside and shuts the door behind himself. You narrow your eyes a little bit, lowering your eyes back to the files in front of you and refocusing on the conversation.

“Right…” You answer into the phone, “No, I understand that that species has become a vital part of the Harbor—...I understand, I’m not proposing that we—” It hurts you to press on, “I’m no longer proposing that we raise and restore those structures.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Oberyn still in his looking at your shelves; you see him tip his head back toward you, clearly listening in on your conversation. You clear your throat before you go on:

“But I would like to get a better look at a few of the objects along the sea floor in the area. I think they may’ve been uncovered by the most recent tide…Yes, I had a hydrographic survey done. The area I’m proposing to excavate along the floor is minimal in regards to the entire site, but I'd like to retrieve them before the next tide…I could run the survey down to you now...Yes. Thank you,” You hurry to hang up before you bend over your desk, hurriedly gathering your materials. You glance up as you feel Oberyn turn to face you fully.

“Is there something I could help you with? I’m sort of in a hurry.”

“I can see that,” Oberyn nods, “...The structure you won’t be raising, is that—”

“Yes,” Your answer is hurried and clipped. It’s not your ego that tells you that Oberyn has been keeping up with the dig—it’s how well you’ve come to know him, his fascination and love of Dorne’s history. That brings back that twisting feeling, and take in a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of it You stack the folders and files that you need and grab your bag, shifting it onto your shoulder.

“I gotta go,” You skim around the desk, “So—Sorry that you’ve wasted your time coming over here—”

“It wasn’t a waste—”

“Feel free to stay and to—to browse whatever books you like—”

Oheryn catches hold of your hand, stilling you, and you turn to look up at him, brow furrowed. He’s watching you with something that you can’t quite place—it seems too near concern, too close to something warmer, and you don’t want to read too far into that. “Take a moment for yourself,” He urges you, “Not now, but...Slow down, sweet—when you have time.” Maybe he doesn’t mean for the advice to irritate you; maybe it’s not just the urging, maybe it’s the softness of his expression—maybe you feel that the man has no right to look at you softly, with a concern that should be pointed at someone like Ellaria. You shake his grip off and reel away, slipping out of your office and into the hall. It isn’t fair—what does a man like Oberyn Martell know about time?

Tag list: @massivecolorspygiant ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @recklessworry ; @paintballkid711 ; @peoniarose ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @missredherring ; @writeforfandoms ; @grogusmum  ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @donnaa ; @natandtasha ; @quietpainter ; @acrossthestars ; @elen-aranel​ ; @letsfly-andbe-free​ ; @wonderlandgabby​ ; @amneris21​ ; @you-didnt-see-that-cuming​ ; @blueeyesatnight​ ; @ayamenimthiriel​ ; @librariantothejedi​ ; @revolution-starter​ ; @softdindjxrin​ ; @whovianayesha​ ; @youngkenobilove​ ; @emotionalsupportdaydreams​

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So I did the random word generator, and I got paper. And that made me think of paper airplanes. So, how about reader making a paper airplane and throwing it through the SDR2 Boys window, and inside the paper airplane is a love letter confessing reader’s feelings toward them.

T h a n k you for this bc I gotta practice writing the bois. I absolutely love writing these types of scenarios owo

..........

Teruteru

“Oh? What could this be~?” The chef noticed the paper airplane that appeared on the floor of his cottage, picking it up. 

It was only then he noticed his partially opened window and chuckled. For him, it was easy to put two-and-two together.

“Ah, how cliche. Do I have a secret admirer on this island? Perhaps they wanna share all their secrets with me~?” The thoughts running through his mind almost made his nose bleed, though he managed to control himself as he unfolded the plane to read its contents.

And it turned out to be a simple love letter from you--short, sweet, and innocent. You even marked it with a heart at the bottom of the page.

Teruteru’s face became tomato-red as he clutched the letter to his chest, before hurrying out of his cottage and to the hotel restaurant, unable to contain his excitement any longer.

“I’m on my way, my new beloved~!!” He trilled, knowing you’d be waiting for him there.

...............

Gundham

“Huh..so this is what the mighty winds have carried into my domain.” Gundham mused as he looked at the paper airplane that somehow landed on his bed. He looked outside for a moment, wondering who could have sent it--but there was no one.

“A mysterious messenger, hm..what do you think, Cham-P?” He glanced at the large golden hamster on his shoulder, seeing his nod of approval. “Fuhaha! Then it’s decided! Now..let us see what this message entails.”

With a hum, he unfolded the note and read it thoroughly, gawking about halfway through it. 

“...wh-what...this...is this...a-a proclamation of love?!” He tugged his scarf over his blushing face. “But..who could love such a....ah..” Then he reached the bottom of the note and saw it was none other than-

“[Y/n], but of course. There’s...a certain aura to them that..I can’t help but feel enchanted by,” he muttered to himself. “But I shall harden my heart until I know this proclamation is true, lest I turn out to be a blind fool..”

With that declaration, he got up and summoned the Dark Devas to his side, before venturing out of his cottage, clutching the note tightly.

............

Kazuichi

“AH!! I’VE BEEN AMBUSHED!!”

The scream made you stop in your tracks as you looked back, seeing the door fly open and a certain mechanic come rushing out. 

“[Y/n]! Thank god you’re here!” His hands flew onto your shoulders. “I got hit by an object!! I-I think someone was tryna kill me!!”

‘Oh boy..’ You thought, realizing that your plan didn’t go accordingly. “Well, did you see what the object was?”

“N-No...but...what does it matter?!!”

“.....wouldn’t it help to find out what it was if you’re convinced it was attempted murder?”

“..that’s true. C’mon. I don’t wanna go back alone.” Kazuichi dragged you into his cottage, making sure he locked the door once inside. “It came through that window, hitting me in the back of the head....damn it. I just wanted fresh air and I can’t even get that!” Then he shut the window with a huff.

“Was it this?”

Looking back, he saw the paper airplane in your hand. “Yeah-!! Wait...a paper airplane? Seriously? That’s what attacked me?”

“I sent this.”

“...so YOU attacked me?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” You snapped, causing him to fall silent, before you unfolded it and handed it to him. “It’s a letter...for you. It’s got nothing to do with murder, I promise.”

He cautiously took the paper and read it, mumbling to himself. By the time he was done, his face became red. “[Y/n]...is this true?” He looked up at you with a toothy grin and stars in his eyes. “You like me??!!”

“Yeah..” You smiled back. “Though I was hesitant to send it since, y’know....you had eyes on Sonia-”

“Oh! Don’t worry, I only admire Miss Sonia from afar!” He explained. “As the princess she is, I only wanna respect and defend her. Nothing more! I-I’ve honestly...liked you for a while too. My bad for not reading this sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled. “At least I have my answer.” 

...............

Fuyuhiko

“Sheesh, try not to poke my other eye out next time, okay?”

“Wh-Wha..” You spun around to see the Ultimate Yakuza, realizing he was clutching the note--that was once a paper airplane--in his hand. “Sorry, Fuyu..I had no idea where it would land so I uh...booked it. Kinda. How did you know-?”

“Saw you taking off before this even got into my room,” he explained. “I still got one good eye to keep a lookout for things.”

“..ah, I see..” You rubbed your neck awkwardly. “So um...you must’ve read it.”

“It’s laughably cliche, but...I...uh...d-do feel the same way as you..” Fuyuhiko mumbled the last part, but you could hear his confession clear as day, and your eyes lit up.

“R-Really? I mean...I...I wasn’t sure, since I know you’re still trying to move on from-”

“It’s okay.” He sighed, looking back at you. “It..hasn’t been easy, but..you were the first to forgive me after that trial. Even though...I acted like a total shithead to you when we first got here. Still feel kinda bad about it..”

Your racing heart eventually calmed itself, as you smiled gently and approached him. “It’s okay. If..you wanna make up for it, maybe we can..uh..hang out at the movie theater sometime today?”

“Tch, like a first date?” He chuckled. “Alright. I’m in.”

............

Nekomaru

“[Y/N]!!”

The booming voice made you nearly slam the mailbox door on your hand. You had a habit of checking it mornings and nights.

You whirled around to see Nekomaru rush over to you, a wide grin on his face as he clutched a certain note in his large hand. “I have received your confession letter and accept it wholeheartedly!!”

“R-Really?” You gawked. “Just like that..?”

“Of course!” He laughed. “Your method of delivery is unique! Very old-school. And clearly you’ve put all of your heart and soul into this letter. If I were to ever reject that hard work, my name wouldn’t be-!!”

“Nekomaru Nidai?” You chuckled, feeling calmer now that he was serious.

“See? You already know me better than I know myself!” The Ultimate Team Manager grinned as he hugged you to his chest. “Can you hear that? My heart is beating with great spirit and love!!”

“Yeah, I definitely hear it loud and clear.” Smiling, you hugged him back, happier than ever.

...............

Twogami

When Byakuya found a paper airplane on his desk, he didn’t know what to think at first.

This was childish at best--sneakily throwing it through the window and then taking off? If one of the others wanted to talk to him about something, then they should’ve just rang the doorbell. 

Surely he wasn’t that intimidating of a leader...even if some didn’t like it.

But curiosity eventually won over everything else, and so he took the paper, realizing there was a message on it. “Hmm, very strange..” He hummed, opening it to read what it said.

And he swore his heart stopped, realizing this was a confession and the sender was....you?

Did you really think of him that way? Even though..he hasn’t fully told you the truth about his Ultimate?

And if he did, would you still send him something like this?

.............

Hajime

Hajime didn’t know why he woke up earlier before the morning announcement--until he noticed something right next to his face. “Huh..? What’s this?”

Sitting upright, he picked up the object. “Oh, a paper airplane. Haven’t seen one of these in forever.”

With a small chuckle, he unfolded it, having noticed letters on the inside of it--and also a red heart, oddly enough. He read the message written and...his heart began racing as he realized this was a love letter.

Even though he had his suspicions, he couldn’t believe someone on this island would love a talent-less person like himself.

Why?

As he read the sender’s name, Hajime jumped as he heard a knock on his door. He quickly stuffed the note under his pillow before going to answer it--seeing you on the other side.

“A-Ah..[y/n]..hi. Thank you for knocking..” He tried to play it cool, tugging on his shirt collar awkwardly, though you just smiled.

“I take it you read it already?”

“What? Oh! Uh..yeah..” The poor boy’s face grew redder by the second.

“I thought the paper airplane idea was too childish, so...I figured I’d come here and confess myself. But...seems I’m a little too late for that.” You chuckled nervously. “So....?”

“I-I don’t know what to say..” He admitted. “Why me? I’m the most ordinary out of everyone here.”

“Oh. Hajime.” With a small laugh, you took his hand into yours. “Because it’s you that I feel happiest around..all those times we’ve spent together..meant a lot. I had fun and I’d like to do more of them with you.”

“A-As..your boyfriend you mean?” Hajime gulped, smiling as he tried retaining his composure. “Sure. I’d..love to do that.”

............

Nagito

“Heh..I never would’ve guessed a nobody like me was at the center of someone’s heart..”

“Uh, I��m right here, Nagito.”

“Oh I know.” The white-haired male chuckled as he spun around on his heel, facing you. He looked down at the love letter you had cleverly disguised as a paper airplane. “But..come to think of it..Mikan’s words had me a bit...crushed..”

You tilted your head, remembering the third trial. “You mean, when she said-?”

“That I had nobody who loved me? Well, it seems she was wrong about that.” His smile seemed to stretch wider as he put the letter in his pocket. “I guess I can’t call myself a stepping stone anymore..now that I have a new purpose--one that fills me with a much greater hope!” He wheezed out a small laugh.

While his laughter usually unnerved the other students, you could only smile and feel your heart grow warmer whenever you heard it.

“Yes, yes..perhaps this was the love she was talking about.” Nagito put a hand to his chest. “But this love wasn’t born from despair.”

“Nah, that’s just a twisted sense of love.” You reached out to take his other hand into yours, bringing him slightly closer to you. “This is real, genuine love.” 

His face became a bit flushed, though it wasn’t from the despair disease, but from the simple realization that..

He was lucky enough to be loved.

..........

Izuru

“So, instead of talking to me, you sent this.”

“Oh!” You turned around to see the “Ultimate Hope” standing before. There was an open note in his hand that you tried to deliver to his room in the form of a paper airplane.

The keyword is “tried”, as he was quick to call out to you before you had the chance to run away. So you felt embarrassed, especially as he skimmed over your letter.

After a long and awkward silence, Izuru finally looked up at you. His face remained blank, though you could tell he was curious about your message.

“Yep, that’s my uh..confession.” With a sigh, you approached him calmly. “I know..love is something foreign to you, but...I figured I’d take my chances. Even if the world’s gone to shit, I had to at least get this off my chest. And before you ask...no, it’s not because of your talents.”

“....I see.” He muttered, his gaze returning to the letter. “You understand what I am and what I’ve done, and yet...huh...?” Then he put a hand to his chest, stunned for a moment as he felt his heartbeat slightly quicken.

Wait..

His heart?

What was happening to him? 

What is this?

“Huh, they might’ve suppressed your old feelings. But..not all of them, it seems.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that exactly.

This was something he definitely couldn’t have predicted.

[pedros-mustache-main]

l'oiseau chante

“au where the reader is a singer instead of a painter?” for anon

to close out sd!deaky night(s), here’s 3k words of an au of my own au. i got incredibly carried away but had so much fun writing this.

the duet reader sings is called “duo des fleurs” from the opera, lakmé. i recommend you listen to that as the song is described for the full ~experience~. thanks for indulging me the last few days! much love! xoxo!

suggestive content below (discussions of a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship & a few suggestive moments/language). please be mindful if under 18!

april, 1985.

“no, really! i’ve got to go!” she’s laughing as she says it, pulling out of his arms to make for the door, but john is quick to catch her waist, spin her on her heels, and press his body flush with hers.

he works his mouth along her jaw and mumbles, “but we’ve only just started having fun.”

he can feel her relax against his ministrations, fight the urge to leave. she wants to stay, he knows that. why wouldn’t she? their arrangement is new and exciting, each moment a new opportunity to discover what makes the other tick. thus far, he knows she likes to dabble in gardening and running. she prefers opal over diamonds and shoes over handbags. she’s as luxurious as she is grounded, but she knows what she wants, and she isn’t afraid to go after it. he likes that assuredness. it’s part of why their arrangement works. she’s not looking for anything other than pampering and a roll in the hay, and he can give that to her in heaps, but not much else. his heart is far too guarded after all these lonely years to really hope in anything more.  

still, she’s a hell of a good romp, and he’d rather spend the evening in with her than attend the blasted party freddie planned for—what was it?—the arrival of spring.

“john, please.” she pushes on his chest with the palms of her hands and lifts her brows. “i’ve got this gig, and if i’m late the conductor will flay me alive. you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

he considers, tilting his head to the side. “i’d rather be the one to flay you but—”

aghast, she hits his chest, though bell-like laughter belies her amusement. “john!”

finally, he releases his hold and moves to hold open the front door. “fine. if you must leave me...” he swings his arm toward the crowded street outside.

she grabs her handbag from the catch-all table beside the door. “i’ll ring you in a few days, alright?” she hesitates on the front stoop, her eyes roaming over his face, lower lip between her teeth. she looks... guilty, and he knows why.

“[y/n], we’ve talked about this. i’m fine with it.” he waves to the street. “go on. you shouldn’t be late.”

the worry on her face eases, and she releases a breath. pressing her lips to her finger tips, she waves, manicured nails wiggling in the air. “thanks, love.” she’s already half-way down the steps and to the curb when she looks over her shoulder and says, “i’ll call you!”

nodding, john waves once more then shuts the door with a gentle shake of his head. 

he has his rules for this set-up. 

his number one requirement? don’t ask about queen. he doesn’t like to talk about it, not with her. that’s too intimate, and their relationship is strictly physical. in the six months they’ve been together, they’ve done little more than fuck and smoke cigarettes afterwards and laugh about inconsequential things. they are not dating, not even friends with benefits. there’s a clear line—almost professional—that neither is willing to cross, and he likes that. she makes him feel good, spoils him with attention and fluttering eyelashes, and he pays her rent and buys her expensive things. there’s no need for her to know about his life outside their moments together, and there’s certainly no need for his life outside their moments together to know about her.

like him, she has her own rules for the set-up.

her number one stipulation? no kissing. when she first laid out her terms and conditions for the arrangement, he hadn’t been expecting that. it struck him as odd originally, but the more he’s gotten to know her, the more is makes sense. she’s a professional through and through, both in her singing career and in her pleasure arrangements. for her, kissing is too intimate like talking about queen is too personal for him.

it works. they work. he’s happy, and he thinks she is too. it’s nice to have someone to spoil, someone to hold. it’s been a long time since anyone ever—

he rids himself of the melancholy and starts up the stairs. no reason to mull over it now, not with her at his relative beck and call. 

the party fred has planned for the evening is scheduled to take place at the ritz hotel. it’s the most unreasonable thing john has ever heard of—a party for the beginning of spring—but it’s freddie’s own money, and john doesn’t have the luxury of not showing up. so, he showers, dresses in a tailored suit and tie, and washes down his dread with a shot of scotch before leaving his darkened flat. 

it’s not that he doesn’t like parties. it’s just that he doesn’t like parties where he hasn’t got anyone to be his buffer, and he hasn’t had a buffer for a very long time. she couldn’t very well be his buffer. people would ask questions—fred would ask questions���and the entire thing would fall apart before it even got started.

no, he’d go to the party alone tonight. maybe he’d call her after or wait until the morning. they could go to that little shop on the corner. he knows she’s been eyeing a pair of earrings and—

“mr. deacon?” he’s pulled from this thoughts by the driver. “we’re here, sir.”

john mumbles his thanks and slides from the car. bright and flashing lightbulbs greet him, and he manages a pinched smile for the photographers. a sigh wells within him, but he pushes it down. it’s going to be a long night.

the ballroom set aside for freddie’s party is magnificent, john will concede that. the whitewashes walls are draped in faux-ivy and fresh flowers. the crystal glasses and china plates on linen-covered tables sparkle beneath the light of the chandelier overhead. a golden statue of a woman, twisting to look over her head at trumpeting cherubs, is ensconced in the wall, but fitting for the evening’s theme. at the far end of the room, a wall of frosted mirrors towers over a small orchestra playing to a lilting, classical tune. 

“oh, deaky, i’m so glad you’re here!” ever the man of the hour, freddie meanders through the tight crowd waiting to be seated at their dinner table to pull on john’s arm. “come on, we’re sat near the orchestra.”

john takes freddie’s offering of a champagne flute. he doesn’t normally like champagne, but he’s desperate for anything to take the edge off his sour mood. he feels stiff in his suit, and aside from fred, he hasn’t seen anyone he knows yet. 

“the place looks—”

“smashing, right?” freddie beams and points to an empty chair at the circular table. john drops beside roger and tries not let the fact that there was only a sole chair saved for him be a bother. it shouldn’t bother him, really. it’s just been him for a long time.

“here.” roger hands john a stiffer drink. “it starts to get fun when you’re a little buzzed.” he slings his arm around dominique’s chair and looks over his shoulder, returning to conversation with his partner and jim.

john remains quiet for some time. freddie is the perfect host, darting from table to table in his white coattails, laughing and smiling and kissing the back of any hand he can grab. he is in his element. roger, too, seems at ease. he likes the lavish lifestyle, and any party that is dripping in jewels and rich wine and expensive food is good enough for roger. even brian, who once was so awkward and gangly, leans back in his seat and chats with someone who looks much smarter than john and much more eloquent than anyone else at the table. 

not for the first time, john shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. he doesn’t have a buffer. he could really use a buffer—or a smoke.

he’s about to excuse himself for a cigarette break when freddie steps to one of the two microphones in front of the orchestra. he taps on it, and a sharp boom followed by a squeak fills the room. john leans back, close as he is to the speaker, and cringes.

“oop, sorry about that, dears. well, don’t you all look marvelous from up here? really, never seen such a group of attractive people.” after a smattering of laughter, freddie continues, “i want to thank you all for coming tonight. i know this isn’t some of your scenes—mostly you, roger.” 

more laughter; john just takes another sip of gin. 

“before dinner is served, i have a little treat. to accompany our lovely orchestra, we have two singers here to bless us with their fabulous voices. please give a warm welcome to iona buckley and [y/n] [y/l/n]. now, i’ll get my fanny off the stage to let them work their magic.”

fred slips the microphone back into its stand and scurries to the table, clapping along with the rest of the audience. well, the rest of the audience save john. his hands are occupied with gripping onto the edge of the table for fear he will fall out of his seat in shock.

trailing behind her duet partner, she takes her place behind the first microphone, the one closest to john. she—his paramour, his lover, his baby. she looks radiant, like one of the roses in the table centerpieces. her red satin gown is simple, the straps thin and back open. he swallows hard as his eyes trail to the necklace resting on her sternum. he bought her that. it was his first gift, and there she is standing not twenty feet from him, wearing it, and not a soul knows how he took her in the shower his afternoon. 

john doesn’t catch her eye before the orchestra begins to play but surely she knows he’s there. is her heart in her throat like his heart is in his? are her palms sweating? he twists to grab his drink, needing something tangible to curl his hand around lest he clench his fist to his chest like a damsel in distress. as his back is turned, she begins to sing.

he’s never heard her sing, and the clear, soprano voice that flows from her throat is not what he expected. when she told him she was a singer, that she regularly sang at different gigs, he assumed she must be one of those bar singers floating from venue to venue. never this, never this. he doesn’t understand a word that she sings, but he thinks she must be singing about love. her face is soft, devoid of any worries or cares. for her, the only thing that seems to exist are the words flowing from her mouth and filling his ears. she sings with ease, even the highest and strongest of notes. like the back of her hand, she follows the melody, the roll of the foreign tongue, and the timing of the conductor’s wand. john doesn’t even realize the song is a duet until she pauses, allows a moment for her partner to shine. in that brief pause, her eyes flick to him, and her smile widens. he loses his breath. then she’s back in the spotlight, easily shining over her partner with the clarity and force of her voice. 

tears prick the corners of john’s eyes, and he bites hard on the end of his tongue. fuck—she could be the ruin of him. he’d let her ruin him too—happily.

the party-goers sit enraptured by the singers, by her. even roger has shut his mouth, his eyes wide with interest. john has to hand it to freddie: he’s outdone himself. the decor and the setting and the song���john can practically feel the warmth of spring curl around his frozen heart, and it’s all because of her and her voice. he could listen to it forever; he could listen to this song forever and nothing else.

but the song winds down, ending on the final note of her just voice echoing in the room. there is a moment of expectant silence. john holds his breath, watches as she turns to hand the conductor something then glance over the crowd, glance at him. he starts the applause first, and he is the last to stop clapping, even after she’s taken her seat across the room.

“fuckin’ hell, they were good!” roger hits his palm against the table as dinner is brought out from the kitchens. he reaches over to squeeze john’s shoulder. “i thought deaky was gonna pass out.” 

freddie practically bounces in his chair with glee. “they’re divine! like angels!”

john nods without realizing he’s doing so. “m’yes, she is.”

“she?” roger laughs, tossing his head back. “got a crush there, john? ‘s okay. i wouldn’t blame you.”

john looks up sharply, but says nothing. maybe he does have a crush, as silly as the term is. he’s not fourteen. he’s nearly thirty-four. but, god, if she doesn’t make him sweat like a fourteen year old boy. god, if just the sight of her and the sound of her voice doesn’t send his blood pumping anywhere but his brain. it takes all his willpower not to stand up from the table, stalk across the room, and drag her into the hall. 

he manages to make light conversation with brian about some business related things throughout dinner. several different times, he feels her eyes on his back, and he’s reminded of what they did on his living room carpet two nights ago. he needs her badly, and he’s starting to worry he’ll need her in more ways than one sooner rather than later.

the orchestra strikes up more classical music as dinner ebbs into dessert, and couples begin to float on the cramped dance floor. john waits, biding his time until everyone is good and distracted before he slips across the room. 

she’s sitting alone, scribbling something down in a small, black notebook. before john can say her name, roger beats him to it, appearing as if from thin air. john clenches his jaw and resists the urge to deck his bandmate. she turns at the sound of her name and meets john’s eyes first. she stands and greets them both, accepting roger’s praise with a modest nod her head. 

“i think someone’s fancies you a little,” roger says, squeezing both of john’s shoulders this time. “never seen him so shocked as when you started to sing.”

john openly glares at roger. he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels then meets her eyes. “you are very talented,” he says.

she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, looks away, as though bashful. “thank you, mr. deacon.”

“john,” he says—and his voice is throaty, deep.

she looks up, smiles, licks her lips.

“well, i can sense sexual tension as good as the rest of ‘em. i’ll leave you to it.” smirking, roger slinks away, surely reveling in the match he thinks he’s made.

john speaks first. “i didn’t realize this was your gig.”

she shrugs. “i didn’t want you to feel obligated to come.”

“i was obligated to come.”

“i didn’t want you coming for me.”

he hesitates. “i meant what i said: you are very talented.”

“thank you.” on a chuckle, she adds, “i’ll warn you next time if i’m to sing at another one of freddie’s parties.”

“after tonight? i’m sure you will sing at them all.”

they stare at one another, eyes searching, hands twitching. it’s all john can do not to grab her wrist and slam his mouth against hers. he wants to taste her, taste the mouth that can cast such a spell over anyone who hears her voice. he wants to claim that mouth as his before everyone, before the world.

but she has her rules, and he respects that.

“come with me,” he says and takes her wrist.

he leads her to a darkened hall near a coat room and, wasting no time, presses her against the wall. he latches his mouth to the exposed skin of her neck, sure that if he doesn’t kiss something—anything—he will go insane. his hands roam her curves, her back, her ass. likewise, she runs her hands along his back, his shoulders, his arms. she’s gasping, even though he is the one kissing and sucking her sweet skin.

“i thought—oh my god, don’t stop—i wasn’t sure if—if you would like seeing me here,” she confesses. her voice is thick, and it drives him wild.

he pulls away long enough to meet her eyes. “everyone is inside the party talking about you,” he says. he presses his palm against the side of her face, runs the pad of his thumb over her lip. “and i’m out here about to fuck you senseless. i’d say i liked seeing you up there.”

she laughs, and the sound is almost as nice as the sound of her singing. winding her arms around his neck, she draws him closer, pressing her hips against his. “why don’t you take me home, then?”

he doesn’t have to be told twice.

later, when she is asleep, naked beneath his sheets, he lights a cigarette. the embers glow in the darkness of his room, and he sighs. this time, he sighs in contentment. he reaches over to rub his hand along her back, feeling the ridges of her spine. she’s good for him, and so long as she’ll have him, he’ll be hers. even if this is all they are—a shag here, a present there—he’ll be happy. just so long as he can worship at her feet.

he’s got it bad. he knows that now. he’s on the verge of losing himself to her, and he doesn’t even mind. it just makes him smile into the night, happy for once not to go to bed alone.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 8 | Melancholy and Dreams 

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4,633

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡          

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven​ , I always say it, but I’m going to say it again, thanks for listening to all my plot rambling as I try and piece together all my strange plot / chapter ideas! 💕

Silence. Somewhere between dreams and reality, Visenya stirs awake. There’s no crackling fire, birds singing, or steady breathing; it’s dead silent and the air is stale. The room seems colder than last night. It’s not the type of cold that can be staved away with a roaring fire while bundling into a pile of blankets, but the kind that follows a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. And reaching one of her hands out confirms it, the other side of the bed is ice cold, almost as if no one ever occupied it. For a moment she convinces herself last night was a fever dream, a hallucination born from the flesh eating wound she sustained from the wraith, But the ache in her bones and the small love bites wrapping around her body contradict that brief thought.  

She slowly opens her eyes, the crust of sleep that coats her lashes causing them to stick together uncomfortably. Drowsily, Visenya sits up, running her hand over her face, rubbing away any traces of last night. The hairs on her body stand straight up upon feeling the cold air, her breast band the only barrier between air and skin. A deep sigh leaves her mouth as she mentally attempts to piece together her surroundings, everything past foolishing running into the night in a haze, fact and fiction blurring together until it is so intertwined she’d have to spend decades untangling them.                                                             

Looking around the small room there’s no trace of Geralt ever having been here, despite this originally being his room. Not a thing is out of place, besides her discarded armor that lies on the floor from when she haphazardly wrestled it off. While unsurprised, a wave of sadness hits her, a small sliver of her had been hopeful he would stay, even if only for a few minutes. But that feeling quickly gets shoved away, if there’s anything she learned from what happened to Robb when he married Talisa and what she’s seen time and time again, is that love is the death of duty. So like all her other feelings, she tucks it into a small locked box to be forgotten.

“My loveliest and fairest Jane, please consider this your wake up call!” Jaskier exclaims from the other side of the door, knocking obnoxiously as he does. An annoyed groan escapes her mouth, the beginnings of a headache forming. Visenya blindly reaches behind her, grabbing onto the first pillow she touches. With more force than necessary, she throws it, sending the pillow soaring through the air, until it hits the door with a soft thud before falling to the ground.

“Shut up Jaskier,” Visenya yells in a hoarse voice, stretching her arms in front of her as she yawns. The door clicks as it opens and once again as it shuts. There’s a soft patter as Jaskier steps into the room, his footsteps so light he’s almost gliding. Despite being untrained - as far as she knows - Jaskier manages to be lighter on his feet than Visenya could ever dream, something he makes sure to always remind her of. 

“Oh good, you’re awake and wearing clothes...sort of,” Jaskier says, seemingly unbothered by her less than friendly greeting. He’s wearing another one of his overly frivolous outfits - this one a combination of purple and a soft blue - that clearly defines him as a bard. No one else would dare to wear something so ostentatious in a backwater town. He pulls up his sleeves and grabs the chest piece of her armor.

“Now up up up! We have a day of traveling and adventure to start.” Jaskier says, tossing her discarded tunic towards the bed. It hits her in the face as she angrily groans at him, vision still disoriented from sleep. “Quit your groans and moans of protest my dear. Maybe if you didn’t stay up all night with our riveting hero you wouldn’t be so tired.” 

“Do you ever shut up or is that a myth?” Visenya asks, slowly standing from the bed. Her back cracks as she stretches. Her hips are sore from Geralt’s death grip from the night before, a glaring reminder of what transpired between them and just as she thought, discolored bruises in the shape of fingers mar her skin. Jaskier exaggerates an offended gasp, opening and closing his mouth three times like a fish before responding to Visenya. 

“You need to eat some food, missy!” he says, wagging a finger in her direction. He attempts to use a stern tone, but the merry glint in his blue eyes gives away his playful intentions. She throws her tunic over her torso, not bothering with the ties. 

“Have you always had those injuries or are they new? Nevermind, I won’t ask because I don’t want to lose my head.” Jaskier answers his own question, moving towards the door to leave the room, his tone too bright and his footsteps too peppy for her liking. “Get ready to leave and I shall return with a feast for you my lady,” and with that, Jaskier shuts the door behind him. The force of it causes the wall to shake for a moment but quickly stops, taking all noise with him and leaving Visenya in silence. 

With the door shut and the bard gone, Visenya quietly sighs. She lifts up the shirt inspecting the bandages. To no one’s surprise, Geralt expertly wrapped the bandages so they wouldn’t unravel while sleeping and...other activities. They’re slightly discolored but not oozing pus and blood. Carefully in an attempt to not disturb the wound, she unravels the bandages, exposing the semi-fresh cuts to the cool air. Two human-like claw marks drag across different parts of her abdomen. They’re raw and painful to the touch but appear to be healing fine. They’d need to be cleaned before redressing them, but that’s something to focus on after eating. 

She expertly laces her shirt up and begins attempting to sort out her hair. It’s a tangled mess that resembles a mangy wild animal, something that would’ve caused Sansa to faint from shock if she ever saw. The strips of leather she used to tie it back yesterday are tangled with her knotty hair, making it difficult and painful to pull them apart. A grunt that’s a mixture with pain and frustration is released through her nose, similar to a bull getting read to charge. When Visenya is nearly ready to give up, the door clicks twice, once as it opens and again as it closes. 

“Here we go. Some meat, eggs, and potatoes. Oh, and a fresh cup of ale.” Jaskier practically sings, setting the food on a small table in the corner. Upon seeing Visenya attempting to sort out her hair, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, quit that, you’ll tear out all your hair. Let me.” Jaskier glides across the room, swatting away her hands as he pushes her into a chair. With expert hands and minimal pain, he begins weaving the ties out of her hair and brushing out the knots with his fingers. 

“I’m not a child,” Visenya mutters, her face flushed with embarrassment at not being able to manage her own hair. 

“Oh no, of course not! You’re a big, mean, angry lady with a large sword,” Jaskier teases, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But you’re a big, mean, angry lady with a large sword who’d be bald without me.” 

“I’d defend myself, but considering the state of my hair when we met I don’t think I can in good conscience,” she replies. A small smile forms on her face, the tingling sensation rippling through her body as he plays with her hair. It brings a sense of peace and serenity that’s been void from her life for so long; taking her back to being four, sitting between her mother’s legs as she braided Visenya’s hair, telling her fantastical tales. But also because, despite her best efforts, at some point between their first meeting and today, Jaskier wormed his way into her heart, like a parasite that you grow fond of. He chuckles quietly, a bemused expression on his face. 

“What? What’s so funny?” Visenya asks, unable to put any of her usual bite in her words. She attempts to turn her head to face Jaskier, but he simply swats her head with one of his hands before forcing her head forward with an iron tight grip his soft and uncalloused hands shouldn’t have. 

“You’re much cheerier this morning. Maybe you should spend more time with Geralt...if you know what I mean,” Jaskier says, suggestively wagging his eyebrows at Visenya, mirth filling his eyes. Visenya snorts at his answer, unable to stop her eyes from rolling.

“We didn’t have sex,” Her voice is even and deadpan, not wanting to inflect too much emotion, lest he use that as ammo against her. 

“Sex, trading battle stories, or braiding each other’s hair while gossiping about boys - it doesn’t matter to me! I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had without you threatening me.” Jaskier continues. By this point, he’s managed to unravel all of her unruly hair and began the task of braiding it. 

“I’d pay good gold to see Geralt let someone braid his hair while gossiping about boys,” Visenya says, playing with the ends of the ties on her tunic. Jaskier replies with a snort, twisting another section of her hair into a braid. 

“He seems pretty relaxed with you, maybe try that out the next time we come across our dashing Witcher. He might just let you, free of charge.” 

“If, Jaskier, if we see Geralt again.” Visenya says, already knowing the direction he’s steering the conversation. 

“Oh please, you may be good in a fight, but you really are naive in social settings aren’t you, Jane?” Jaskier teases. And before she can turn around and hit him so hard he’ll be feeling it for days, he pulls the braid he’s weaving incredibly tight, the force pulling her head back. “Oops, my finger slipped.” 

“Whatever,” she mutters, a scowl on her features, both from annoyance and the pounding pain in her head. 

“Now don’t get all grumpy with me, missy. If there’s one thing I can say without a doubt, is that both you and Geralt are incredibly complicated people, who seem to be very comfortable around each other. It’s only natural things might progress further,” Jaskier continues, taking care to be extra gentle with her hair, lightly running the tips of his nails through her scalp, soothing the headache he created. 

“And what do you possibly know about me?” 

“I know that something terrible has happened to you, something that left you angry and bruised, figuratively and literally. But I also know you care more than you let on, that much is obvious with how you handled Filavandrel.” 

Visenya snorts, rolling her eyes in the process, staring up at the ceiling before gazing directly in front of her, seeing but not really at the same time. 

“Geralt did most of the heavy lifting,” she mutters.

“Oh sure, of course our mighty Witcher did with his reverse psychology, Kill me, I am ready,” he lowers his voice significantly, attempting to mimic Geralt’s own growly one. “--but the Jane you want everyone to see wouldn’t have empathised with the elves. The Jane you want everyone to see would’ve at least threatened to beat a few of them before we had to drag you out.” 

Silence falls over them, the only sound in the room Jaskier’s soft humming as he finishes braiding her hair. Her mind is in overdrive, unsure of how to handle Jaskier’s observations that are too accurate for her comfort. And when he steps back, waving his hands in the general direction of her hair as he exclaims that his master piece is finished, she reaches her hand up to feel the style. He braided multiple strands of hair into small braids that come together into one large braid that falls down her back. Practical and stylish, Sansa would’ve approved.

“There we are. Now eat up and prepare your best scowl!” Jaskier says, taking a step away from Visenya and motioning towards the food with a ta-da hand gesture. She moves towards the table, the frown on her face slowly fading away as her vision grows clearer. 

 “Might want to stock up on more hair dye, by the way. Your natural hair color is showing,” Jaskier nonchalantly says, perching like a bird on the edge of the bed. Visenya stops in her tracks, hands immediately touching her head while she looks at Jaskier, panic clearly painted on her face.

“What are you --” She begins to say, but Jaskier cuts her off.

“You didn’t think a refined man such as myself wouldn’t notice that your hair isn’t naturally that way, thank the gods,” Jaskier says. Visenya levels a glare towards him, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling inside her. In response, Jaskier simply throws his hands up. “I’m just saying, your hair texture isn’t the best.” 

“Whatever,” she says, sitting down at the table to begin eating. 

The duo is silent while Visenya eats until Jaskier breaks it when the light reflects something that causes it to glint in the corner of his eye. He stands up from the end of the bed and goes over to a side table. 

“Well well well. Looks like our favorite Witcher left behind a token of his love,” Jaskier says, his tone similar to a smug child saying I told you so. Visenya turns to look at Jaskier, a sharp insult on the tip of her tongue. She racks her mind trying to figure out what he could be talking about. But of all the things that run through her mind, what she sees isn’t what she expected.

Renfri’s broach.

                                               o0o0o0o0o

“Have you ever been in love Jane?” Jaskier asks, breaking the silence that envelops the duo. It’s their second night of travel, and with the nearest inn being two days away from their current location, they’ve taken to camping off to the side of the main road. Visenya had found a small clearing in the heavily wooded terrain, the thick foliage surrounding the camp heavily obscuring them from anyone passing by. The radius of the camp was tiny, only large enough for the two of them to comfortably fit their belongings and light a fire. 

Visenya sits on her bedroll, leisurely reclining against the tree behind her while mindlessly chewing on the rabbit meat she’d hunted earlier. Her leather armor lies discarded beside her, leaving her in a light undershirt and a pair of trousers, the cool air feeling refreshing against her warm body. Jaskier is huddled near the fire he started when they first set camp, getting as close as possible without being burnt. Visenya’s eyes lazily move towards Jaskier, whose gaze is already firmly locked on her. A muffled sigh escapes her mouth as she looks directly at a tree on the other side of camp. For a moment she considers lying or telling him to fuck off. 

But unconsciously her thoughts wander back to Winterfell. To all the quiet nights she would sit with Jon in the Godswood. The towering trees surrounding them would block them off from the outside world, allowing them to just...be, creating a world with just the two of them. Even if only for a few stolen moments, they were just Jon and Visenya, not a bastard and an exiled princess. Neither of them would dare to speak, afraid that if they did the bubble would burst and this delusion they’ve created would come crashing down. In the sanctity of the Godswood, the reality that they’d never have more than unspoken words and an eventual goodbye was avoided. Sitting under vivid red leaves that fell around them and swirled in the biting cold, everything seemed simple. Even though they both knew it wasn’t and never would be. 

She’d smile at him so warmly that sometimes Jon fully believed it could melt all the snow in the North with a glance and he'd wield a small grin that made Visenya’s heart race. There’d be a crinkle at the corner of his eyes that reminded her of a mischievous boy that snuck into the kitchen to steal pastries with her. And the grim mask Jon often wore whenever in Winterfell would slip away while the ghosts that followed Visenya would melt like snow in summer until she couldn’t remember their names. Their hands would lie on the ground, just a hair away from each other. When either of them were feeling brave, their fingers would delicately brush against the others. Her purple eyes would trace the curves of his face while he would do the same, albeit subtler than her. 

Her mind retraces all the times they stood in sunlit rooms, filled to the brim with people who chatted between one another, never fully looking at Visenya and Jon, like they were illusions created from the reflection of the sun. They’d steal glances at each other when no one would see, their smiles speaking a secret language only they knew. Her eyes would meet his and she’d see colors that she's never seen with anyone else. The world always felt boring and grey without Jon, being with him showed her colors she never knew existed. And sometimes Robb would be in the room, noticing their glances, but he'd say nothing, feigning ignorance if it was ever brought up. Because he knew their fate as well as they did. 

“Yeah, I guess,” she responds after a few moments of silence. Her lips curve upwards unknowingly as she gets lost in her melancholy. Jaskier carefully watches her, a solemn expression on his face. He memorizes the look on her face, the tilt of her lips and the stars in her eyes. 

“What happened?” he asks, curiosity clawing at his mind. In the year they’d been traveling together he was so sure he’s seen all sides of her, and yet it seems not. 

Her lips pull downwards into a frown, and like the brightest star in the sky burning out, her eyes dim until they’re dull and lifeless. It’s not the same cold indifference he’s always seen in them or the teasing glint that sneaks past her cold exterior against her better judgment. It’s sadder, like her life has been nothing but a tragedy disguised as a fairytale. And maybe it has been.

She remembers trying to fight for it - declaring that she didn’t care about his status. Her father - as foolish as he was - abandoned his duties for love; Robert Baratheon started a war for a woman! Why should Visenya accept their fate lying down? She’d beg him to just run away with her, but he never agreed, just like Visenya knew he wouldn’t. But there were some days, in the quietest moments of the night, when the moon was at its highest and the stars were all but gone, where she swore he nearly cracked, almost let her have her way. But he didn’t, his fear that he’d never be able to give Visenya what he felt she deserved holding him back. But she’d fight anyways, stubbornly gripping onto him so tightly only for it to slip between her fingers anyways, like water falling through the cracks. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t change their ending that was written in the stars long before she even met him. Chasing him was like chasing shadows in a blackened room. And she knew-- gods she knew how it had to end, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the sting he left behind. Jon was the only thing she’d ever wanted since she could remember wanting anything. 

  Her gaze moves over to Jaskier, whose eyes are still firmly locked on her. She tightens her lips into a thin line, but there’s a slight quiver in the corners of her mouth. For the first time, Jaskier wonders how old she truly is. Her golden eyes in an eternal glare, with ivory skin turned steel, she holds none of the childlike nativity she should have. But with the warm glow of the fire reflecting off her face, she doesn't look like a hardened warrior. She’s just a child playing pretend, wearing her mother’s shoes while trying to wield her father’s sword that’s too heavy to lift properly. She’s just a kid, only a few years into adulthood. 

“Nothing,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. Jaskier's ears strain to hear the whisper over the wildlife ambient noises. She shifts her eyes away from him as she focuses on the flickering fire. 

She remembers watching Jon ride away on his horse with his Uncle Benjen. Hidden away from prying eyes in the ramparts she watched him leave her behind. The memory is so vivid she can nearly taste the salty tears that fell from her eyes. A hollow feeling in her chest as he did. How desperately she wanted to lash out and scream, to run to the stables and take a horse to chase him down - demand that he give her a proper goodbye. She didn’t want to just let him go, allow him to leave her with all the grace of the princess she should’ve been. Because despite what people may whisper behind closed doors or cupped palms that cover their mouths, she loved him, she really did. And a part of her was determined to fight for it, convinced that maybe it would be enough to make him stay. But she did nothing, her pride rearing its ugly head, unwilling to let herself make a fool of herself for the sake of a man that was always just out of reach. 

“He went his way and I went mine.” 

“Do you miss him, still love him?” Jaskier asks. 

The question brings her pause. Does she miss Jon? Without a doubt, yes. But does she still love him, if she ever did to begin with? She’s not too sure. He still lingers in the back of her mind, but grows fainter and fainter with each passing day and new adventure. Yet, some nights when she’s haunted by the what-ifs, the memories hanging around like smoke in a burning room, she’s convinced she did love him, if only for a moment in time. But who could really know, especially now that they’re worlds away.   

“I- I don’t know,” she says, her voice hoarse and croaky, like she just screamed for ten minutes straight. Jaskier opens his mouth, unable to stop the questions from spilling out of his mouth, but Visenya cuts him off. The tremble of her lips grows harder to conceal each passing moment, Westeros beginning to drown her with all the tragedy that haunts it. Her previously dull and boring eyes begin to glisten, but not with stars or warmth, but with tears. The perfectly curated facade of disinterest she wears like a mask begins to crack; pride being the only thing keeping her together. 

“We should go to sleep, early day of traveling tomorrow and all,” she says, the emotionless tone of her voice back, and as if it never broke, Visenya places the mask back on. Without awaiting a reply from Jaskier she shimmies between the bedroll and lies down. She closes her eyes, willing sleep to come sooner rather than later. She hears Jaskier quietly sigh before he begins rustling around, settling himself in his bedroll to get some sleep as well.

Despite herself, she thinks of home one last time.

How conflicted she was, angry at the world and angry at herself for how happy she was with the Starks. 

Until Robert Baratheon came and whisked them into the game of thrones. 

                                              o0o0o0o0o

The woman moves into what appears to have once been a magnificent throne room. However, it’s now been turned into ruins, a dull comparison to the shining gem it used to be. The vaulted ceilings lie in a pile of rubble littering the ground, exposing the sky that’s thick with ash. It falls from the sky, covering the floor in a similar fashion to the thick snow that coated the North. Pieces of it delicately land in the woman’s shining silver hair, creating a sort of crown on her head. A diadem of fire and calamity, naming her Queen of the Ashes. Her purple eyes focus solely on the throne ahead of her which was still relatively untouched by the fire that destroyed the rest of the city, leaving it a prize for the madness she succumbed to. But it wasn’t madness -- not to her. 

In a trance, she moves towards it. The soft patter of her heels clicking against the stone floor echoes in the room. Her heartbeat aligns with her breathing, growing quicker and unsteady the closer she gets to the throne. 

Her throne. 

The only thing she ever wanted.

Halfway across the throne room, something reflecting out of the corner of her eye captures her attention. Her movements halt, turning her body to face the source of the distraction. It’s the remnants of a stained glass mosaic lying smashed on the ground. Slivers of the glass cover the floor, surrounding a piece of the artwork that still stood intact, tall and proud and almost defiant. It’s jagged and uneven, the original art it depicted indiscernible. She moves towards it, eyes locked on her own reflection that becomes clearer the closer she gets. The crunch of glass beneath her boots causes an unpleasant sound, but her eyes refuse to leave her image to try and avoid any glass. 

Within a moment she stands before the glass. Her reflection is distorted and discolored due to its design, but her face is clear as day. Soft purple eyes stare back at her, hiding the storm brewing inside them. The soft curves of her face are replaced with harsh lines and the mischievous smirk that always pulled on her lips is instead in a tight line, but the most distressing thing is her eyes. They go from a soft purple to a fiery amber - similar to the flames that consumed the city around her. They’re bitter and cruel, unlike the warmth they held in years past. 

With a harsh gasp, she physically recoils from the reflection and immediately turns away from the glass. With her mindset on the throne once more, she moves towards it again, her pace faster than it had been previously. For some reason, the change she’d seen unsettled her more than she’d care to admit. Finally, she crosses to the other side of the room, standing mere inches away from the throne, and with an air of reverence, she walks up the steps leading to the dais that it rests on. Carefully, she reaches a pale hand out to touch it, desperate to know this is real and not a delusion the darkest parts of her mind created. Only a centimeter from grasping the left arm of the throne, a large shadow flies ahead. The woman looks up, watching the dangerously beautiful creature proudly flying above the ruins. Its large form blocks out any sunlight that manages to peek through the ash. Its vivid golden scales are a stark contrast to the shades of grey the city had been swallowed in. A terrifying screech escapes its mouth as it beats its massive bat-like wings, the force of it disrupting the settled ash on the ground.

“Visenya.” a distorted voice calls out. The woman’s eyes flit around the room, attempting to discern the source of the voice.

“Visenya!” it calls again, sounding more frantic than before.

“Visenya!” 

With a harsh gasp of air, her eyes snap open.

                                             o0o0o0o0o

Tags: If you’re name is crossed out, it means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you.

@sunlithours |  @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe |  @kholl101 |  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y |  @aknerdchick |  @stuckupstucky | @historicallydysfunctional | @ayamenimthiriel |  

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Scythes And Stories - Chapter 6 - Twists Of Fate

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

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“So you’re telling me that… you are the escaped princess of Solis?” Alastair said slowly, trying to parse out the truth of the words. Ariadne nodded. “And that this is the infamous assassin, the Lady of Death?” Thomas continued, cutting his gaze towards Anna. “I’m flattered that you’ve heard of me, all the way here in Luna.” Anna chimed in. She was currently sprawled across the couch of the boat’s hold, playing with a bone dagger. “Of course we’ve heard of you. You’re either more stupid than you look, or truly ignorant of how much you’ve been employed by the Luna Council.” Alastair smirked, clearly reveling in Anna’s widened eyes and shocked expression. “I’m going to continue this discussion, because obviously these two nitwits wouldn’t bother too.” Cordelia interjected, grinning in response to Alastair’s glare. “If I am correct in my assumptions, you are Lucie Herondale.” she said, gesturing towards Lucie. “That is correct.” Lucie said, mock-curtseying. “So you must be the mysterious and handsome stranger she eloped with.” Cordelia finished, raising her eyebrows at Matthew. “That would be the truth. I am so very pleased that the general knowledge of me is my dashingness.” Matthew said, tipping his hat. “Ignore him.” Lucie stage whispered. “His ego’s gone to his head a bit of late.”

“Well. This is certainly news to me. Everyone thinks you are dead, Princess, and nobody knows the whereabouts of you, my lady.” Thomas said, standing from his seat. “I do wonder what casualties shall befall me if my husband and I decide to give you shelter.”

“Oh I swear we’re nothing but the utmost fun.” Anna said with a smile as sharp as swords. “I can vouch for her!” Matthew chimed in, mischief in his eyes. Ariadne and Lucie sighed in unison as Cordelia snickered. “Yes but they don’t trust either of you, so shut up.” Lucie said, laughing. “All we ask for is shelter for a bit. The world outside is quite chaotic and it would be good to take a breath.” Ariadne said, eyes pleading. “We will take you in.” Thomas finally agreed. “Only if you promise to participate in our drinks night.” James said, mock seriousness in his voice. “You’ll have a far harder time convincing those two to stay away now that you’ve mentioned it.” Ariadne said, gesturing towards Matthew and Anna. “Now, if you wish it, we will retire to our chambers and cause you no more trouble.”

“Is there anything else we can get you while you stay here?” Thomas asked them as they strolled through the city streets. The brick roads were baked in the heat, worn by the feet of a thousand steps. Spices laced the air - nutmeg, basil, and fresh fruit. Thomas had quite quickly fallen into the role of gracious host as Alastair and Anna bantered and the others chattered. “Not unless you can bring back my long lost brother from the abyss.” Anna answered, and silence fell. Cordelia turned to Anna however, brows furrowed. “What does your brother look like?” She inquired, concentration deepening as she gazed at Anna as if she were a puzzle. “Well, he has purple eyes. And he would be around my age, maybe a bit younger.” Anna answered, clearly baffled. James stopped walking right in the middle of the street as him and Cordelia made eye contact. Thomas and Alastair also exchanged gazes. “Is there anything you four would like to share, or are you going to continue to communicate telepathically for the rest of the day.” Anna asked, shifting. She was quite unfamiliar with the warm blooming in her chest like a rose, shining and glowing like a weapon fresh off the forge. It was hope, hope that maybe she wasn’t crazy for the first time in her life.

Shaking herself, Cordelia turned to Anna. “Unless there’s a large amount of purple-eyed teenage fugitives on the run for our kingdom…”

“We have your brother. He arrived just a few days before you. Shivering and sweating and grinning like a banshee. He also claimed to have murdered the king of Solis. On that precedent alone, we allowed him to stay. He’s in his quarters now.”

Anna froze. She could feel the frost of shock spreading slowly over her skin as she struggled to form words. After all these years, all this time, she found him. Her brother with his love of science and the rare, genuine smile that always summoned a smile from her in return. A warm hand slipped into hers. Turning her head, Anna’s eyes met Ariadne’s. The silent encouragement in Ariadne’s eyes nearly brought Anna to tears. “May I- May I see him?” Anna asked tentatively, afraid some cruel god would snatch him away before she could see him. “Of course you can.” Thomas said, understanding in his tone. “Just this way. We’ll arrive back at the castle in approximately 15 minutes. From there, I’ll give you a guide to his rooms.”

“Thank you so much.” Anna whispered. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

“None needed, Lady of Death. Everyone deserves loved ones to hold close. Sadly, sometimes the world has other plans. We’re just glad you made your way back to the hearth.” Alastair said quietly, and the others all nodded. From that point on, they were all friends. After all, a friendship forged when you are the version of yourself you hate to show are the strongest friendships of all.

“Mr. Christopher, you’ve a visitor.” the guide called, knocking on the heavy wooden door embossed with a crescent moon. “They may come in.” Came the response from within the room, and Anna’s eyes widened. If there had been any doubt in her mind, none was left now. The decades passed and sands of time could not erase the sound of her brother’s voice from her head. Anna opened the door, and slipped inside, closing it behind her. The boy on the bed looked up, hair messed over his eyes and papers strewn over every possible surface. It didn’t take long for the question in his face turned into confusion, then shock, then wonder. All in the span of just a few moments. “Christopher?” Anna breathed, not daring to take a step forward lest he should evaporate like a mirage. “... Anna? Is that you?” Christopher replied, voice also quiet and strung through with lights of amazement. “Yes, it’s me. It’s Anna!” she replied, joy cracking her face. Christopher’s face morphed again then, and he stood and strode forward. Finally, after so many miles of pain and oceans of blood and battle, they were here. Embracing in a hug and words left unsaid flew, the pair had found each other again.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too! I thought I’d never see you again….”

“I thought the same! They took me away, and I wasn’t able to look for you.”

“That is ok. I doubt you would recognize the me you found anyway.”

“The same could be said of me. It took me years of planning and work, but I finally struck back.”

“And I am more proud of you than I could say. I too have blood on my hands, but I hope that staining them deeper won’t ever be necessary again. If needed, I will fight to make it so.”

Drawing back, Anna examined Christopher and smiled deeply. “You’ve grown into a fine young man. A far throw from the gangly boy I knew. If only mother and father could see you now…” Anna trailed off as a shade of grey permeated the otherwise yellow bright moment. “And you as well.” Christopher said, his wonder saving the memory. “You’re glowing. You look happy. Content.” he added, grinning. “I am… I’ve found a life worth fighting for. But more about me later. We have much catching up to do, dear brother.” Dropping into the armchair by the fireplace, Anna relaxed. Christopher sat on the bed, only succeeding in making his piles of sketches even more messy. “Tell me. What have you been doing these past years we’ve been apart? I am quite certain it’s a grand tale.”

“Now I must confess I’m dying to know how you ended up on the run with the most infamous assassin in five kingdoms.” James said to Ariadne as the two, accompanied by Alastair, Thomas, and Cordelia sat in the royal common room. It was a set of large and comfortable rooms for the royal family to relax and have fun in. Ariadne chuckled quietly, thinking over the chaos of the tale herself. “I couldn’t hardly put it into words for you myself. I had been long since questioning my parents’ actions and the way they behaved around anybody without a large purse or a legitimate heir. I just didn’t know what it was I could do about it. I trained myself, yes. In bladework and poisons and a myriad of other things. But these skills languished in my arsenal, so to speak. I was not allowed to do anything I loved, contained in the palace and all it’s parties.” Ariadne paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The day they forced me into an arranged marriage with somebody I despise was my breaking point. Anna appeared, and it was like she was the escape I was looking for. The escape dressed in black with a dagger, that is.”

Cordelia’s thoughts raced, connecting the dots quickly and smothering her grin. The way Ariadne used Anna’s first name, how her eyes and voice softened at the mention of her, how she would always smile. The quick gazes and hidden laughs. Turning to James, she raised her eyebrows and nearly fell over laughing at his responding smirk. James was observant and had apparently also been quick to notice what she had. “I wish them all the happiness and wishes.” Cordelia vowed, before tuning her ears back into Ariadne’s story.

“So, I agreed to go with her. I set fire to the barracks before we joined up with Matthew and Lucie. Lucie was confined within a loveless marriage, so she was also eager to leave. Anna staged my death, and we set sail. Matthew delivered the note and… here we are.” Ariadne finished, leaninging back in her chair and smiling. “Not the most exciting tale in the books, but it’s my story, so I will cherish it within my heart.”

“On the contrary, I believed that story most riveting.” Cordelia piped up, leaning forward. “There remains only one question.” James said, standing. “Would you and Lady Anna be interested in joining us for dinner tonight? Christopher is also invited, of course”

“We would be most honored to have you.” Thomas added.

“I would be delighted to.” Ariadne smiled. “Anna is I’m sure still talking to Christopher, but when she returns to our chambers, I will extend the invitation.”

“Tell her there will be wine and games!” Alastair called to Ariadne as she exited. “I will tell her. I could never forgive myself and I doubt she would forgive me if she missed out on such an opportunity.”

Once Ariadne had vanished down the hall, the four sat in quiet. “I like her.” Thomas finally said, his voice betraying how deep in thought he was. “I do as well. I’m very glad she was able to find herself a place where she’s truly happy.” Cordelia added. “As much as I’d like to stay and gossip about our new arrivals, I’ve some matters to attend to.” Alastair said, standing. “I’ll come with you.” Thomas replied.

Sighing with a bit too much gusto to be believable, Alastair nodded assent. “I guess we will get these chores done quicker together.” he said, accepting Thomas’s extended hand. “Yes I’m sure that’s why.”

“O do shut up.” Alastair shot back, and soon their voices faded.

“Would you like to take a stroll with me, my fine warrior?” James asked Cordelia, eyes twinkling. “I would love to, James.” Cordelia replied, a small smile twisting her lips. “Well, then, let us go. The winding paths of the park await us.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” Ariadne said as she flopped onto the bed of their quarters. Matthew and Lucie had been assigned a door across the hall. “Life does bring us much surprise.” Anna shot back, kicking off her boots. “Did you and Christopher have a pleasing chat?” Ariadne ventured cautiously. “We most certainly did.” Anna replied, slipping back into that soft smile. “He’s grown up so much, Ariadne. So much. And it hurts and heals my heart simultaneously to see it.” Anna said, much quieter this time. “I know you grieve for memories lost, and I understand it. It is right to feel pain, right to grieve. Just make sure you’re not missing out on a chance to make new memories while grieving the past.” Ariadne said, once again gently holding Anna’s hand. “What did I do to deserve you?” Anna asked. “You set me free.” Ariadne answered, and Anna grinned. “And I am very glad I did. Now, what’s this dinner party you mentioned?”

“Oh yes! We are invited to dinner with Cordelia, James, Thomas, and Alastair. Christopher will also be there I believe. Alastair requests I tell you that there will be wine and games.”

‘Well in that case, I’m in.” Anna said jokingly, and Ariadne laughed again, a musical sound to Anna’s ears. “In that case, I will see you in about a half-hour at the party.” Standing, Anna kissed Ariadne softly before breaking apart and bolting for the showers. Sighing and filled with happy butterflies, Ariadne also stood and began to change. “It’s the beginning of a new age. And I’ll be damned if I keep wearing the shackles I just escaped.”

“To new friends, and old. To shining futures and pasts laid to rest in unmarked graves. This is now, and it’s for living and love. I give thanks for the wondrous new souls we’ve met, and the tales they brought with them.” Thomas toasted, raising his champagne elegantly. Everybody else raised their glasses in silent succession, toasting to everything Thomas mentioned and more. And then, the party began. It was in the private royal dining room, and it came with a ballroom. Thomas and Alastair had invited some other close friends and family, and Cordelia and James had done the same. All had been instructed on the situation, and planned to be discreet. A large number of suits and dresses had been delivered to Anna, Ariadne, Matthew, and Lucie, along with a note saying they could choose any one of the options. The rooms were full of life, shining and glittering and shifting. Champagne sparkled and fragrant scents of roasted meats and delicate creamed desserts rose up. Lively violin music flowed from the ballroom, and each person was a vision in velvet and satin, a walking kaleidoscope of dancing and laughing and color. Anna and Ariadne danced, quick as quicksilver and breathless with happiness. Anna was wearing a finely cut suit of ebony and snow white, while Ariadne was resplendent in a twilight blue gown that sparkled with stars and twirled as she did. “You are as gorgeous as an angel.” Anna called as she twirled Ariadne. “And you look like a goddess sent to Earth.” Ariadne called back, cheeks flushed with the blush of life. “Oh stop I might actually blush for once.” Anna said, bringing Ariadne close before dramatically dipping her. “What a sight that would be.” Ariadne mocked, laughing. “Maybe someday, I’ll get to witness this amazing phenomena.”

“You can keep hoping, Princess.” Anna replied, laughing as Ariadne lightly smacked her. “I think I will. After all, we’ve got plenty of time.”

The previous song had ended with a dramatic flourish, paving the way for a slower and more romantic piece. Alastair and Thomas slowly danced, staring into each other’s eyes. “What a week it has been. And it’s only been the first week.” Thomas said as the pair revolved on the dance floor. “Indeed. It might be awhile before we have any semblance of peace again.” Alastair replied. “Even you can't deny that you like our newcomers.” Thomas snarked back, no true bite in his voice. “I do, much to my dismay. I can admit they are fun and Anna especially is very fun. At least she knows how to drink and have fun, unlike you.” Alastair shot back, chuckling. “Oh shut up you. I'm plenty of fun.” Thomas said, affecting a wounded air. “I suppose you can be, but-” Thomas cut Alastair off and kissed him, holding him even closer. Alastair, drunk on happiness, held Thomas close as they kissed and the violins played a song of hearts broken and mended, souls torn and sewed back together.

Cordelia and James sat along the wall, laughing and joking with Lucie and Matthew. The squad had quickly become fast friends. Cordelia leaned forward and kissed James, while Matthew wolf whistled and Lucie slapped her hand over his mouth to shut him up. The scene could be described as perfect, if such a thing exists. Music and songs and beauty and, most importantly of them all, new beginnings. What the future held was a mystery, and what the past held was unchangeable. But the now… well the now was whatever the people living in it made it. And everybody present at that party had chosen to make it something glowing with love and happiness and the treasured thing that is friendship. Twists of fate and acts of free will were what brought these people together, but it was their choice to stay. They could’ve shunned each other, torn themselves to bits and pieces while laughing. They could’ve betrayed who was supposed to be their enemies - stabbed them in the back and ran before they could be found by the accusing eyes of their victims. They could’ve done all of this, and more. But they didn’t - they chose to do the opposite. To nurture the compassion in their souls, the love blooming in their hearts. To make friends and lovers and family who would stand by them through the storm of the future, the unknown, and anything else that could be thought of.

[loveislattes]

Almost Lost You (Illinois/Reader) Part 1

Illinois being lackadaisical with your safety as a hired hand until there's a scare in a tomb with a trap and then he dotes on the reader as they recover (or they don't even get hurt but he panics) can lead to smutty smut or not - Fox

And

I'm honestly dying for some fluffy Illinois smut, so maybe that please? Or if you're not comfy with that just ignore this! No pressure okay! - Anon

                      _______________________________________________

The smut will be up in part two! For now this is just some fluffy emotions! 

   “Eh come on, it could be fun. We could have an adventure! Maybe fall in love.”

   Illinois had said it jokingly but damn it, he was right. Well, partially. You had fallen in love with him. Unfortunately, it seemed like he didn’t feel the same way. Sure he flirted and teased as always, but whenever you’d try to flirt back he’d go all awkward and quiet. Eventually, you stopped trying because you didn’t want to end up making him dislike you. Better an unrequited crush on your friend than ruining what you had. 

   Even so, it didn’t make it any easier when he’d flirt shamelessly with other adventurers that you guys ran across; which was why you were now alone, wandering down the empty halls of an abandoned museum in search of the rumored ancient tome of secrets. It was easier to brave the spooky, dark building than to face your jealousy.

   “Now if I were an ancient secret book, where would I be?” you muttered.

   You let your hand drag along the dusty wall beside you as your eyes scoured the hallway for trap doors or stairways down. Supposedly the tome was in the lower levels of the museum but you couldn’t be certain. Best to exhaust all the possibilities along the way. You’d never hear the end of it if Illinois found out you had passed it up. 

   Little by little you went through each empty room on the main floor until you were certain you’d searched every nook and cranny. Enough time had passed that the shadows were growing high on the walls as the sun began to set outside. You checked your watch and realized you’d been on your own for about twenty-five minutes, which made your stomach clench uneasily. Why hadn’t Illinois joined you yet? Had something happened? 

   You were just about to make your way back upfront when you heard him call out for you. Just hearing the relaxed deep timbre of his voice calmed your anxiety.

   “In here,” you called back.

   Within a few moments, your fellow adventurer popped into the room with a smile. 

   “Once we’re done with this place, we should check out this cave a few miles north. That other fellow said there is supposed to be Aztec gold hidden there,” Illinois said, “But anyway, have you found anything here yet?”

   With a little shake of your head, you replied, “Not yet, but it’s supposed to be downstairs right?”

   He shrugged before turning to examine the walls with interest.

   “That’s what we were told but you can’t be certain. I should give this floor another look over if you want to start on the next one.”

   The thought of journeying deeper into the decrepit building alone made you uncomfortable but you couldn’t exactly tell him that. What if he thought you were a coward for it? No, you couldn’t chance to lessen his thoughts on you. You’d just have to suck it up and venture forth… down into the dark loneliness. 

     A little sigh escaped your lips before you gave him an agreeing nod. 

   “I’ll wait for you down there if I finish before you.” 

   With a wave of dismissal, Illinois went back into another room to continue his investigation. 

   Your feet felt like they were made of lead as you trudged to the only set of stairs you’d discovered in your once over. The stairwell was pitch black, completely closed off from any of the lingering sunlight, and immediately you flipped on your vest light and headlamp. Better safe than sorry. 

   “Fuck. The things we do,” you mumbled under your breath.

    The stairs were stone, all cracked and crumbling but appeared to be steady enough. Even so, you took your time moving from step to step. Too many times you and Illinois had discovered booby traps at the last second and barely escaped death. You didn’t dare chance your luck in a dark stairwell. 

   You were about halfway down when you heard a rumble in the concrete and immediately froze. 

   “Oh god, please no,” you sighed. 

   Your hands shook as they grabbed the railing on the wall for stability and you started moving once more. One, two, three more steps down. You were about to take your fourth when an even louder noise sounded from under your feet as you felt shifting; Except this time it was followed by a heavy groaning of stone grinding and the trickling of rocks falling. 

   Heaving a quick lungful of air, you turned around and held on tighter to the railing. This would have to be one mystery left uncovered. Your life wasn’t worth the risk. 

   Unfortunately, you only made it one step before you felt the stone stairs shift again beneath your feet. 

   “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

   Your curses grew louder and more panicked as you quickened your pace, running back up the stairs as fast as you could. 

   “Illinois!”

   The scream came instinctively as you threw yourself up the last of the stairs but the rumbling and cracking covered up any response he might have given. It was deafening. At the last second, you felt it give way completely. Your feet paddled in the air for impossible traction and your arms reached for the open doorway with impossible hope. 

   It was as if everything slowed down in the moments that it took your brain to catch up to the situation. You couldn’t believe this was how it ended; Alone, in a dark place, all because you wanted to prove yourself to a man you were too afraid to admit your feelings to. 

   Just as you closed your eyes in defeat, you felt your wrist smack hard against the cement as the other was snagged harshly. The agonizing sensation of your wrist and shoulder dislocating tore a curse from your mouth and your eyes opened in shock. There, silhouetted by the dim sunset light like an angel, kneeled Illinois. The expression on his face mimicked the suffocating panic you felt.

   “I’ve got you. Come on,” he grunted, hand snagging your other wrist.

   You fought through the blinding pain and hysteria to help lift yourself up, your feet bracing the now spider-webbed wall under the doorway. Within moments he had you pulled up to safety. The second your knees touched the floor you dove as far away from the doorway as you could, rolling up into a fetal position with your sore wrists pinned against your chest. 

   “Y/N. Hey, Y/N. It’s okay, kid, you’re okay,” Illinois reassured you softly. 

   Even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes yet; too afraid you’d find out this was some last-minute hallucination as you fell to your death. 

   Eventually, Illinois stopped trying to rouse you and instead pulled your head into his lap as he went about bandaging you up. You weren’t sure how long you laid there but it wasn’t until he was completely done with tending to your wounds that you finally felt comfortable opening your eyes. To your surprise, he was staring back down at you with pursed lips. 

   “What happened?” he asked softly.

   “Stairs collapsed halfway down. Dunno why,” you whispered, a shudder clambering down your spine, “Tried to run back up but… well, I was obviously almost too late.”

   That statement caused a sour expression to blossom on his face but he was quick to hide it behind a tight-lipped smile. 

   “It’s good that you called for me. I wasn’t too far away when I heard the crashing but I wasn’t sure where it came from or why,” he replied. 

   He worked his mouth as if attempting to say something but nothing came out other than a little sigh. 

   With careful movements, you started to sit up but he was quick to stop you, big hands firmly gripping your shoulders as if you were going to run away.

   “You need to rest,” he instructed thickly.

   “I know.”

   Thankfully he relinquished his hold on you when you began to move once more, hands instead going to rest on your waist as you turned to face him. You swallowed down the pain and the fear that clawed up your throat. You had to tell him now, while the adrenaline was still coursing through your veins and the threat of death was fresh in your mind, lest you never do it.

   “Y/N?” Illinois asked gruffly in obvious curiosity.

   You didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words. Instead, you took hold of his shoulders for balance and climbed to straddle his legs. Although he easily could have stopped you, he didn’t and that tidbit of information made your determination grow even stronger. 

   Once you were settled comfortably in his lap, you took a steadying breath and caught his gaze. How many times had you imagined looking into those dark mahogany eyes as you kissed him? Too many to count. You’d be damned if you didn’t at least try, still tasting the regret heavy on your tongue.

   “Illinois, I-”

   Before you could spill those three damning words, one of his hands shot up and cupped the back of your head, jerking you into a harsh kiss. The hand remaining on your waist swiftly crossed your back and pinned you to him. 

   It all happened so fast that you couldn’t react properly until you felt him breathe a low sigh against your lips. When reality finally hit, you wasted no time kissing him back. Your hands found their way over his shoulders and into his hair, knocking his hat off so you could run your fingers through his sought after locks. At the same time, you parted your lips and nibbled at his lower lip until he took the hint. 

   His tongue easily overtook yours and plundered your mouth hungrily until you were both starved for air. 

   Pulling back to breathe, you rested your forehead against his and panted out, “I love you. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long but I was afraid you didn’t like me that way at all and I’d make you hate me.”

   “Oh no, gorgeous. I’ve cared for you for so long but I didn’t realize just how much until I almost lost you. Do you know how much that hurt me? Thinking I’d lost the best thing that had ever come into my life?” 

   His confession stirred all kinds of butterflies to life. You had to take a few moments to gather your emotions together as everything culminated and hit like a brick wall but still, a few tears escaped. Breath hitching, you swallowed thickly and pressed a light kiss to his hair. 

   “It’s okay, Y/N, I’ve got you,” Illinois murmured soothingly, “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” 

   The exhaustion of the evening joined in the emotional turmoil and had you drooping in his arms, snuggling and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. It’s a good thing the museum made for a good shelter against the elements because you weren’t sure you’d be able to move from his arms for the rest of the night, let alone walk somewhere else. 

   “Get some rest, gorgeous. We’ll talk more when you wake.” 

[detectivesplotslies]

After We Get Out

Description: Kaede makes a cafe date with someone she hasn't seen since the game, despite her friend's warnings. Word Count: 1429

Read on AO3 here

Out the window fat snowflakes fluttered through the air, some sticking to the glass, some joining the grey slush in the street as people crowded the sidewalk. Mud and snow mixed and tracked on people’s boots, trailing in puddles into the little cafe. In her corner booth near the window, Kaede was glad to be out of it for a bit. She traced a finger along the chilly glass, drawing out the staff and bars. Idly she plotted the clef and notes to a song in the condensation, wondering if this was as terrible an idea as everyone else had thought it was. She lifted her finger from her budding verse, slick with the cold and wet of the outdoors and lightly wiped it on her sleeve. When she glanced up she realized her guest had arrived.

Standing next to the table, almost tentatively waiting for an invitation or permission, was a familiar bespectacled girl, her long blue hair tied in a braid, and peppered in already melting powder snow. Tsumugi Shirogane looked largely the same as she remembered, her vacant eyes, pale and smooth features. Kaede had thought her pretty when they first met too. The cosplayer hadn’t really been around when they had all come to, due to tensions. She was honestly surprised she looked this way both in and out of the game. So many of the others couldn’t quite live up to the selves they expected in the mirror. Kaede sure didn’t see the picture perfect pianist in her own memories.

“Shirogane-san, please sit down,” Kaede said quickly, gesturing to the seat across from her, where the second menu sat. Tsumugi stares at her like a deer in headlights a moment longer, before removing her scarf and sliding down the bench to the offered spot. She mumbled a greeting, keeping her eyes down the entire time. The menu was now a subject of keen interest, apparently. Kaede sighed a bit. She wasn’t sure what she had expected honestly. “Wasn’t hard to find the place, was it?”

“Ah, no it was pretty close to the station, like you said,” Tsumugi replied, adjusting her glasses and glancing to the side.

“Good,” Kaede said brightly, smiling. She didn’t see it.

The silence stretched on as Tsumugi removed her coat. It finally broke when the waitress came around. She took out her notepad and pencils and flashed them a grin.

“Welcome, are you ladies ready to order?”

“Oh, I think we’ll need a minute, she just got-”

“I’ll have milk tea and an omurice special, thank you,” Tsumugi said, cutting her off, handing the menu back. Kaede blinked.

“Uh, I’ll have one, too then! With a melon soda.”

The waitress wrote the orders down and headed back to the kitchen with the menus. The two of them sat opposite each other awkwardly. Kaede smiled again, wincing as Tsumugi’s eyes drifted to the window with no menu to read anymore. She had to take the initiative here, didn’t she.

“So, Shirogane-san, you look good. How have you been?”

“I’ve been the same.”

A pause.

“Well, that’s good to hear! I’ve been doing okay, I just got a new job and-”

“Akamatsu, why did you invite me here?”

“-it’s not music but- huh?”

“Why did you ask me to meet with you? Did something happen? Is this about your contract, or is there an issue? What is it?”

Tsumugi had finally met her eye, and looked so serious. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she searched Kaede’s face. The intensity rose out of nowhere as she leaned in. Kaede could see her own face reflected in her glasses as they fogged up. The blonde pressed back from the table as Tsumugi clasped her hand.

“What do you mean!? Nothing’s happened.”

“Is it paparazzi? Blackmail? I can’t help unless I know the details.”

“Shiroga-”

“I know you didn’t want to stay in contact with the company, but the resources are in place to protect your-”

“Tsumugi, stop! I’m fine!”

The blue haired woman stopped, confusion washing over her expression. The intensity gave way to a nervous look that was more recognizable. She retracted her hand and adjusted her glasses.

“Then, what did you need me for?”

Kaede ran a hand through the back of her hair, this time being the one to break eye contact as her cheeks brightened. No wonder scheduling this had been so easy. She hoped nothing important had been cancelled to run out and see her like this. Beating around the bush would only make matters worse, so Kaede swallowed her nerves and told the truth.

“I wanted to see you, and to try out this cafe together. I didn’t need anything.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, placing them on the table and utterly failing to read the awkward air as she asked if they wanted anything else while they waited. Kaede forced a polite smile, thanked her assuring they were fine. By the time she left, Tsumugi looked like she wanted a map to the conversation. She opened her mouth, and paused with it open. She closed it again. She looked up again, and finally spoke.

“Why?”

“Because we said we would when we got out, right?” Kaede stirred at her soda with her straw, bubbles sticking to it. “I know we didn’t get a lot of time to talk during… or after… but I meant what I said about us getting new hobbies, and maybe going out to cafes. Trying new things.” She sipped her soda, hoping her face wasn’t anywhere near as red as it felt.

“You still wanted to do that? With me?” Tsumugi tilted her head, incredulous in tone. “You watched the game, and you spoke to the others.”

“I did, but I also heard them talk about me, and I’ll be honest, they aren’t all the best judges of character. So I figure I can do some getting to know you myself, and then see what I think after it all. Though I guess I should have said that when I contacted you, haha, I just sort of assumed you meant what you said. Or that even if you didn’t, you wouldn’t mind? Kind of silly now that I’m saying it. I don’t really know how you see me.”

“I don’t mind, no,” Tsumugi adjusted her glasses and took a sip from her milk tea. There was some quiet as they both drank, the noise of the cafe around them light at this hour. She thoughtfully glanced back down and then continued, “But what do you mean how I see you? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Kaede bent the plastic straw a little between her fingers and bit her lip. “Well, you know, the whole… fiction thing. You’re not like the rest of us, you’re… from here. To me I don’t think I’d be able to tell the difference really, but I would totally understand if you didn’t want to hang around with someone when you had a part in writing it all?” She paused letting the straw snap straight again. “With all you said about what’s real and-”

“NO!” The interruption is loud enough that the cafe gets a bit hushed. Outside the window though the snowy bustling world continued on, unperturbed. A bit flustered, Tsumugi shakes her head.

“I… a lot of what I said there was what needed to be said, to end the charade, but… I never thought of you as fake. Everything you said to me felt real, whether you knew the truth or not. You’re the one who realized your only hobby was piano, and made the plans. If anything I’m the one who’s fake. I don’t have the excuse of memories.” Tsumugi tugs at her braid almost anxiously, shame growing on her face.

“Well… can you let me see if I believe that then? While we try out cafes, or cooking or… something?”

“I… sure. I’d love to.”

They smiled at each other a moment, before becoming acutely aware that the waitress has been waiting for their exchange to end, grinning at the edge of their booth. She placed the meals down in front of them, complete with hearts drawn in ketchup on top of the omurice.

“Bon appetit~!” She said with a wink, before she skittered back to the counter. This time Tsumugi went beet red as Kaede laughed. They would definitely need to try some other cafes, lest they get a reputation at this one. The chatter returned in the other booths, they started the meal, and started over fresh.

[jade-romina]

Haunting A Vampire

 'Why did you write that down? That's not even the important part of the lecture?

 Late at night: I wonder when they'll find my body. You did a shit job hiding it.

 "All I want is at least three hours when you're quiet! If I don't get some sleep, I might kill you all over again."

 'Congratulatioms, once again your lack of control rears its ugly head.' slow claps

 'Your non-corporeal clapping is hilarious. Keep it up' eye roll

 ' If a ghost claps and no one sees it does it really make a sound?'

 'My point exactly. Also, stop staring at me when I get dressed. Don't think I can't see you lurking.'

 Brina: 'How else would you know if your shirt is inside out? You barely have a reflection.'

 'Sure, that's why you do it.' She shakes her head and mutters. 'Creeper.' 

 'Exhibitionist.'

 'Excuse me?! This is my room and I literally can't escape you! You follow me into the bathroom sometimes. Do you really want to drive me mad this badly?'

 Brina: 'You are the dumbest smart person I've ever met. Consider, just for a moment, that I am physically unable to leave you. It's not that fun for me either. Like I wanted to spend your lifetime listening to you shit or watch you primp when you have lectures with the hot lady professor.:

'Doesn't mean you have to sit and watch but whatever.'

 'I'm dead. It's not like I can put on headphones and go for a jog. Maybe next time you kill someone you'll be a little more careful about who that someone is!'

  'It was an accident! I'd never kill someone again. Especially, now.'  'Yeah, sure. An "accident". I believe that.'  'You really think I'm just a murderer?' [4:40 PM, 9/21/2020] Brina: 'Well you murdered me!'  'It's not murder if you didn't intend to kill the person! God...'

 'Oh, I'm sorry. Did I offend your sensibilities after you manslaughtered me?!' 'Don't you mean woman slaughtered?' Jade groaned. 'We could drop the pronouns and stick with slaughtered. That's fairly accurate. Did I even have a throat left when you finished? I know you glutted yourself like a tick. All that power. Wasted on a vampire who couldn't even use it.'

 'Stop! I get it.' She gets up from the bed and rushes into the connected bathroom and leans over the sink, turning on the tap, and splashing water on her face.

 Hops on the vanity and watches a minute. 'Feeling a bit queasy are we?'

 Jade took a deep breath and looked out the doorway. 'Gee, I wonder why.'

 'I almost feel sorry for you.'  'Why? I killed you. I deserve it.' She looked in the mirror, forgetting for the thousandth time that she wouldn't find anything there. 'I never wanted any of this. Just like you never wanted to die. The world is shit and I guess we just deal with it.'

 'Well, you'll have to deal with it. I'm free of all that shit. Sort of.' She hesitated a moment and drew in a deep breath. Not that she could actually breathe. It was habit - instinct? She missed the rush of air, the rise of her chest as it expanded. The pressure of sitting at the bottom of the pool, waiting to break the surface and gulp down fresh air before doing it all over again. 'I'm Romina and I'm going to try to give you some respite. Do you have any salt?'

 "Salt?" Jade searched her mind. The contents of her tiny dorm room where few and far between but the previous occupant had left some things behind so maybe. "I don't know." She went to the only cupboard that she knew might contain old food stuffs and Doug until she reached the back and saw a container of iodized salt. "Here."

 Romina stood to her full height, and lifted her chin. It wasn't indignation. It was a brave face. She had no idea what would happen to her, if anything at all. Logic dictated something would happen though. 'Pour out a pinch of it into your palm and throw it at me.'

 'Um, okay?' Jade opened the container and poured a tiny bit into her palm. This girl was interesting to say the least so she did what she was told and threw the salt.

 Romina fastened her eyes shut as tightly as possible. She hadn't meant to flinch quite so badly. There was a moment, just a moment, where she thought maybe it hadn't worked, but before she could breathe with ease, pain burst through her. The salt burned and she...disappeared. One moment she was with Jade and the next, so was outside, banished from Jade's room. How long the banishing would last she had no idea but it wasn't a permanent fix. She could already feel the pull. It might last until sunrise at best. Jade would at least get some sleep.

 It worked. The ghost, Romina, vanished. Jade watched the spot where she had been, half expecting her to reappear. Nothing happened and she sighed. It was quieter but a little more lonely without her presence.

She rolled her eyes at her own folly and sat back on the bed.

Sleep.

That's what she needed.

Her dreams were turbulent as always. There was blood and pleasure and pain, but most of all guilt. She had done terrible things, not as many as older vampires but enough to let her know that she was a monster deep down.

She shouldn't even be around humans but the need to feel normal didn't go away when you were turned. She still wore the face of a human and with that came all the icky feelings that they possessed.

When she woke, the room was dark but a glow attracted her attention.

'You're back.'

 'Temporary fix.' She shrugged. 'You need privacy, you salt me, but it at least confirmed I am actually stuck with you. One minute I was walking in the woods and the next I was here, listening to you snore.'

 'I don't snore.' Jade scoffed.

The reality of what Romina has said set in after the indignation wore off.

'I really screwed you over, didn't I?'

She sat up in the bed and drew her legs up to her body, resting her head in her hands.

'I'm sorry,' she said softly.

 Watching Jade, the way she curled in on herself, Romina actually felt sorry for her. She had no idea vampires felt anything at all except contempt for people who weren't like them.

'You know how people tell you to be careful what you wish for?' she asked. 'This is probably one of those instances. I mean I didn't want to bed dead but I really wasn't ready to become high priestess either.' [6:31 AM, 9/22/2020] Bre: 

unfortunate encounter but something had stirred in her, a curiosity to seek out something.

'So, you're like witch royalty then?'

 How much could Romina tell Jade? Maybe if she told her enough they could get help. Or she'd send Jade off to be imprisoned for eons.

Nothing big then.

'My mother was witch royalty. Beloved by all. She is now head of the high court. I was meant to leave here and to take her place at the head seat of our coven.'  'Until you met me.' Jade stated.

She pushed her hair away from her face and bit her bottom lip, making herself look at Romina after a pause.

'Does your family know what happened? I mean, what really happened.'

The papers said it was an animal attack of some kind. They always did. Vampire power existed everywhere. No doubt there was one of her kind pulling the strings in every city.  She shrugged. 'Probably but I can't say for certain. Until some hours ago I hadn't been able to leave your side.'

It wasn't as if Romina was free to go snoop on anyone else lest they were within a certain distance of Jade.

'But that said, I was able to find you a meal you could feel good about killing. If you're interested that is.'

 'What?'

Jade relinquished wallowing in her own self-loathing long enough to be intrigued.

She deserved to desiccate and fall away into obscurity but the victim of her literal inner demon was offering her a meal?

'Why are you being nice to me? You don't have to. I understand.'

Romina laid her head back against the wall, and when she didn't just fall through into the other side she sighed. The incongruity of being dead was doing her head in. She could sit on things, lean against things, she could write messages in steam on bathroom mirrors but only Jade saw her. It was fucking weird but that wasn't the issue at hand.

'You don't know me but three weeks of death has given me ample opportunity to know you. To understand what I see in you.' She closed her eyes, picking her words slowly. 'If I'd had known you starved yourself I wouldn't have antagonised you but then again how could I have known? Our societies are kept separate. I get it now. Without extensive stalking you don't know the kosher meals, but being dead I see so much more. I can help. I should help.'

'Oh.'

Jade's head swam with the information. She never mixed with many creatures beyond humans.

Not after what happened the last time. She kept to herself, tried to make a life. When she met Romina it was clear that she was making a mistake.

Pretending to be human, ignoring her needs as a vampire, it led to this.

'It's my fault. I've spent so long trying not to be what I am. Because being a vampire got me locked away for ten years with a lunatic.'

She tugged on the ends of her long hair, a long held habit, and closed her eyes for a beat.

'Maybe it's time to start managing my thirst instead of ignoring it.'

 'Admitting we have needs isn't shameful. The acts of others are not our own.' Romina hopped up from the opposite bed and planted her hands on her hips. 'Now keeping that in mind and forgetting all the shit I gave you for killing me, I'd like to admit the position I held in my coven was that of an assassin. Justice. And I was here hunting someone who hunts women. You finish my job, kill him and take his body to my people, and explain my death was accidental they won't send my replacement to hunt for you.'

 'Are you serious? You want me to hunt a man?'

Jade choked out a laugh and let the feeling of disbelief sit within her.

Could she really let herself do this?

'You realize I'm a ripper, right? If I kill him, I might not stop there."

 'You stopped when I asked you what the hell you thought you were doing shaking your head like a dog with my neck in your mouth.' She bent over, sticking her face right in Jade's and whispered, 'You heard me. You see me. You stopped. I can stop you again.'

[angrylizardjacket]

crashed into me {Bernie Taupin}

Summary: Ash, having split from Roger, is called in to work with Elton John, where she meets Bernie Taupin, who feels like a breath of fresh air, even if he's not so different from Roger, he's different enough. It feel different. It feels good.

A/N: atrociously long but I don't know the word count. (Edit: akdkaldksfdg it's 8200 words wtf) I'm so so so sorry to mobile users who Read More doesn't work for. And for everyone else for the next 3 days until I can get to a laptop and add a read more. SO this is a thing. I'm actually a little proud of it. It'll get like 12 notes because it's obscure as hell but I'm enjoying myself and that's what matters. I hope that if you read it, you enjoy it too!!

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

When John Reid, Queen’s manager, calls Ash specifically, she can’t even begin to fathom what he wants. This is John Reid, who manages Elton John, who she’s met maybe twice in total, wanting her to meet someone- not Queen, just Ash. He calls and he asks her to meet him at his office, to bring her portfolio; he tells her that he’s got a client who is interested in working with her, and Ash feels like she’s going to throw up. 

When John Reid, Elton John’s manager, calls Ash, Queen’s designer, specifically, he knows without even really needing a meeting that she’d be perfect to work with Elton. The moment he’d met her, watched her negotiate for a place on EMI’s payroll with Foster, he knew she wasn’t one to be chewed up and spat out the industry like so many before her had been, and will be. She’s weathered rockstars, weathered Freddie Mercury for years by now, and she’s got the drive, the talent, and the vision to bring Elton’s extravagance to life. 

And more importantly, he knows what’s gone down between her and Roger, and since they’ve split, he doesn’t want either of their talent wasted on awkward encounters and unresolved tension; he wants to give her a project with another artist as much as he wants to give her an opportunity.

The meeting is more of a formality.

“Rocket, dear, lovely to see you, please take a seat,” Reid smiles warmly at her when she knocks on his door, wearing a bright red jumpsuit, the top of which is tied off around her waist, and a yellow, bejeweled, bell sleeved crop top. Her hair is out, looking somehow both styled, and an absolute, untameable mess, and she’s already reaching for her folio in the leather bag she’s got slung over one shoulder.

“Rocket? Who’s Rocket?” There’s someone on the sofa that Ash hadn’t been able to see for the door, and when she steps into the room, she can feel her heart in her throat. Elton. Fucking. John.

“Rocket here is a designer, she’s Queen’s designer actually, though she’s essentially on retainer for EMI; I think she could really bring your ideas to life, Elton.” Reid’s so clear and concise, and Ash has to remember to close her mouth, a little overwhelmed now that she knows exactly why she’s here. “Rocket, please, take a seat.” 

Ash steps quickly up to the desk, looking to Reid to avoid staring at Elton and the man she hadn’t noticed beside him, instead pulling out her portfolio and laying flat on the desk. The switch is instant, from nervous to all business, seizing the opportunity presented.

“You should have given me a heads up, I could have brought some of the actual pieces I was working on for Freddie, they’re far more impressive.” Ash tells him, voice a little tense. She avoids looking directly at Reid, opening up to the front page which was already a rather impressive photo of Freddie in a sequinned, striped jumpsuit, laid out over a sketch of the design with notes, and fabric samples. When she finally looks up at Reid, he’s giving her a faintly amused smile, before his gaze flicks to the sofa and it’s occupants.

“I’m sorry,” he’s not really, they both know, but Ash just gives a tight smile in response before he’s calling over the other two, “Elton, Bernie, would you like to come over and introduce yourselves and take a look at her portfolio, maybe get some ideas?”

There’s movement once he stops speaking; Elton, and the one who has to be Bernie, make their way over, both looking between Ash and Reid, a little confused, but mostly intrigued. Ash stands and moves to the side to let the other two get a good look at her work.

“Ash Clarke,” she offers her hand, smiling brightly trying to hide her nerves, “but most people around here call me Rocket; it’s a nickname turned professional name, you know how it goes,” she explains without being prompted, as if reading off a script. Elton grins at her.

“Elton John, lovely to meet you, Miss Rocket, I have to say it’s good to put a name to the brains behind some of Freddie’s pieces I’ve come to really envy,” he tells her, and Ash can feel herself turning bright red at the compliment.

“Thank you,” she tells him, her smile growing more bashful, still a little starstruck, “it’s lovely to meet you too.”

“You- you made all of these?” The other man asks, eyes bright as he looks up from where he’s been flicking through her portfolio. Ash drops Elton’s hand, and the singer turns to join his friend in looking through the book.

“Every design in there had to be made from scratch; it’s not as if you’re going to get Freddie Mercury’s look in Biba,” she laughs a little, gaze drifting as she scratches at the back of her neck, considering “I’m not exactly worried about time or effort in terms of construction; hand sewing a sequinned jumpsuit was pretty much my Everest.”

“We’ll see about that,” Elton says, and there’s an excited look in his eyes, and Ash pauses for a moment, before letting her grin turn a little sharp as she looks back at him.

“If anyone could give me a challenge, it’d probably be you.” 

And the moment her work becomes her focus, any indication of her earlier nervousness evaporates. When she greets Bernie, there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, the firmness of her handshake, something in her smile he can’t quite identify.

Once they’re all introduced, Ash stands between the pair looking over her folio, walking them through designs, the intricacies of each piece’s construction; her voice is strong and her explanations are concise, though she’ll add amusing asides here and there. Before the half an hour meeting is up, Elton’s already agreed to take her on as his designer, and head dresser for the tour.

“I prefer to travel with my more intricate work,” Ash admits, a little awkwardly, but Elton’s already all but agreed. 

After everyone’s in agreement, a consultation has been arranged for Ash and Elton to go through some initial ideas, and Ash has signed onto the tour, she’s packed up all her things and is ready to head out. Reid’s office is in a very large, very fancy EMI building, and while Elton stays to talk with his manager, Bernie offers to walk her out, lest she get lost.

“How’d you come to work with Queen?” He asks, smiling goodnaturedly. The softness about his eyes reminds her a little of John. 

“I met Fred in uni, he’s like a brother to me,” Ash admits, though it’s a little hesitant, there’s a tightness in her own smile, and she avoids his gaze, “I’ve been working with them for about three-to-four years,” she paused, “dunno, just sort of fell into it, I guess.” She paused for a very, very long moment, before finally turning, slowing down to an actual stop. “You’re the songwriter, aren’t you?” After a beat, she frowned, amending, “like, I know you both write songs, but you’re- that’s what you do for the mostpart.”

Bernie blinked a few times, taking a moment to process all of what she’d said, amid the flurry of her accent, and found himself smiling, nodding as he actually took a moment to consider the woman before him.

“Yes, I write the words, Elton writes the music,” after a beat, his smile grew wider, “that’s generally how it’s worked out.”

“Well judging by the end product, it’s worked out quite well.” Ash’s voice was surprisingly fond, and Bernie agrees, laughing, and then they’re heading off again, and he’s asking her if she had a favourite song. 

“I mean, I do, I have a few, but they’re...” she hesitated, bouncing down the stairs to the ground floor, “most of them, well, they’re a bit tragic now, old memories and such; I don’t listen to them a lot anymore,” she found herself admitting.

“Can I ask what they were anyways?” And Bernie sounds genuinely curious. Ash makes a noise that sounds caught between a hum and a laugh, but Bernie holds up a hand, amusement shining in his eyes when she looks over his eyes, “can I take a guess and say one of them was Tiny Dancer?”

Ash laughs, nodding, though she’s also turning pink.

“The kicker is that I can’t dance to save my life, haven’t got a musical bone in my body,” they’re passing reception, and Ash waves to the woman behind the counter who smiles and waves at her in return, “but Rog was always adamant that the rest of the song was close enough that it didn’t matter.” Her words are fond but then her expression is twisting, falling once they step outside and her mind has caught on a memory; the reason she doesn’t listen to the song anymore, Bernie thinks. He goes to apologise, but then she’s smiling brightly at him, waiving it off and hopping down the front steps of the building.

She tells him it was lovely to meet him, so honest and bright, and he wonders if it was a trick of the light, her momentary scowl. He returns the sentiment in kind and tells her he looks forward to their next meeting. Ash’s smile grows wider, and then she’s off, easy for his eye to follow, all red and gold and ginger, like a flame through the sea of beige pants and slate grey sidewalks. Certainly she’s interesting, but he’s not quite sure what to think.

By the time he’s back in the office, though he’s sure to knock first, knowing Elton and Reid’s situation, he asks about her. Elton, ever the gossip, has already extracted from Reid everything he knows about the girl, within reason. 

The most scandalous gossip is always what Elton starts with, and it only takes a single sentence for the earlier interaction to start making more sense to Bernie.

“Well I knew I knew her from somewhere; she’s been in and around the tabloids in the past few years, dating Roger Taylor and all,” Elton leans back, smiling to himself; the gossip’s not malicious, it’s more like he’s proud of himself for solving some sort of riddle. It’s obvious he likes her well enough, is excited to work with her, is excited to work with someone who has the talent to match his ideas. 

They meet with her weekly; Elton because he’s the one she’s designing for, Reid because he’s Elton’s manager the same way Paul is Queen’s; in charge of the day-to-day, and Bernie because, well, because he can be, because he wants to be. Ash doesn’t complain, he’s good company.

They go over concepts at a coffee shop, and she’s dressed down from the last time they saw her. Her hair’s tied back, late and a little frantic, sketchbook in hand when she bursts in. There’s paint on her clothes and graphite on her fingertips, and loose pieces of thread littered all over her shirt if anyone looked hard enough.

She doesn’t give an excuse, just jumps straight into the ideas she had, opening her sketchbook to a page covered in designs and colours, telling them she’d have fabric samples after taking measurements.

She’s chaotic; a flurry of movement and colour, and a much thicker accent than Reid, exploding with ideas, and so enthusiastic about the ideas that Elton brings in turn. She’d rather write her address on a napkin than rip out a page of her notebook, and something about that is so endearing.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t usually how designers work,” she says, finally taking a moment to sip at the coffee she’d ordered on arrival, making a face at how lukewarm and unpleasant it was, “I’m just used to being far more hands on with my clients,” after a beat, she considered her words, before her expression wrinkles and she turns an entertaining shade of pink. “Professionally,” she picked her words carefully, “I like to establish a close and respectful relationship with my clients; I consider the people I work with to be friends.” She explains, and is thankful when no-one questions her on that.

Bernie’s the first to show up, a week later at the address she’d given them all, and it comes as a slight surprise to find that it’s not a studio, that it’s just her flat. She answers the door in practically the same clothes as she’d been wearing the last time she saw him, but with a grin adorning her face, looking far less hurried.

While she sets about making tea, he takes the moment to look around her apartment, picking his way past the reams of fabric leaning against every piece of furniture it seemed. There’s a selection of photos on her mantle, most notably, a slightly faded photograph of a younger-looking Ash, and Freddie Mercury, in front of the ocean. Most of her photos are of Queen members, though there’s a few of what he thinks is a band, though he doesn’t recognise them, the woman Ash is standing beside is stark naked, grinning and covered in body paint. There’s one, face down, and when he picks it up, he sees Ash asleep on Queen’s Roger Taylor, the two of them crammed into what Bernie recognises as a tour bus sofa; it’s labelled Osaka ‘72. It’s surprisingly intimate. He feels like he’s intruding. Something tightens in Bernie’s chest at the sight of it, and he puts it back down, wants to pretend like he never saw it, but turning back, he sees Ash watching him, quiet, leaning against her kitchen counter with two mugs in front of her.

“Sorry, I should have cleaned up.” Her voice is soft as she picks up the mugs, bringing one over to him where he’s floundering, babbling out apologies for intruding, though she doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead, she stands beside him, shoulder brushing his, looking at the rest of the photos.

“That one’s from our first year-” she picks up the one of herself and Freddie, “felt like we were the only two not straight out of high school, us old dogs had to stick together.”

This takes Bernie by surprise, who hadn’t thought much about how old she was, though when he thinks about it, he’d assumed she was younger than him, but perhaps that was just her height. It turns out he’s younger than her by just under a year; she’d just turned twenty-six. 

Elton and Reid turn up not long after, and she sets about making them tea also, before she starts taking Elton’s measurements. While she’s writing and sketching, she hands him a thick box of fabrics, and tells him to go through it, pick out some textures and colours he likes and that he thinks would work.

What a strange juxtaposition she presents herself as; endlessly patient and understanding with everyone around her, but always hurrying herself, wanting to do more, trying to push herself, challenge herself. Bernie can’t deny that he’s coming to quite like her.

In the months leading up to the album release and tour, they’re at her flat almost once a week, once a fortnight if they’re busy, but it becomes a familiar location. Ash is casual about it, insisting that suits would be overdressed, and so, even for Reid, it becomes a small sanctuary from the hectic life they’ve all been leading. Despite this, she’s always been a bit wary of Reid, not enough to have it effect their business, but every time she sees him in a suit, it seems to set her on edge; the moment he starts showing up in jeans and t-shirts, she seems far more comfortable. Sometimes they bring takeout, and Ash yells when Elton eats in costume, but she always relents ‘just this once’, every time. 

They swap anecdotes, and the three men come to realise that Ash was a lot closer with Queen than anyone else seems to know, and she in turn learns of Elton and Reid’s relationship. There’s a moment of nervousness, of hesitation after the confession spills from Elton’s lips, even Bernie is tense. After a beat, Ash sits back from where she’d been bent over her sewing machine.

“It doesn’t bother me, I’m in a similar boat after all, in terms of,” she flushes a little, gesturing vaguely to herself, though she’s facing away from them, hair hiding most of her face. There’s a new tension in the room now, “but I don’t have much of a preference,” she admitted, before laughing a little, looking back at them where they’ve taken up her sofa and armchair, “but honestly after everything I went through with Rog, I admire that you’ve kept it so discrete.” After this, she actually seems less tense around Reid, even when he’s wearing a suit, though Bernie’s not sure the others have even noticed.

Bernie finds her fascinating, will show up early just to talk while she will be sewing, or pinning, or embroidering, always doing something, always keeping busy. In turn, he’d started bringing his notebook, working on lyrics. They’d fall into companionable silence, working away at their respective tasks before Reid and Elton would show up and the noise would pick up again.

“Dude, how in the hell did you manage to tear this?”

Bernie arrives in time to see Ash holding what looks like it could be a shirt, gazing despairingly at Brian May, who just shrugged at her question. After a beat, she shook her head.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she sighed, taking a seat at her sewing machine, and greeting Bernie with a weary smile, “when do you need this by?” She asks Brian, who’s frowning in confusion at Bernie. The confusion is mutual. “Brian.”

“Saturday?”

“It’ll take me twenty minutes, can you make me a tea?” She sighs, and he’s happy to oblige. Once introduced, Bernie and Brian get on well, chatting idly about music and touring, and when Bernie mentions taking Ash on tour, Brian looks both surprised and amused, and before Ash can even open her mouth to protest, Brian’s already giving a wry yet vague warning about keeping an eye on her on tour. Before he can even finish she’s threatening to destroy his shirt, and that’s enough to shut him up.

Banter and teasing quips flow between them and it becomes obvious that they’re old friends through and through. Brian mentions that Freddie’s been whining without her around, and Ash gives a wry smile, calls Freddie a sook, and informs Brian that Freddie had been by the apartment only two days ago. She asks about how John Deacon was going with his girlfriend, and Brian’s smile turns fond as he catches her up. It doesn’t escape Bernie’s notice how they avoid talking about Roger.

Once the shirt’s fixed, Ash presents it with pride, and Brian takes her face in his hands, kissing her forehead and calling her a legend. Ash’s answering smile is toothy. Silence filled the little flat once Brian had left, as Ash leaned her head onto her desk with faint exasperation, her cheeks flushed.

“So, Miss Rocket,” Bernie leaned back in her armchair, mischief glinting in his eyes as he crosses his arms. He doesn’t call her that much anymore, but she’s not objecting to the nickname as much as she is this line of questioning he’s about to go down, “what exactly did you get up to on tour that it warrants a warning from Brian May?” There’s a teasing edge to his words and Ash actually gives pause, before looking up, cheeks still dusted with a faint blush.

“It’s not suitable for polite company,” her smile is sharp, amusement sparkling in her eyes, and Bernie laughs.

“Sweet of you to call me polite company-” but they’re cut short but Elton bursting in, asking if Brian May had just been here. 

Something about Ash’s relationship with Bernie had shifted that day, subtly, almost imperceptibly, but they both knew it had. Perhaps it was the solidarity of being close to someone in the spotlight, or the solidarity of everyone knowing your work but no-one knowing your name. Perhaps it was simpler than that.

Now, not that anyone noticed enough to make mention of it, when she wasn’t at her sewing machine or fitting Elton, more often than not she was by his side. Even at the photoshoot Reid had set up to get a look at the costumes under lights, Ash found herself coming to stand beside Bernie. Initially it had been to ask his opinion, but she’d then just stayed there, frowning at Elton with her tongue poking out just as little as she tried to think about what else the outfit might need.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” There’s pride in Bernie’s voice, and Ash hums distractedly, playing with the box of safety pins in her hand while Elton posed with a piano. His jacket was beautifully ostentatious, with big, furry shoulder pieces that somehow managed to distract from his tight, sequinned pants. It’s quite a look.

“Do you think it needs something?” She asks, tipping her head to the side. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Bernie says after a moment, before humming, “it’s quite fetching though, God knows only he could pull it off.” Ash laughs a little at that, but her frown deepens.

“Elton,” she calls out, and the singer’s attention immediately snaps to her, “you think it needs anything else?”

“A hat.” He answers, without missing a beat, and Ash’s face lights up like he’s given her the secrets to life, the universe, and everything.

“Of course!”

Once the photoshoot is over, Elton makes mention that they’re going out for drinks, makes a point to invite her, and Ash hesitates for a moment, but agrees, so long as she can stop by her flat to change. Halfway to her front door, arms laden down with garment bags, she turns back to the Rolls Royce the other three are crammed into, and asks where they’re getting drinks at a volume that’s probably louder than necessary. After a moment, the window is rolled down, and Elton’s smiling face is looking at her, telling her to wear whatever she’d wear out with Freddie, for context. Ash nods very seriously, tells him she won’t be long.

It only takes her five minutes before she’s crashing from her front door, a pair of enormous, black platformed go-go boots in hand, wearing a black, sequinned, sleeveless shirt, and brown, corduroy, high-waisted shorts. When she makes her way into the car, she’s too distracted trying to pull on her boots to notice where Elton was instructing the driver to go, or how Bernie was pointedly looking at anything but Ash.

Thankfully, Elton had taken the middle seat in the back, and was currently fawning over the sequinned shirt, and he and Ash got into a conversation that essentially amounted  to complaining about the texture of wearing sequins, but loving how they felt from the outside. When Elton asks Bernie his thoughts, the man in question stumbled over his answer, gaze fixed out the window. 

“He hasn’t got the same eye for fashion,” Elton stage whispered to Ash, who couldn’t help but giggle.

“That’s not his fault, people like him can get away with owning one leather jacket because they always look good in it,” she says blithely; Elton’s eyebrows raise with amusement, and Bernie’s grinning, turning pink about the ears.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” Reid finally chimes in from the front seat, and Ash, who has no interest in being embarrassed or playing coy, smiles, and says without hesitation that it is.

With her boots on, she’s about the same height as Bernie, though both of them are still dwarfed by Elton in platforms of his own, and with Reid in tow, the four of them make their way into one of the hottest clubs London has to offer. 

Elton boos when she says she doesn’t like drinking, but cheers when she agrees to cocaine, and boos again once she’s snorted a few lines, and rubbed the remains on her gums, and adamantly refuses to dance.

“So no drinking but a strong yes to coke?” Bernie laughs, sitting beside her in the booth. They’re shoulder to shoulder despite the ample room surrounding them, and he’s got a beer in front of him; Elton and Reid have already disappeared. Ash is surprised Reid even agreed to come out.

“I don’t hate who I am on coke,” Ash says, far too honestly, but she’s still smiling as if she hadn’t been painfully personal, “and I don’t black out on it; I like remembering my nights.” She elbows him, a teasing edge to her words and her grin. He can’t help but laugh, tipping his head back against the wall.

“I thought you’d rather someone more... exciting. Adventurous. Someone to give you nights worth remembering,” he hears himself saying, “not to say that I’m not fun,” he amended quickly, “but I’m no Roger Taylor-”

“Thank fuck for that,” she chuckles humorlessly, “you know, I’m so fucking sick of people assuming what I want; who I deserve, who I’m perfect for, according to them,” her jaw tightens, looking out at the dance floor, and Bernie can’t help but frown, turning to look at her, “listen, if you want to keep things professional, just say the word. But for the record,” she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze, expression serious, “out of everyone I could possibly be with in this moment, I’d rather you.”

Bernie doesn’t give himself time to hesitate, to deliberate, so he kisses her, his lips soft against hers, his hand coming to cup her jaw and pull her closer. She moves with him, pressing herself closer to his side, leaning in to his touch. When they break apart, he doesn’t drop his hold on her face, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. She’s not smiling, though neither is he, both looking at the other as if waiting for the other’s reaction, both even a little bewildered. 

“You’re lovely,” Ash murmurs, eyes wide, “you’re so lovely and it makes me actually so nervous.” She admits, and Bernie can feel himself smiling.

“What?” He snorts, and Ash is turning pink. suddenly bashful, as if she’s regretting saying it.

“I can be such an asshole, I keep asking myself how I’ve tricked you into this,” she tells him, but she doesn’t look away, can’t bring herself to. His expression actually turns soft.

“You haven’t, and you aren’t,” he tells her fondly, and Ash finally ducks her head, moving out of his grip, her smile surprisingly vulnerable. "You're very smooth, though; 'I'd rather you'? How was I meant to resist that, not that I wanted to."

“I get... sappy when," she hums thoughtfully, "intoxicated." But her expression falls a little, "you don’t know me that well,” but she’s not moving away from him, though she’s sitting forward, looking out at the dancefloor.

“Well I think I’d like to.”

They don’t stay at the club long, it’s too hot, too crowded, too loud, and in different situations they’d both be enjoying it, but tonight doesn’t feel like that kind of night. They mill about the streets of London until they find a twenty-four hour cafe, and though it’s dingy, it feels perfect. They drink terribly brewed tea and talk and laugh until Ash is coming down from her high, and she’s still nervous, but not hesitant. She hasn’t felt nervous like this for a long time, and it’s a welcome feeling, if she’s being honest. 

He walks her home, kisses her at the door to her flat building, and grins as he watches her head inside, a little giddy. 

The next morning, Ash lies in bed, staring at her ceiling, stomach ice cold and full of anxiety, wracked with worry that he didn’t mean it, that he thinks she didn’t mean it. But around midday, she gets a call.

“How are you holding up?” On the other end of the line, Bernie’s voice is warm. 

“Pretty alright,” she’s smiling, shifting in her dressing gown and fluffy slippers, heart quickly warming as if exposed to sunlight, “how about you?” There’s a long pause, before Bernie’s quiet, hesitant laughter.

“I’m great. Do you want to grab dinner?”

They’re not dating, not if anyone asks, and it’s easy to be discrete while in London. For the first time in a long time Ash realises she doesn’t have to worry about people gossiping and speculating; she’d be lying if she said she didn’t relish it.

At first the people around them seem none the wiser; Ash is always busy, always on the move, so it’s easy for people to see her with him and not think anything of it. Perhaps their respective, standoffish nature makes it easier to fool everyone around them; they haven’t known each other long enough to be comfortable with casual contact in front of other people, even things that could be construed as platonic.

But then he shows up early to the final fitting, something Ash had come to expect. For the first time since he’s known her, her flat is actually clean, relatively speaking; she’s got rows of clothes racks around the room, each bursting with sequins and feathers and more colours than you can shake a stick at, and headdresses line practically every flat surface in the living room, with a few even lined up in the corners, but there’s no giant reams of fabric leaning against the sofa or the wall, her sewing machine sits idle and clean on the desk in the back corner. It takes him a little while to realise, but he sort of misses the clutter.

Ash herself is wearing jeans and knitted sweater that’s too big for her, offering tea around a yawn she can’t quite bite back on this early Sunday morning. Something about it, perhaps the sleepy way she blinks after she finishes the question, has Bernie’s mind stalling for just a moment.

“Bern?” She asks gently, and his mind snaps out of it; she’s already holding two mugs in anticipation, slight frown creasing her forehead in confusion. Bernie smiles, can’t help himself, bright and fond.

“Tea would be lovely,” he agrees, and makes his way over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. He turns, leaning against it to survey the now strangely unfamiliar living room. The kettle clicks on, and he can hear the busy London street outside, but it's a haze, like sunlight filtering in through the curtains, not quite distinct, but surprisingly comforting.

"How long have you been here?" He asks idly, crossing his arms and Wat hing over his shoulder as she adds sugar and teabags to the mugs.

"A few years," she muses, before leaving the cups be and waiting for the kettle to boil. Maneuvering around, she gently touches his arm as she passes, making a beeline for the sofa and flopping onto it, petting the seat beside her invitingly, "actually it was my first place after uni, if you don't count friends' couches," she laughs, moving automatically to tuck herself up beside him. His leather jacket is sun-warmed from being outside, and Ash hums appreciatively. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, looking at the rows of feather and pomped headdresses on the coffee table before them.

"Seems rather small for a studio space and your home."

"It gets the job done," Ash turns, rests her chin on his shoulder, and when he turns back to her, faint fondness in his eyes, she realises how close they are, "I'm a creature of habit." Her voice is so soft, but she's smiling, leaning in, and Bernie's got a hand on her cheek, kissing her softly as the kettle starts to whistle behind them.

There's a beat, a moment, Ash sighs heavily at being interrupted and rests her forehead against his for a moment. Bernie chuckles, presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I've got it," he assures, waiving off her protests, "no, I've been here enough times," he assures, "I think I can handle two cups of tea."

He moves like he knows the kitchen by the back of his hand, and Ash watches in fond awe as he finishes fixing them both tea. When it arrives, it even tastes almost perfect, and Ash, who'd curled up on the sofa, takes her drink with a murmured 'thanks' moving her legs over his as he rifled through the satchel by his side.

As Ash stretches, reaches down the other side of the sofa to grab one of the books stacked there, she feels herself slipping into a moment of sweet domesticity, something she hadn't realised she would be able to enjoy so soon.

"You working on anything interesting?" Three minutes after trying to read, she feels her skin start to itch, and the closes her book definitively. The scratching of Bernie's pen against his notebook is a painfully familiar sound for reasons that don't involve the sweet lyricist before her, and she enjoys domesticity as much as the next person, but she's got no project of her own; she doesn't like being idle.

"I'm always working on something interesting, it's just whether or not the label will see it that way," he mused, frowning at his notebook. Something about his concentration was so endearing, but they'd been taking it slow, both because Ash was so used to her relationships starting physical with feelings coming into the mix later, but she didn't want Bernie to think that all she wanted from him was sex. She just wanted to prove that she could take things slow, that she could care about the people she slept with before she slept with them.

But that jacket and his jeans and the way he'd been smiling at her had her feeling some type of way.

“You alright?” His voice brings her back to reality, and his hand where it’s resting on her knee is warm. Ash gives him a smile as sincere as she can manage, pushes all less than pure thoughts from her head; Elton and Reid would be arriving in less than an hour after all.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Not sure, didn’t really have any plans; why?” Bernie’s smiling slightly, and Ash tips her head to the side.

“I was thinking about visiting the Tate,” Ash sits up further, Bernie raises an eyebrow, intrigued. This thumb is brushing small circles against her knee.

“The art gallery?”

“No, the pizza place- yes the art gallery!” Ash laughs, leaning the side of her head against the back of the sofa, “they’ve-” she pauses for a moment, a little self conscious, like she’s sharing too much of herself to be saying this all out loud, “they’ve got a Pre-Raphaelite exhibition at the moment that I’ve been dying to see.” She admits. After a beat, her green-eyed gaze turns a little hopeful, “do you think you’d maybe like to come along?”

Bernie’s constantly surprised and delighted about the little things he keeps learning about her, and this is no different. He agrees easily.

The fitting goes well; it takes a while, obviously, with all the options she’s prepared, but Elton seems thrilled by the end of it, excited for the tour to start, and though Ash grumbles about getting all the outfits into garment bags and packing crates, she’s clearly very excited too. She and Elton bounce off of each other so well, her energy matching his the moment she’s focused on her work.

Bernie wonders if he has a type, regarding the people he cares about. He doesn’t think about it too hard.

She turns starry-eyed at the sight of Ophelia, and takes Bernie’s hand where they’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the gallery.

“She’s always here,” Ash clarifies quickly, coming back down to earth, “but she’s always so lovely.” She laughs and it’s a little awed. As the afternoon progresses, he comes to find that she’s a lot more invested in this than he’d realised. They float through the Pre-Raphaelite exhibition, with Ash making comment at every other work, and Bernie marvels at the art, at the gentleness of the figures, and their striking realism despite this.

“Spite is such a wonderful motivator,” Ash says with a knowing fondness, though her words startle a laugh from Bernie. Ash turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, “I mean it! The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, the group of artists who painted all of these, they formed in opposition of Raphael, and what was popular at the time artistically-”

“How do you know all this?” Bernie cuts her off, and Ash’s mouth snaps shut, frown adorning her brow for the barest moment.

“I studied it.”

"Double degree in fashion and art?" He nudges her shoulder but Ash's mood seems to have already soured.

"No, the fashion one was my second go; I started with Art History." She's fidgeting now, playing with his and like she's moments away from dropping it. But then he's giving her hand a gentle squeeze, asking what happened; when she looks at him, she's weary, looking, for a beat, half a second, far older than her age, "essentially," she begins, though her voice is painfully flat, as flat as her gaze is shallow, "I was expelled."

"Oh," he frowns, just slightly, takes the moment to process this information, to file it alongside everything else about her, seeing how it all fit together. Obviously it wasn't even close to being the whole story, but he didn't like the way the topic seemed to upset Ash, so he changed it.

"Which is your favorite, then?" He asked, tugging her gently into the next room, his voice light. At Ash's confusion, he smiled, "I'm sure you've seen enough art to pick a favorite piece."

"The Lacemaker;" Ash doesn't even give time to pass and think, the answer tumbling from her lips. She turns pink at her own enthusiasm. Bernie merely raises his eyebrow in question, and is rewarded by Ash waxing poetic about the tiny, beautiful piece hanging in the Louvre, the way the light's painted, the concentration on the woman's face, the attention to detail-

"I don't know why," actually a little breathless by the time she stops rambling about it, she's realised they're both sitting on a sofa in the lobby, having viewed the full exhibition by now. With both her hands on his knees, she hadn't realised how intense she had gotten until she realises how close they are, "she just takes my breath away." Ash murmurs, voice dropping to contrast how exuberantly she'd been singing the work's praises moments ago.

"You sound like you really love this painting."

There's a moment in time that follows, her gaze tracing his every feature, and he wonders what she sees in him, or even if she sees him at all. Lips twisting a little at that, a sharp shard of insecurity pierces his heart, his mind, as he wonders if she sees him or if she's -

Her smile is so gentle, so sincere, and her hand comes up to ghost along the side of his face.

"Art's very easy to love." She says it like its a fact, and perhaps for her it is. Bernie doesn't read into it, just lets go of the moment of insecurity and lets it fade quickly as Ash kisses him.

As it turned out, they weren't being as discrete as they had assumed; on the plane to Japan, the first leg of the tour, Bernie's asleep on the plane and Elton calls Ash over, looking pensive. Ash, who had been idly reading, a few seats away, no where near either Elton or Bernie, is confused for about three seconds before she gets to the musician himself, and he doesn't play coy with what he wants to talk about.

"I know you and Bernie are seeing each other," Elton's tone is surprisingly level, though Ash's stomach drops. "Don't try and deny it-"

"I wouldn't. Deny it, that is," she's quick to clarify, taking the seat opposite him. Elton gives her a small smile.

"I'm not going to tell you not to, or anything like that, he seems quite happy, as do you, and I like you well enough; you both deserve to be happy, of course," but he pauses, his light smile shifting to something more serious, more sinister, "but he means the absolute world to me, you understand? And if you hurt him, I- I'll-" he struggles to find the words, the threat, but it comes through loud and clear. Ash, however, reaches out, rests her hand on Elton's where it's pressed flat against the table between them.

"He's... he's good, isn't he?" And she's not asking it as if asking if he's alright.

"He's the best." Elton confirms with a gentle smile, relaxing a little. "He's not a saint, but honestly he's better than I deserve most of the time."

Honestly, it feels like Elton's given his blessing, in a roundabout way, and Ash wonders if Freddie would give Bernie the same speech if he found out. Ash is grateful, however, as the idea of keeping up the charade on tour had been stressing her out.

After the first show of the tour, they all go out for drinks at a bar where no-one speaks English and their translator is almost overwhelmed at their exuberance. They sit around a coffee table, a set of armchairs and sofas for Elton and his entourage, and Ash sits in Bernie's lap. It's easy, it's strangely casual, his hand on her thigh as he rambles how well the show went.

Drinks flow freely and drugs are passed around and when Elton asks, Ash will dance, will dance badly, but in that moment she's without shame, because to see such genuine smiles from the people she's come to consider friends, consider something more as is the case with Bernie, it makes it all worth it.

When she comes back, flush and grinning, and sees the way Bernie's smiling, fond and amused at the spectacle she'd made of herself, she feels that want that she'd been so carefully controlling flare to life.

"The irony of my employment in the music industry does not escape me," she laughs, breathless where she resumes her place in his lap, curling an arm around his shoulders.

"No idea what you mean," he responded loftily, hand on her thigh, pulling her closer to him, "just wondering dear, what song were you dancing to, because I don't think it was the one the club was playing."

The way she laughs, it lights up the room, at least for him, and for just a moment, the excitement of the night, the thrill of another country, the liberation provided from the booze and blow, it all coalesces into one ecstatic high.

"Let's get out of here," his voice drops low, his grip on her thigh tightening, "we can spend every other night partying with the rest of them." He actually nips at her neck and it's all the convincing Ash needs before she's getting to her feet, offering her hand and biting her lip.

"Lead the way."

Bernie's a nice person, well he likes to think he's a nice person, and he doesn't like to make assumptions about people, so, a few days later, when he again asked Ash what Brian had been warning him about, he hadn't expected her to show him.

"You're a writer; show don't tell, isn't that a rule?" She smirks, pinning Elton's headdress in place and petting the rockstar on the shoulder. Bernie's quickly turning pink at the mere implication of her offer, murmuring about how it's a different sort of writing, but Ash just presses a kiss to Elton's cheek, "alright, my work's done, I'm going to go debase myself in a closet." It's so blasé that Elton laughs, wishes her luck.

Though it's outwardly teasing, when she gets to Bernie himself, her expression turns soft. He looks pleased, actually, his blush fading fast, seems eager to be lead into the nearest empty room or closet. Ash is always sweet with him, always taking time and checking in to make sure he's alright, which Bernie appreciates; he can tell at times that he's not what she's used to, but she adapts. But he learns too; learns to pull her hair and kiss her rough, to dig his nails in but also to hold her close in the quiet moments after, because she says she doesn't know how music works but her whimpers and moans are their own kind of melody.

A girl like Ash would never be a forever for him, and they both knew this. She was the girl he could still work with even after sleeping with her, she’s the girl he can delude himself to thinking he’s in love with for the tour, she’s the girl who will smile at him the next time Reid brings her in like nothing ever happened. But she’s too much like Elton, with bigger dreams than he can rightly comprehend, and he’s sure she’d leave him in the dust if she had to... not that he thinks that about Elton.

Their relationship has a timer.

It started ticking down the moment he asks about what would happen after the tour, and Ash can't meet his gaze.

He thinks he might always remember that afternoon, the two of them enjoying a day off in bed together, the sky outside overcast, though it didn't matter because the room was heated to a be comfortable against their bare skin. Bernie's on his side, shooting for idle when he asks, his fingers ghosting over her skin, as if mapping the plane of her back, each divot and muscle and vertebrae. Ash is on her stomach, holding her pillow beneath her head, half her face smushed into it, watching him through out half-closed eye.

"I'll probably go back into project mode-" she starts.

"As soon as we get back? No down time between tours?" He asks, fingers ghosting up and down her bare spine. Ash gives a hollow laugh.

"I'm always on the move," is all the response she offers before continuing on, "Freddie managed to call me while we were in New York; they've finished a new album and he's honestly begging to have me back." She paused, her smile fond and faraway, "he calls it 'A Night At The Opera', keeps calling it his magnum opus."

"A man like Freddie, seems a bit soon to call it that," Bernie laughs, and Ash finally meets his gaze, something in her chest tightening at the easy, kind fondness that seems to spi from him.

"He's bound to have at least another eight in the coming decade," she agrees, but then her expression fades and she shifts, presses her face further into the pillow, as if trying to make herself smaller.

"I- Bern," with her voice so small and vulnerable, he can't help but frown a little, concerned. His hand stills, comes to rest at the small of her back, "I don't know what's going to happen with us." She admits, "I-" the words catch in her her throat, so he steps in.

"Ash, I love you but I don't think I could keep up," and she can tell it hurts a little for him to say it, like he's giving her an out even if his heart's not entirely in it, "you're the Rocket, love, always on the move." A few seconds pass, and Ash's expression falls.

"Burning out my fuse up here, alone." She murmurs, forlorn. The lyrics hang in the air between them, but as soon as he process what she says, what she means, how she's spiralling, he pulls her into his arms, holding her close.

"I'm sorry," she's hugging him back, her cheek resting on his chest, "I'm so sorry."

"No need to apologise," he assures, "let's just enjoy it while it lasts." He pauses, holding her just a little tighter, a lump forming in his throat, "and you'll never be alone, Ash, there's always be people who love you; Elton and I are just two of them, I promise."

Ash is quiet for a very long moment before she moves, propping herself up, finally meeting his gaze, her own full of adoration. After a beat, she breaks out into a disbelieving smile.

"You're good, you know that?" She half laughs, "much better than I deserve," shaking her head, she talks before he can form a response or protest, "I love you, and I think I'll always love you, in one way or another; is that weird to say? We haven't known each other that long if you think about it," already she's back to sounding like her old self, and Bernie's laughing, pulling her back into his arms.

"No, I get it; I love you too."

[whoareurl]

The Choir - Part 6

soooo i know i’ve been gone for like what? a year? sorry omg i have precisely no excuse but uni has been wild. i just kinda suddenly was possessed with a desperate need to write about these boys. there isn’t a lot snz wise going on but a lot of pining and y’know. i’m having fun. since it’s been A YEAR, if u wanna refresh their story so far u can find them in order here! but also if you don’t care anymore because IT’S BEEN A YEAR that’s totally cool too!

-

Thomas lied to Mr Malone about his first class. He didn’t know what made him do it but the words were spilling out of him before they’d had a chance to be stupid-checked by his brain.

“I don’t have class until this afternoon if you’d like some company?”

The moment he said it, he experienced an overwhelming urge to hurl himself out the window of Mr Malone’s first floor flat. Even if it wouldn’t kill him, the sheer drama of the moment might distract both of them from the most embarrassing thing Thomas has ever said in his entire life. He had resigned himself to the necessity of transferring to a university on the other side of the country by the time Mr Malone smiled at him.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you,” he said, and Thomas’s heart hammered as it sank deep into the pit of his stomach. Any lower, and it might just fall out his butt. “But being sick can be terribly lonely.”

Thomas held his breath. Was...was his cute, sexy, and vulnerable choirmaster asking him to stay with him while he suffered through a miserable cold and hold him through his shivers and mop his fevered brow and-

Okay, he was getting a bit ahead of himself. But his heart still catapulted up into his throat and he was suddenly worried it was going to pop out of his mouth rather than his butt. Or maybe it was actually thudding out of his chest like in cartoons. (He risked a quick glance down and was relieved to discover that this was decidedly not the case.)

“Besides,” Mr Malone went on, wiping his poor red nose with what was by now a very tired tissue. “Ellie seems to think you’re part of the couch now. Wouldn’t do to harm her concept of object permanence at such a delicate age.”

God, Thomas thought. He’s so fucking weird. He’s perfect.

Since Mr Malone refused to let him get up lest he disturb Ellie’s catnap, the nurse/patient scenario which had been growing arms and legs in Thomas’s mind quickly began to fade as he watched Mr Malone stand up again with a groan of exhaustion and shuffle into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of tea. Thomas didn’t think anybody actually owned teapots outside of his grandfather and old ladies who exchanged gossip in the church hall on Sunday afternoons. He heard a flurry of rough, almost violent sneezes from the kitchen but all he could see was the blurred outline of Mr Malone’s shadow in the soft light shifting noncommittally with each desperate spasm.

Trying quite desperately to ignore the sudden heat between his legs as an image of Mr Malone falling asleep with his head on Thomas’s shoulder blossomed unbidden in his mind, Thomas quickly focused his attention on the variety of instruments cluttering up the living room. He noticed a violin case tucked away down the side of an armchair and wondered just how many instruments Mr Malone could actually play. He pictured his long, slender fingers pressing confidently against the taut strings, the body of the instruments nestled expertly beneath his chin. He saw his teacher’s strong grip on the bow, the fluid sway of his body as he moved with the feel of the music, intensity of his body’s music growing to a climax along with the music until-

“Thomas?”

Thomas snapped back to reality with an unpleasant crash and found Mr Malone sitting on the couch next to him, one hand resting gently on his thigh and an expression of deep concern on his face. The tone of his voice suggested that he’d been trying to get Thomas’s attention for some time and the thought of what his face might have betrayed of his daydreaming sent a shiver down his spine.

“Are you alright?” Mr Malone asked, voice quiet and hoarse. “You’re not feeling ill, are you?”

“No!” Thomas protested quickly, wincing when Ellie grumbled. “No, I’m fine. Just...away with the fairies.”

Mr Malone was squinting at him, apparently unconvinced. “Maybe it isn’t a good idea for you to stay. I really don’t want to give you this.”

“No! It’s okay, really,” Thomas said desperately, trying to claw his way towards an excuse. He didn’t want to leave. He’d just moments ago been granted this insight into Mr Malone’s private life and he didn’t feel ready to give it up yet.

Mr Malone hummed thoughtfully and reached forward to press a cold hand against Thomas’s forehead. More than anything, Thomas willed himself to stop bloody blushing or else Mr Malone was going to think-

“You look a bit flushed. And you’re warm,” Mr Malone said and the corners of his eyes were creased in concern.

Thomas wanted to reach over and smooth out the lines of worry on the choirmaster’s face, to reassure him that he was fine, that he didn’t need to go home, that he wasn’t catching Mr Malone’s cold. He cursed his stupid body’s inability to think about this man without instantly turning his face a ridiculous shade of scarlet.

Mr Malone sighed and Thomas knew what he was going to say before the words were out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to ask you to stay. I’d hate to get you sick,” he said quietly, patting Thomas’s upper arm before pulling away and shifting so he was as far from Thomas as he could be while still sitting on the couch.

“It’s really f-”

“No.” Mr Malone interrupted gently. “I’d like you to go home and rest. I’ll be perfectly alright on my own.”

Thomas sighed. “What about Ellie?” He asked, defeated. He knew this was a lost cause.

Silently, Mr Malone reached over and nudged Ellie’s behind firmly, earning a disgruntled meow as she hopped down onto the ground and sauntered off down the hall with her tail swishing carelessly through the air.

“Thank you for the lift, Thomas,” Mr Malone said as they both stood. Mr Malone placed a hand on the small of Thomas’s back as he guided him to the door. “I really do appreciate it. And I’ll see what I can do about getting you into an advanced piano class.”

“Oh, you don’t, you don’t have to do that,” Thomas said, flustered.

“It’s no trouble,” Mr Malone said, sounding raspier with every word. Thomas felt his own throat ache in sympathy. “And don’t worry. If they won’t bend the rules, I’m happy to teach you myself.”

And, without even giving Thomas a chance to respond, Mr Malone told him to have a safe trip back and closed the door, leaving his poor, smitten student gaping like a goldfish at the chipped green paint. Feeling somewhat numb, Thomas robotically made his way outside and climbed into his car.

Mr Malone was...happy to teach him...himself? Did that mean...did that mean there was likely to be more of these one-on-one moments in that tiny office, Mr Malone adjusting his wrists just so?

Thomas let his forehead smack down on his steering wheel. This man was going to be the death of him.

[thesoundofnat]

Three Times Peter Helped Tony

Tony, Peter

Summary: The title says it all. Ranges from bigger to smaller ways Peter helps.

A/N: I honestly wouldn’t consider this my best work, but I still kinda like it, so I’m deciding to post it anyway lmao. Hope you like it!

Also if this looks weird on your dash it’s because tumblr hates me is glitching.

[Read it on AO3]

Words: 2 463

1.

Tony was sad. He hadn’t told Peter that, of course, but Peter wasn’t stupid and knew what those brief etched on smiles and hollow eyes meant. Tony wasn’t okay. Probably hadn’t been for a while now, but this seemed more current. The wound seemed more fresh.

He knew it had something to do with the airport fight and everything that had come after that. He had seen Tony try so hard to fix everything while simultaneously making sure Peter wasn’t taking on too many battles he couldn’t handle. It stung a little to know he was a part of Tony’s stress, but if there was one thing he’d learnt about the man was that he needed the distractions more than he needed air in his lungs, lest he wanted the pain to swallow him whole.

Peter had been happy to be a distraction, at first. It was no secret that he enjoyed the older man’s company, and god knew he had a lot to learn from him. But his finals crept closer, and smaller bad guys robbing stores never stopped, and he had to handle his crush moving away before he could even properly have his chance with her, and things became slightly too much for his sixteen year old self to handle. So he had to make a choice. Avengers stuff or life stuff. He knew what Mr Stark wanted him to pick.

Now that they were reunited after several weeks of no contact - not even from Peter’s side - he could see those bags under his eyes and the lines on his face more clearly. Tony wasn’t young anymore, and all the pressure he’d been put on was getting to him. Maybe Peter had just caught him at the wrong time, but it was more obvious than ever.

“What?”

Tony was narrowing his eyes at him, and Peter realized that he’d been staring slightly too intently at him from across the table.

Peter shook his head. “Nothing! I was just wondering if maybe I should start drinking coffee.”

Tony hummed, hands gripping his cup just like Peter was gripping his own cup of tea. “Nah. Too young. I’d say wait until college. You’ll need it more then.”

“I reckon you know best.”

Tony’s lips quirked upward. “Maybe not always, but in this case I’m pretty sure I do.”

It was a strangely… normal conversation. Each time they saw each other it was always because Peter was panicking over something or Tony needed to show him new tech. That he’d been invited over for tea had been a greater shock than Tony probably realized.

“How’s school? You acing your classes?”

“Of course.”

“Social life?”

“Other than the occasional meeting with academic decathlon team I mostly just see Ned.”

“Good. About the team, I mean. It’s good that you’re keeping it up.” Tony hesitated briefly before saying, “And how’s your aunt handling this whole - thing.”

Peter squirmed in his seat. “She was very angry with me at first. And with you.”

“I figured. Did my talk with her help at all?”

“Oh, definitely. It’s taken her a while, but she’s more calm about it now as long as I tell her where I go each time.” Peter barked out a laugh. “It’s kind of annoying.”

Tony grinned. “That’s guardians to you. You’re lucky, you know.”

“I know.”

They sipped on their drinks in silence for a moment. A ray of sun had found its way between the buildings outside and illuminated the kitchen table, and Peter found himself watching it just to keep himself from watching Tony. He knew he wouldn’t appreciate being observed.

“How are you?” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself. “And Ms Potts and Mr Rhodes?”

Tony seemed a bit amused. “We’re all good, kid. Rhodey can almost walk entirely on his own now.”

Peter nodded. “So you’re all… fine?”

Tony blinked. “Relatively. Should we not be?”

“Yes! I mean, I hope you are?”

“This-” Tony shook his head. “I don’t say this often, but I’m confused.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to- I mean-”

“Kid. Just say whatever you want to say. I promise I won’t get mad or whatever.”

Peter exhaled slowly, biding his time. “It’s just… you look a little sad, s’all. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Tony’s eyebrows met his hairline. “Oh. Well, uh-” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess lying and saying I’m fine will get me nowhere.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Mr Stark. I just wanted to check.”

“No, no, it’s- it’s fine, I-” Tony shook his head. “Maybe I need it.”

Peter never would’ve thought they’d be in this position, where Tony Stark of all people attempted to put his emotions into words in order to share them with him. It was usually the other way around.

“The thing is,” Tony started, pushing his cup from hand to hand on the table. “I care more than people probably think, and sometimes it gets hard to deal with everything. Especially when people so very obviously didn’t care back. At least not to the same extent.”

That was probably the most Tony would be willing to tell him, but Peter appreciated it anyway. “Do you wanna know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“None of them deserved you.”

Tony didn’t reply, but Peter could see a slight shift in his posture. A brightness to his eyes.

Peter made it his goal to always make sure Mr Stark remembered how important he actually was after that.

2.

Peter wasn’t sure how or even why, but when he opened his eyes he found himself in Mr Stark’s living room, and the light was way too natural for it to still be dark outside.

“What happened?” he asked FRIDAY automatically, but got an entirely different voice in return.

“You passed out. As in like, fell asleep. You weren’t knocked out or anything.”

Peter sat up a bit in order to look at Tony who was sitting in the armchair across the room from him, his attention captured by the pad in his lap. “Have you- have you just been sitting there all night?”

“Of course not. I went to my lab. Had a few hours of sleep. Went back to the lab. You dozed for over ten hours. Seriously, Parker, when was the last time you slept through the night?”

“Too long ago,” Peter muttered. “Does Aunt May-”

“All informed.”

“Oh. Good. Thank you.”

Tony snorted and finally looked up at him. “No problem. I was mostly covering my own ass.”

Peter grinned. “Right, because you don’t care about either me or her at all.”

“All right, don’t get cocky. Geez, you’ve been hanging around me for too long.” He placed the pad on the coffee table. “If you want breakfast you know where everything is.”

Peter nodded and sat up properly. He felt more awake than he had in weeks, miraculously. “How’d you sleep? Those hours you did sleep, I mean.”

Tony hummed. “I slept all right. It could’ve been better.” That Tony was willingly admitting that was a huge step. “But it was enough to function today. I’ve got so many meetings this afternoon that I’m sorta considering going into hiding.” He waved his hand around. “Never become an adult, you hear me.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that,” Peter said, the idea that he would have to apply for colleges in less than a year ever so present in the back of his mind. “You should eat too. And probably get some more coffee.”

“You sound like Pepper.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Mmm not really.”

“Then I’ll take the compliment.”

Tony laughed. “Definitely getting cocky. I can’t say I hate it, but you better be careful.”

Peter had to admit that the months he’d spent around the older man had made him much more comfortable around him and his closest friends, and sometimes he had to remind himself that snark could seem disrespectful. Fortunately Tony was fluent in snark and didn’t seem to mind.

Peter took a quick trip to the bathroom and tried in vain to get his hair to cooperate, and then met Tony in the kitchen where a glass of orange juice was waiting for him on the table. He downed it in seconds, only just then realizing how dry his throat had been. Tony watched him over his coffee in amusement.

“I have to make a call,” he said, already halfway out of the room with his cup in hand. “Make yourself at home and all that jazz.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice.

***

“God, if a stupid phone call takes this long I cannot imagine how long the actual meetings will last-” Tony stopped in his tracks, his cup empty and his hair in disarray. “What’s this?”

Peter looked up from where he’d been scrolling on his phone. “Breakfast.”

“For me?”

“Of course.” He motioned to the toast across from him on the table. “It’s probably a little cold now, but-”

“No, no, I- that doesn’t matter, it’s-” Tony cut himself off with a shake of his head. “The only people who’ve ever made me breakfast are Pepper and Rhodey.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, sorry, was it insensitive? You don’t have to eat it.”

Tony grinned then. Hugely and genuinely. “Not insensitive at all.” He wouldn’t look directly on Peter, but Peter knew him well enough at this point to know it wasn’t a bad thing. “Thanks, kid,” he said as he sat. “I have to leave in like ten minutes, so I was worried I wouldn’t even have time to eat. God knows I would forget all about food once in those meetings, so this-” He grabbed his toast. “-is gold.”

Peter beamed all the way home.

3.

How Peter ended up at a movie night at Tony’s with Pepper, Rhodey and Happy was beyond him, but he was happily (and slightly awkwardly) sitting between Tony and the armrest while they tried to decide on a movie. Pepper, who was on Tony’s other side, was pointing at one of the movies on the screen, but Tony kept scrolling.

“Already seen it,” he said, glancing at her. “But you can totally have more than one choice.”

“If we’re gonna find a movie that none of us have seen it will be a miracle,” she replied matter-of-factly. “How about that one?”

“Oohh, I’ve been meaning to see it for ages,” Rhodey said from the other couch.

Happy shook his head beside him. “Not that one.”

“Why not?”

“Looks bad.”

“I agree,” Tony said and kept scrolling.

“You know what, give me the remote.” Rhodey held out his hand, but Tony barely acknowledged him.

“My house, my rules.”

“Pepper, get him to give me the remote.”

“Don’t get me involved in this.”

“You wanted to watch the movie too.”

“We can negotiate like adults.”

“That one!” Happy piped up, pointing. “I vote that one.”

Tony hummed. “It looks all right, actually.”

“Oh, you’re kidding!” Rhodey was more passionate over this than Peter would’ve expected, but he recognized the thrill that came with going against your best friend over small things. “Peter, get him to give me the remote.”

Peter really hadn’t been expecting to get dragged into this. “What, me?”

“Yes! He listens to you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Peter blurted out, and Tony snorted.

“Cut yourself some slack, kid,” Rhodey said, voice softer.

“Actually,” Tony said, turning to Peter with a grin so big it almost scared him. “It’s a tie between two movies, but we’re an odd number. Peter’s vote can decide.”

“Do you think I’m suicidal?” Peter asked with a slight panic.

Happy, of all people, burst into laughter. “Oh, okay, you’re funny, I’ll give you that.”

Tony poked his chest. “Just choose.”

“And if I don’t want to watch either of them?”

“Then we’ll never get around to watch a thing.”

Peter had honestly not been paying much attention to the options, since he was fine with whatever. “Could- could you let me read the descriptions of them both?”

They sat in silence as Peter read. They both sounded mediocre, and Peter realized he’d already seen parts of one of them with Ned. They’d only gotten half an hour in before they’d had to turn it off. Which meant-

“I think the one Mr Stark likes sounds good,” he said, and Happy surprised him once again by cheering.

Tony clapped his hands. “That’s my boy. The night is saved.”

Those words were worth the mock glare Rhodey sent his way.

And one time Tony asked him to.

Peter had been in Tony’s lab before, but he’d never been allowed to touch anything, and today was no exception. He hovered behind Tony and tried to peek at what he was doing, which he knew was probably bothering the older man, but so far he hadn’t said anything. That was one of the things that had changed as they spent more time together. Tony got more patient with him and his curiosity.

“You think you can hand me that?” Tony suddenly asked, pointing toward the end of the table.

Peter was quick to oblige. “Of course, here you go.”

“Thank you.” He peeked up briefly to smile at him, if a twitch of his lips counted as a smile. “Actually, do you think you could hold this while I tweak it?” He handed Peter a part of the Iron suit and asked him to hold it in place against the table.

“Make sure to not move it,” he said before diving in, and Peter felt like he was dreaming. He was actually here, in Tony Stark’s lab, helping Tony Stark build one of his genius creations. Ned would freak.

To be entirely honest Peter was freaking out a little himself.

“You’re doing good,” Tony said, and Peter had to hold back a laugh lest he wanted to jostle the part.

“I’m only holding it.”

“Still.” His fingers stilled, and he took a step back to observe it. “I think that’ll do. Thanks, kid.”

Peter was eager to keep helping, but he wasn’t about to test his luck. “Is it okay if I sit in here and work on homework?”

“Sure thing.”

Life felt right in there, with Tony working away and Peter sitting on the couch taking care of his own responsibilities. Occasionally he would look up and observe his mentor, and he could occasionally feel Tony looking his way, but they didn’t talk. It was nice.

Tony still seemed sad, but he seemed to be handling it, and Peter was still happy to be one of his distractions, mostly because he was now certain Tony saw him as more than just that.

[chipsandwaffles]

Zoo Day

As it turns out, maybe surprises and a day at the zoo aren’t always the best options for a first date.

Had this idea like, three seconds into watching nct life. Collab with @cremethorns​ so read her part here. And, enjoy!

“Okay.”

You blink a few times up at Doyoung.  

“Okay?”  

“What? Did you expect me to say no?” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly, nodding a little.  

“I just… thought you’d say you’re busy.”  

“I am,” Doyoung says. You're about to protest but he speaks up before you. “But everyone needs a break every now and then. Are you going to pick me up?” 

You nod your head again, smiling at Doyoung in excitement knowing that he agreed to your date. “I will pick you up, yes. I’ll text you day of, okay?” 

“Okay.”

You stand up from the place you were sitting and wave goodbye to Doyoung. You turn around, ready to leave, before turning back around, handing your phone to Doyoung because of course you need his number to text him.

“I don’t have your number,” you say. Doyoung smiles at you and takes your phone.  

“I was wondering how long it’d take before you realized that.” 

You watch Doyoung type into your phone, nerves beginning to set in a little bit as you think about texting him. You want to text him day of, day before, day after, and keep texting him until he gets annoyed with you. But, you only said day of so you can’t do any of that yet. You don’t want to come off as too needy or anything before you even started dating.  

You feel your hand being grabbed and you look down at it, seeing Doyoung sliding your phone back into your hands.  

“All done. Now you can leave,” Doyoung says. You look up at him to see a soft smile on his face. It really makes your heart beat ten times faster than necessary.  

“Okay. Good. Thanks. I’ll text you day of,” you say again.  

“If you need help with any of the statistics homework you can text me too.”  

“Okay, will do.” You start walking backwards from where you and Doyoung had been sitting in the quad together, smiling and waving at him as you really leave this time. You didn’t really want to say goodbye yet, still wanting to stay with him and talk some more, maybe flirt a little more.  

Unfortunately, you couldn’t, you had to go meet up with your best friend to make sure everything had gone according to plan, and instead of continuing to wave goodbye to Doyoung, you finally turn around and rush off to find your best friend.  

You only search for a few minutes before you find him in one of the cafeterias, sitting down at one of the tables with a tray of food in front of him, his legs swinging back and forth as he happily waits for you. You practically skip over to him, sliding into the seat across from and stealing a fry off his tray.  

“Ah, Y/N! I thought you were a random fry thief,” he says, grinning at you.

“Nope, just me,” you say, stealing another fry. “Soooo… did you ask her?”  

Taeyong’s face blushes at your words and you grin. “Did she say yes?”  

Taeyong nods his head, the blush on his face getting darker as he begins shoving food into his mouth to shut himself up. You and him both know if he doesn’t he’ll start a year-long ramble about just seeing the girl he liked, never getting to the actual asking out portion that was the important part.

You quietly eat fries as you wait for Taeyong to gather his thoughts, smiling at him every time he looks at you to give him some encouragement.

Eventually, he swallows all the food in his mouth and begins talking.

“She said yes and she smiled at me like, ahh, Y/N, I love her smile. It’s the best. I couldn’t stop smiling the whole time and she was so cute. She was wearing the cutest outfit- ah- but I’ll shut up before I talk too much.” Taeyong takes a pause and quickly takes a sip from his drink. “What about Doyoung? Did he say yes? He was complaining all last week that he was totally swamped with work and homework so I’d be surprised if he did…”

You nod your head at him. “He did! I was so surprised that he said yes. And he offered me help with statistics homework.”

Taeyong’s face scrunches up in disgust at the mention of statistics, and he takes another sip of his drink.

“Listen here, Lee Taeyong. Him offering help with homework without getting paid is like, the closest thing I have to another date, okay? Don’t look so disgusted.”

“But… numbers…”

“Shh…” You put a fry to Taeyong’s lips, grinning at him as he takes it from you and pouts. Your date was really going to be an experience, and having your best friend there was no doubt going to make it better.

-

On the day of, you attend one of your 10 A.M classes, nerves distracting you the entire time (which makes you think you totally should have just not attended) and when you’re finally out you’re glad to breathe some fresh air. As you walk back to your dorm, you text Taeyong to make sure he’s ready to be picked up, and then you text Doyoung for the first time to tell him you’ll be on your way soon.

He texts back a “:)” and just at that your heart is fluttering. You were way too excited for this.

You quickly make it back to your dorm, dropping off your backpack and grabbing the necessary items for your date. Wallet, phone, bag to hold tissues in case Taeyong need them (because he always needed tissues), and then your car keys. You happily set off downstairs to your car after locking your door, getting in and texting Doyoung and Taeyong once more that you were on your way.

You pick up Doyoung first, smiling at him when he gets into the car and taking the gift of flowers from him that he apparently got for you.

It’s totally lame but you don’t even care because it’s cute and sweet and Doyoung has the biggest blush on his face as you take the flowers and smell them. You thank him and put them in the backseat for safekeeping before you begin to drive to your next destination.

You and Doyoung have casual conversation, both of you complaining about something that happened with one of your mutual friends until you get to your next stop.

Taeyong is sitting outside the library with his girl, smiling at her like he’s never smiled at anything better in his entire life. It’s kind of sickeningly sweet, but it’s your best friend so it still makes you happy.

When you pull up to them and park the car, you see Doyoung glare at them.

“What is my sister doing with Taeyong?” He asks. Your eyes widen at his words.

“Your sister?”

“Yes, my sister. Why are they walking to the car- is he holding her hand? Why is she giggling at him-

“Doyoung, oh my god, calm down. We’re going to the same place I told Taeyong I’d drop him off for his date-

Doyoung turns his glare on you. “He’s the one going on a date with my sister?”

“Don’t look so offended. Taeyong isn’t a bad guy. He’s my best friend and your friend-

Suddenly, one of the back car doors opens and Taeyong climbs in, but Doyoung’s sister stands still on the sidewalk. Her and Doyoung are practically in a stare down together, and you roll your eyes, moving onto the rearview mirror so you can see Taeyong.

“…big bro.”

“Little sister.”

You watch as Taeyong’s eyes widen at their words and his eyes find yours in the rearview mirror, and a mixture of emotions pass his face ranging between shock, confusion, shock again, regret, back to shock, and then ending on acceptance of the situation he hadn’t even realized he got into.

What were the odds that both your date and his date would be siblings?

You try not to laugh as Taeyong’s date gets into the car, not wanting to seem like you don’t care about your best friend’s feelings.

But, it was really funny.

His date thanks you for driving them to their destination and you give her a smile back before setting the car into motion. The silence is deafening as you drive, the radio barely doing anything to ease the awkwardness and the quiet of the car.

From the corner of your eye you can see Doyoung glaring at Taeyong every few seconds because his date is Doyoung’s sister, and you want to reach over and hit Doyoung at his overprotectiveness. Taeyong was a good guy, and it wasn’t like he was going to hurt his sister. He was being ridiculous.

“Taeyong. Name. Age. Grade. Hobbies. What you plan on doing with my sister?” He suddenly says.

“…why do I need to tell you that you already know-

“Driver,” Doyoung’s sister speaks up, interrupting Taeyong. “Name. Age. Grade. Hobbies. What do you plan on doing with my brother?”

You want to laugh again. You totally want to laugh again at the change in dynamic. You weren’t expecting that at all. You’re about to answer when Doyoung talks before you, beginning an argument with his sister.

“Why are you asking my date all those questions?” Doyoung snaps.

“Because you’re asking mine the same questions.”

“I asked first,” Doyoung continues. “You can’t reuse my questions.

“I just did. What are you going to do about it?”

“You both are such children,” you say, rolling your eyes as you make a left turn. You weren’t even on a date yet and this was already such a shitshow.

“I am not,” the siblings say in unison. You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes again.

“Children.”

You focus on driving for a moment, making sure you have the right directions in your head. You hear Taeyong and his date mumbling in the back to each other, and you have a bad feeling that at some point, Doyoung is going to interrupt their moment together.

“What’s with that mumbling, are you talking shit about me?” Doyoung asks. There it was. “Taeyong, you’re a bad influence on my sister.”

You’re about to defend your best friend, but his sister cuts in before you can. “Doyoung, oh my fuck, we are not talking shit about you.”

“I asked Taeyong, not you, little sis.”

“Stop attacking my best friend,” you growl, stopping at a red light and setting a glare on Doyoung. “Either you let him go on a date with your sister or I’m kicking you out of my car this instant and you can bus your sorry ass back home.”

The car is silent for a few seconds, and you keep your glare on Doyoung, making sure he knows not to say anything more about Taeyong, lest he lose his date and his ride home.

“Did you just salt at me?” Doyoung shuts his mouth for another second. “That was… uncalled for.”

You only shrug in triumph as he clearly backs off from saying anything more to Taeyong, and continue driving as the light turns green. You’re humming quietly to yourself in excitement as you reach closer to your destination, seeing the first sign that tells you’re in the right place, and you continue on until you have to turn. You drive slowly down the road until suddenly, Doyoung’s sister in the backseat yells.

“UM. WE’RE GOING TO THE ZOO?”

“Hm?” You stop at the next stoplight and smile back at her. “Yeah! Taeyong and I thought it’d be good for a date.”

“It’s a great date idea,” Doyoung agrees. “Great. Idea.”

“Is it? You hate the zoo, Doyoung,” his sister says. You laugh quietly to yourself. How could anyone hate the zoo?

“I do not. I… think it’s fun.”

“Last time we went to the zoo you wouldn’t let go of my hand even after we got home.”

“Doyoung, are you scared of animals?” Taeyong asks. The whole car goes silent again and you glance at Doyoung as you drive, whose hands are balled in his pants, squeezing harshly at the fabric. Maybe… he did hate the zoo after all.

That was bad.

How could you have your first date at a zoo when the guy you were on a date with hated it?

“You’re scared of animals. Aren’t you?”

Doyoung’s sister starts getting excited about the lions as you focus on pulling into the parking lot and finding a good parking spot. You’re not really paying attention to her as she goes on about what she wants to see, more worried about Doyoung than anything else.

“Don’t take her to see the lions,” Doyoung interrupts. Well, if he wasn’t going to have fun, at least his sister could.

“Why not?” You ask, pulling into a parking spot, shutting off the car and breathing out a “finally, we’re here” when the car dies down. “I hear they have an open house thing that lets you get close to the lions.”

It doesn’t take long for Doyoung’s sister to get excited again, practically bouncing out of the car and pulling Taeyong along with her, only yelling out a “Bye Doyoung” as any sort of indication that they were leaving. Doyoung tries and tells them to wait, but they’re gone and the words die in his throat.

You sit there together in another bout of silence, fiddling with the keys in your hands. You wonder if you should even get out of the car or just put the keys back in the ignition and take Doyoung home. You didn’t want him feeling uncomfortable or scared on a first date with you.

“…I’m sorry,” you mumble out. “I should’ve told you where we were going.”

“It’s- fine. I like… surprises.”

“Stop acting all tough, Doyoung. You look like you’re trying to burn a hole into my glovebox.” You reach over to place a hand on his, hoping it will relieve some sort of stress he might’ve been feeling. He ends up looking up at you, a sour look on his face.

“Really. I’m not scared. I’m just more worried about my sister-

“Because she’s with Taeyong? He’ll take care of her-

“No. No, because… last time she and I came to the zoo she got too close to the lions… I had to save her before she got mauled-

“...that’s so cute.”

“Huh?” Doyoung gets a look of confusion on his face at your words, and you smile at him, squeezing his hand.

“You’re cute, worrying about your sister.”

“Shut up, you’re cute,” Doyoung says, laughing a little. You’re glad the mood is lightening up after such an intense car ride.

“Good comeback,” you say. “Do you want to go inside now or are you still scared?”

“I’m not scared of anything. Let’s go.” You watch Doyoung as he gets out of the car, almost slamming the door shut and waiting outside the car for you. You roll your eyes at him.

“Fucking liar…”

-

The first thing Doyoung wants to see are the fish. He immediately drags you to the building that holds all the fish. It’s nice and beautiful in there, blue lights fitting the feeling of the rooms. If you were more interested in the fish, you’d probably think it reminds you of the ocean.

Except, you’re not interested. Because clearly Doyoung isn’t interested either, mostly staying there because he probably thinks the fish are the animals that won’t hurt him. 

You wander the building for nearly fifteen minutes, going in circles while Doyoung continues to point out the same fish every time you pass them before you’ve finally had enough. The final time you reach the exit you start heading towards it, but Doyoung grabs your hand.

“Where are you going?” He asks, eyes pleading to not leave the sanctuary that is the fish exhibit. You point towards the door, smiling at him.

“I was going to go see the rest of the animals. I can only stare at the same fish for so long,” you tell him. He frowns and lets go of your hand.

“I’ll… stay here then. You can go.”

“It’s not much of a date if we’re separated.” Doyoung shakes his body in a pouty manner before groaning and walking forward, pushing the doors open. You follow after him, looping your arm with his when you catch up.

“You know the fish were boring,” you say.

“So boring,” he replies. “But-

“Don’t worry, Doyoungie. I’ll protect you from any animals that you’re scared of.”

“Shut up. I’m so not scared,” he snaps at you. There’s zero bite to his bark, and you don’t miss the way he moves himself a little closer to you while you walk.

Doyoung was so cute. There was no wonder why you had a crush on him.

You walk together for a bit, Doyoung and you passing by exhibits but never really stopping. He doesn’t want to look at the monkeys, didn’t even want to step foot towards the rhinos, and when you suggest wolves he steers you straight towards the petting zoo.

That was okay with you, because you always liked the small goats and the sheep, and the pigs always reminded you of Taeyong’s friend, Jaehyun. They were cute, and were going to be perfect for Doyoung’s fear.

You two enter the petting zoo, hands filled with food for the animals and you immediately go to one of the sheep, letting it eat out of your hand. Doyoung stands next to you, the hand not filled with food sitting on your shoulder as you feed the sheep.

“See, Doyoung? It’s harmless. None of the animals are going to hurt… you…” You pause your talking to stare at the goat next to Doyoung, clearly wanting some of the food you and he had. Doyoung notices only a second later and jumps, moving around you so that you’re between him and the goat.

“Doyoung, he wants some food. Give him some.”

“You give him some,” he says. You roll your eyes and put your hand out for the goat, but it immediately backs away and moves around you, going towards Doyoung again.

“It wants your food, Doyoung. Give him some!” You say again. Doyoung shakes his head and moves around you once more, but he doesn’t sit there long because the goat follows him around. The sheep that had been eating from your food moves away, leaving you in the middle of a goat chase with Doyoung whining as he tries to run away from the goat.

“Doyoung, just give him your food!” You’re trying not to laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as you watch Doyoung get chased by the goat.

“No! He doesn’t deserve it!” Doyoung says, and suddenly he’s running to the other side of the pen, throwing the food he had to the ground in front of a bunch of baby goats. Doyoung turns back to the goat, grinning in triumph at it, only to find out it’s chewing the back of Doyoung’s shirt.

“Ah! Get away from me!” You can’t keep your laughter in any longer, and you have to stop yourself from falling over into the dirt as you laugh. Doyoung trying to get away from the goat that was chewing his shirt and watching as one of the staff members comes in to help is the funniest thing you’ve seen in a while.

You shouldn’t be laughing, because Doyoung was no doubt going to be mad about it, but how could you not? This was too funny.

Eventually, the goat lets go of Doyoung’s shirt and he promptly takes his leave from the petting zoo. You thank the employee that helped Doyoung and follow after him, waiting to catch up until he sits down on one of the benches.

“You’re the worst,” he says when you come to sit next to him. You bump your shoulder with him, smiling.

“You know that was funny.”

“It was not. The goat tried to eat me! Goats hate me!” He says. Doyoung crosses his arms in a pout and scoots away from you until he’s on the edge of the bench. You scoot towards him, reaching an arm around his waist and pulling him a little closer to you.

“It did not try to eat you. It just wanted your shirt.” You press your nose to Doyoung’s shoulder, taking a short whiff of his shirt. “It smells good. If I was a goat I’d eat it too. Again. This has happened before?”

Doyoung lets out a whine. “A goat ate my shirt when I was little too- ahh, this was my favorite shirt… I can’t believe it happened again.”

You laugh against Doyoung’s shoulder before pulling away and standing up. You take out your wallet from your bag and smile down at him when he looks at you. “I’ll buy you a new one, okay? And something to eat. Do you want to share a pretzel with me?”

“…I want a shake too. Chocolate.”

“Got it.”

You’re about to leave Doyoung at the bench while you go get your food from the snack bar by the petting zoo, only to feel a pull at the hem of your shirt the moment you take a step away. You look back to see Doyoung staring at the ground, his fingers hooked in the fabric. Did he not want you to leave? How could you get his chocolate shake if you couldn’t even leave?

“What? Do you want me to get you something else too?” You ask. Doyoung shakes his head but stays silent, and you poke his forehead. “What is it?”

You hear words come out of Doyoung’s mouth, a jumbled mess of syllables and letters that don’t make any sense. You bend down and ask him to repeat himself, seeing if you can hear better.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he says again.

“Leave you alone? That’s what I was going to do-

“No! Oh my god- you’re such a- don’t leave me alone.”

You smile at Doyoung when he looks up at you, eyes pleading once again for you to not leave. He was such a dork.

You hold out your hand for him and wiggle your fingers. “I’ll let you hold my hand while we get food, okay? I won’t let go at all.”

“…promise?” Doyoung asks. You nod your hand.

“Promise.”

Doyoung doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand, weaving your fingers together. As you walk to the snack bar together, hand in hand, you really can’t help but love the way your hands fit together. It makes you smile a ridiculous smile because holding his hand makes you so very happy. You hope he felt the same.

-

“…Doyoung I don’t want to… alarm you…” Doyoung looks at you when you enter the lion house together, and you almost want to drag him back out before he makes a fuss in public.

Your date had been going so well after you shared a pretzel and a shake together. Doyoung and you held hands all throughout the rest of your walk around the park, actually stopping at the exhibits as you went. He loved the red pandas, thought the black bears were super cool (even if he hid behind you the whole time), and cooed at how cute the meerkats were.

And then, you finally managed to convince him to go into the lion house after buying him a drink, a candy bar, and promising to hold his hand the entire time (which, you didn’t mind at all.) Of course, nothing could go perfect on a first date.

You shouldn’t have even mentioned anything when you entered the lion house, because now Doyoung was marching his way over to where his sister and Taeyong were standing in front of one of the lions. You had been unwillingly dragged to where they were, sighing when Doyoung yanks his sister away from the lion and starts yelling.

“Taeyong, I thought I told you to watch my sister! What the fuck were you doing, letting her get so close to the lion?”

“Bro, there was glass,” she argues, pouting when the lion she had been interested in turns away from her. “The point of the enclosure is precisely to allow visitors to get up close to the lions.”

“What kind of dumb idea is that?” Doyoung scoffs. You look at Taeyong, wondering how he was taking this, and he looks ready to nag back at Doyoung just as much as he’s nagging at his sister.

What a great date. Really.

“You could’ve been eaten alive like before,” Doyoung says. There was that protective brother again. Almost too protective. Seeing the exhibit now, you’re not sure anyone could actually get mauled, especially if there was glass between a person and the lion.

“Bye, you’re so embarrassing,” Doyoung’s little sister mumbles out, wiggling out of Doyoung’s grip. She moves back over to Taeyong and grabs him, beginning to walk and saying something about the penguins.

“You come back here, don’t walk away when I was still talking!” Doyoung yells after her. You grab him before he can run off, giving him a stern look when he glares at you.

“Your sister is fine, Doyoung. The lions couldn’t even kill her even if they wanted to.”

“What do you know-

“I know,” you poke at his chest with your other hand. “That you need to calm down and take like, seventeen chill pills, okay? Your sister would’ve been fine; Taeyong would’ve jumped in to save her even if something had happened.”

“Yeah, right-

“Doyoung.”

Doyoung and you stare at each other, a stubborn face off to see who is right about this situation (it’s you, no doubt). Eventually, after he realizes you’re not backing down, lets out a sigh and moves his gaze to the ground.

“Can we just call it a day?” Doyoung asks.

“Yeah. That’s fine. Let’s go.”

You’re not happy as you and Doyoung leave the lion house, but you guessed your brought this upon yourself. You’re the one that suggested the double date idea in the first place, and it just so happened that your dates had been siblings.

Karma, you supposed, since you even thought about a double date. Who went on double dates anymore?

You and Doyoung walk until you’re sitting outside the zoo, sitting on the curb. You text Taeyong that whenever he and his date were ready, it was time to go home.

“Sorry for such a shitty first date,” you say to Doyoung when you put your phone away. A silence stretches between you for a few minutes until you feel a hand on yours, squeezing it gently.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Doyoung says.

“Your shirt got eaten and the crap in the lion house-

“Okay, that was pretty shitty,” Doyoung agrees. You hang your head in defeat, but Doyoung scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “But, you did buy me a shake, and you told me I smelled nice and we held hands like… the entire time. I thought that was pretty great.”

You look at Doyoung, seeing his usual gummy smile on his face and you smile back a little. “I thought those were pretty great too. And, sorry, you getting chased by the goat was so funny-

“It was not! And here I was, about to ask you for another date-

“You were?” You interrupt. Doyoung smiles and nods his head, a blush creeping up his face.

“If you wanted to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay, good. Because I want to too.” Another silence settles between you too, innocent and soothing as you sit together, but it only lasts a few seconds because Doyoung starts talking again.

“But I’m planning it this time. First of all, no double date. That was too much stress.”

“Agreed.”

“And no zoo. Never again. And no sister, no best friend-

“Only us?” You ask, winking at Doyoung. His face flushes and he pushes you away from him.

“Second date we’re going to the library. We’re going to study.”

“That is not a date-

“It is a date. I’ll hold your hand while we study. It’ll be perfect.” Doyoung smiles fondly at the thought, and you scrunch your face up in distaste.

“I’d rather watch the fish for hours instead of going to the library for a second date.”

“Take it or leave it,” Doyoung says. You roll your eyes but agree anyways. A second date at the library was better than nothing.

“…fine. Fine. But I choose what we do on our third date.”

“Deal.”

[dustbunny105]

Title:  Full Offense Fandom: Lost Light Pairing: Anolug Rating: PG Word count: 1805 Summary: Lug finds herself in the midst of Anode’s nonsense yet again, but this time she’s got the wrong idea of it. A/N: I’ve been sitting on this for weeks because I didn’t want to post another fic without a title when the last fic I posted still doesn’t have a title but. Eh. I kinda really wanted to queue this before I read the new issue.

.

"What we need," said Anode as she stared across the bar at a map to their latest objective, "is a diversion."

"What we need," said Lug as she stared across the bar at the heavily-armed-- and multi-armed-- behemoth of an organic who was currently in possession of the map to their latest objective, "is a new job. In a nice, quiet part of town on some nice, quiet planet."

Anode scoffed as she always did when Lug suggested settling down and threw back a swallow of her drink, face screwing up when she failed to get all of it past her tongue and directly into her throat. She gagged a little but kept it all down, leaning heavily on the table. Lug frowned at her, concerned but without sympathy. Still sputtering, Anode leaned heavy across the table and demanded, "Name one job that would fulfill us the way this one does."

Lug leaned back and crossed her arms, suggesting, "One that keeps fuel in our tanks and doesn't get us nearly killed on alternate weekends, is what I was thinking."

"We'd both be bored into stasis within a week, and who would feed us then?" Anode asked, practically crawling onto the tabletop to make up for the distance Lug had put between them. She shot a look back at their mark, who seemed to be haggling with a potential buyer, before settling her attention back upon Lug. "Listen, we've discussed this-- this job will keep us in energon for weeks, and that's after we've fixed our ship's engines-- or at least one of them. Or at least most of one of them. But not if we don't get our hands on that map!"

Making a disgusted noise, Lug leaned back even further and threw her hands up in the air, clutching for patience she didn't have. For the umpteenth time, she kicked herself for not grilling Anode about the job before going along with it. She was prepared to go into the umpteenth, "Then you shouldn't have taken the job!" lecture in lieu of having done the smart thing the first time, but cut herself off with a start when one hand collided with warm metal behind her.

Craning her neck around and then up, Lug flinched to find a glare cast down on her from a heavy-duty mech who looked as though he’d at least doubled his already substantial weight in additional armaments.

"Sorry," she sputtered, trying to scoot her chair forward and away from him but not making much headway with her feet so high off the ground, "I didn't--"

"Watch it, runt," the large mech snapped, shoving Lug so hard that she felt her back plating buckle under his hand at the same time her chest got dinged up on the table edge.

Anode's reaction seemed to happen in slow motion. She knocked back the rest of her drink without so much as a wince and tossed the glass aside to land where it may. In one smooth, fluid motion, she stood, took up her chair by its back and swung it over Lug's head. Lug didn't turn quickly enough to see it connect, but she did see the stranger stumble and fall to a knee, clutching at the new dent in his lip and pulling his fingers away pink.

Staring down at him, Lug couldn't help the thought, The furniture here sure is sturdy. Still in shock, she also couldn't help a short squawk of laughter, loud in the suddenly quiet bar.

As if she'd given a command, time sped back up. The stranger snarled, mostly engine, and lunged at Anode. The rest of the bar dissolved into chaos as though all they'd been waiting for was for someone else to strike the first blow. Lug hit the ground, careful not to look Anode's way lest her concern distract her, and hurried on her hands and knees. It was a good time to be so small, as she easily made her way between and around the feet of the other bar patrons towards the booth where their mark had been positioned.

Said mark was standing proud in the midst of the fight, two fists pounding their chest and two more holding aloft their struggling buyer while yet two more that Lug hadn't even seen punched said buyer in the head. Lug supposed that their negotiations hadn't gone well. In any case, she was far more concerned with the datapad still resting on the tabletop behind them, containing the map which Anode had started what was shaping up to be a full scale riot to secure. Trying not to pay too much attention to which pained grunts and shouts behind her sounded like Anode's, Lug risked getting her feet under her and, when the mark howled up at the ceiling in what she took to be glee, dashed forward and around them to snatch the datapad off the table.

If she'd realized they had eyes in the back of their head, she'd have been more cautious. As it was, she glanced around just in time to see those eyes narrow at her before they turned their head one hundred and eighty degrees and glared with their primary eyes.

"Excuse me," she blurted, scrambling back into the protection of the brawl.

Behind her, they roared, and the next thing she knew, the would-be buyer was sailing over her head to crash at her feet, stopping her short. Plating pulled so tight that it didn't rattle even as she shook from her engine outward, Lug half-turned to see the mark coming at her. Time seemed to slow down again, their every motion clear, but she was moving just as slow, she was too slow--

"Lug!"

And just like that, just like earlier, time sped up again. A green blur darted at her out of the crowd and then she was airborne, tucking the map away in her chest compartment and transforming on instinct. She bounced off Anode's back, systems hiccuping, before settling in properly and winding her straps tight around Anode's shoulders. She didn't have a good view of what happened next, but she sure felt it when Anode threw herself into a backflip and she felt the impact of Anode's heels on what she assumed from the grunt she heard to be the organic's chin. The world spun around her as Anode followed through, momentum not so much as hitched by the blow.

Then they were running, dodging around and jumping over the other combatants. The exhaust-thick air of outside was a blessing as the door slammed heavy behind them and they kept running. Anode twisted through back alleys and over fences with no apparent destination in mind. When at last she came to a stop, she skidded through trash and ducked into a shadow, tugging at one of Lug's straps to indicate she should get off.

"Did we lose them?" Lug gasped as she found her feet under her once again. "Did they follow us?"

"Where'd you run off to?" Anode spoke right over her, grabbing her close and looking over her for injuries. "You just disappeared-- in the middle of that mess! And you call me reckless!"

Lug gaped, then shook Anode off, indignant. "What do you mean, where'd I run off to? I was making good use of your diversion, wasn't I?" As if to prove herself, she pulled the map out and waved it under Anode's nose. As an afterthought, she added, "And you are reckless!"

"You got it?" Anode's eyes went bright and she snatched the datapad, switching it on and flipping through its contents to confirm. "This is what you ran off for?" Her smile went sly as she looked over it at Lug. "There's the adventurer in you!"

Lug's jaw worked around her bewilderment and she wondered if maybe she'd suffered some processor damage without realizing. More likely, she decided, it was Anode whose processor was on the fritz, after that brawl. She demanded, "What are you talking about? Wasn't I meant to get it?"

Anode's optics blinked through a reset and puzzlement lined her face, like it was Lug who wasn't making sense. There was no visible damage to her head, but then Lug could only see half of it and she'd always said Anode was hard-headed anyway.

"When you swung your chair at that jerk," Lug said slowly. "When you started the fight-- our diversion?"

"Diversion?" Anode muttered, then realization lit up over her. "Oh, right, our diversion!" She paid too much attention to turning the datapad off again before handing it back, stood too quickly and didn't look at Lug. "Right, of course, that’s what I did. Good teamwork back--"

"Hold it," said Lug, who was no fool despite what the company she kept-- and what that company talked her into doing-- suggested. She tucked the datapad away and put her hands on her hips. "If that wasn't meant to be our diversion, just what did you think you were playing at?"

"Well--"

"It hasn't been that long since you got into a fight," Lug insisted, "and you're not drunk--"

"He shoved you," Anode cut in, plating rippling even as her voice went hard. Her hands drifted back to Lug's chest, fingers skimming over the fresh ding and then walking around her sides and finding the newest dent in her back by touch. She leaned forward, tucking Lug against her chest, to peer at it over her shoulder. Quiet, intimate in their dirty little hiding place, she said against Lug's audial, "He dented you. You can't think I'd let him get away with that."

Unsure what to say, Lug wrapped her arms around Anode in turn, nuzzling reassurance against her shoulder. She felt Anode's fingertips open at her back, medical instruments assessing the damage. She could tell for herself that it wasn't that bad-- she just needed the dents popped out, really-- but still Anode's engine growled the low note of a predator. Lug tightened the embrace, silently imploring Anode not to dash back and finish what she'd started, before pulling away and shaking her off again.

"Come on," she said, taking Anode's hands in hers, the retreating instruments tickling her palms, and urging Anode to her feet. "Let's go to work."

Anode nodded and rolled her shoulders, casting a glare back in what Lug supposed was the general direction of the bar before twining her fingers in Lug's and heading off in what Lug hoped was the general direction of their ship. The fight they'd left behind echoed in the air, or maybe it was just that bad of a neighborhood.

"For what it's worth, if someone had struck you," said Lug, grinning at the eye ridge Anode quirked at her, "I'd've cheered you on so hard while you beat them silly."

[vulcan-and-the-mighty-muses]

(This is an RP done with @hectorswonkyfibula it goes me then him, and Altair is his chracter)

Seth was walking through the woods because it helped him relax. He knew the trail quite well, and knew that mostly cops, and people who were friends with his family walked the trail, but today it was only him on the trail. He was looking around admiring the beauty of nature and enjoyed the clean air.

thump! A growl. Damnit! I missed again! Altair thought angrily to himself. He always had trouble jumping into trees. Unluckily for him, he didn't notice the human walking nearby.

He looked over to where the noise was. "Hello? Are you alright?" The young boy was thinking that it was someone who was dressed in some kind of colorful outfit. "If you are hurt then I could go get help!" He was standing at the edge of the trail trying to see who or what had just fallen.

Altair's feathers flicked up in surprise hearing the small voice behind him. He turned to investigate, rising up to an unintentionally intimidating 8 feet... Only to look down at a small human child. why is this child so adorable and who let them be alone? The dinosaur thought to himself, deciding to adopt said human.(edited)

Seeing him stand up like that scared him. Seth then decided to do what his mind told him to do. Which was run and hide from the dinosaur. His heart was pounding as he then started to climb a tree as far up as he could hoping that the creature wouldn't be able to reach him up there. 

Wait, what??? He blinked before his mind caught up with him. Altair cocked his head in confusion as he watched the small being attempt to climb a tree. His brows furrowed in confusion, striding up to the tree and craning his neck in order to keep the child in his sights. "Wh... What are you doing, little one?" The reptile asked, giving voice to his bamboozled state.

He looked down clinging onto the tree still shaking from fear. "T-Trying not t-to be e-eaten by y-you..." He got out the terror obvious in his voice. He wasn't sure if the raptor could get to him or if he was safe so he began to climb up the tree some more  hoping to get out of his reach. Though the fact he could talk was some comfort to the young boy because that meant he might not eat him. 

That was... disconcerting. Did he look like he was trying to eat the small human above him? He wasn't trying to. "Uh... I'm not going to?" Altair's brows furrowed in further confusion. "You're sentient. Why would I eat you?" A beat. "Plus I've already eaten today, but that's not the point." He added as an afterthought.(edited)

"Then why did you stand up so suddenly and at such a big height?" He was enough that he felt safe and could talk to the other properly. "And you're a carnevor. Aren't you? If so then I'm made of meat. That's why you would eat me." Though the fact that he had already eaten was some comfort. He sat on a branch and watched the raptor, though there was something that did confuse him. "You're a raptor right?"

"Well you surprised me!" The dinosaur retorted. "And I'm actually on the shorter side for a Utahraptor, so I didn't realise I would be quite so big. Especially to a child." Altair was a little offended at the carnivore comment, though he tried not to let it show on his face too much, lest he frighten the little human more. "I'm not actually a carnivore... I'm an omnivore. I eat fruit too." The large raptor mumbled before continuing in a louder voice, "A-and we only eat prey that doesn't talk back to us! We don't... Kill mercilessly. Especially hatchlings like you."

Hearing that he was an omnivore the child nodded and began to climb back down. Once he was back on the ground he looked up at the raptor. He had a bag on him and he pulled off before opening it and looking through it. "Well, if you want we could have lunch together and finish walking this trail. And... I'm really sorry for calling you a carnivore." Seth looked at his feathers and got a little confused. "I didn't know dinosaurs had feathers." While he was much calmer he was still a little scared standing in front of a dinosaur.

Altair beamed at the small boy. "I appreciate the offer, but I feasted with my clan some hours earlier. Go ahead and eat!" He insisted before answering the question asked. "Well, some don't. But my kind do! And our cousins. Lots of two-legged dinosaurs do! Though.." He trailed off in thought, watching... What was his name anyway? Watching the child dig through the satchel that the large reptile hadn't noticed before. "Some use the feathers for flight, while we use them to feel pretty and to glide." Altair flicked, fluffed, and fluttered his mane of feathers as an example. 

He looked up when the raptor began to talk again. There was still some time before lunch and a good ways before the trail came to an end. So maybe the other would be hungry by the end of it. When the other showed off his feathers who looked in awe at how beautiful they were. "You're like a walking rainbow!" He excitedly exclaimed smiling. "Oh! We never introduced ourselves. My name's Seth. What's your name?" He was curious about the others name as well and kind of wanted to meet his clan if they were all like him. 

"Thank you!" The dinosaur exclaimed before doing what probably looked like an awkward bow-kick-step, showing the customary respect before peeking up at the ch- no. Seth. "My name is Altair of the Florid-Clutch of Clan Utah. At your service!"

He nodded his head smiling. "Alright. It's nice to meet you Altair of the Flo-rid-Clutch of Clan Utah." Seth wasn't sure if that was all just his first name or not so he just said everything Altair said. 

"Oh! Ha, you don't have to say all that. We only ever use our full titles when introducing ourselves to someone." Altair giggles. "I do appreciate your respect though!" 

"Oh. Alright." Then began to walk down the trail before turning to the other. "Are you coming or what?" He called to Altair smiling and waving.

"Oh!" He exclaimed shortly before extending his legs into an awkward lope in order to catch up to the little one. Who in hindsight was rather quick for his size. Mustn't lose hatchling Seth. He needs protection 

He began walking again once Altair caught up smiling. "I'm surprised you and your call have avoided detection for so long. How many of you are left?"

"Oh we're a plentiful clan! I'd say we have upwards of 250 individuals?" Altair pondered aloud, adding an afterthought, "Not counting the baby bones, that is. Though they're not very plentiful. Very difficult for Sirius to make. He used much of his magical energy on them, but they're beloved additions." Aaaaand he was rambling. Oops...

"Well, as long as you guys are making sure to eat cooked meat and drink clean and fresh water then there should be nothing to worry about." He didn't know about most of what the other was talking but it sounded kind of good.

Cooked meat? Uh oh.... Should he..? No, best not. Seth was still so young, it was preferred if Altair was not the one to ruin any innocence the hatchling had. Instead, he asked, "Why cooked meat, if I may ask? While we are omnivorous, that also implies we eat meat. Utahraptors could be like tigers, for all you know." The dinosaur jested

"Well, yeah, but you don't get diseases from plants. Unless you eat a poisonous one. Then you can get very sick or maybe even die. But cooking meat makes sure to kill off any parasites the animal may of had, and make sure to kill off bacteria that can make you very sick. That's why cooking it is a good idea. But you have to remove their skin before cooking them up." 

"Then why do other predators eat raw meat, fur and all? Don't they get diseases?" Altair knew nothing of this world he called his home away from home. Back with the clan, Sirius would just make up a quick potiolixer (term coined by said shaman of course) for any illness, injury, or ailment you came to him with.

"They probably don't know any better.  And I know that they usually get some kind of parasite." He told the other as they passed the halfway mark on the trail. "If you want we could stop here and rest for a bit. Also, if you'd like to see where I live you're welcome to come home with me. I'm sure mom wouldn't mind if you stayed over with us for tonight." 

The raptor had to concede to Seth's point. This universe sure was weird... "I'd be honoured to accompany you to your home! But..." Altair was apprehensive. "Won't my presence alarm your mother? Scare her even? I'd hate to make a bad first impression..." 

"What if we dressed you up as a giant chicken! I'm sure you could pass for a chicken." He was mostly joking of course. "If you just sit and don't suddenly stand at your full height I'm sure you won't scare her."

That could work... And he said as much. "Maybe it would also help if I had some fruit to munch on? So she sees I'm not a carnivore."

He nodded his head smiling. "We have plenty of fruit at home." He told him happily. "So, what is it like where you live?"

Fantastic! He hoped there were mangoes... "Oh my clan is based in a copse of large fallen trees at the bottom of a cliff. It's fantastic home! There's large flattish rocks to sun oneself on, a stream to bathe in and drink from that runs just outside the camp... Full of beautiful foliage that flowers into summer. We sleep in the hollowed out trunks of aforementioned fallen trees." 

"So, you guys don't have tools or anything like that?" He was starting to wonder if Altair was even from this world. "And do any of you look more human or do you all look like that?" 

"Well, Sirius uses tools. He's the shaman, so he kinda needs to. We don't have much of a need to use them for everyday things we can do ourselves!" Although... "Well, we do use them for tanning hides and the like. But we really don't need them every day. Why? Do you?" Humans are so weird... He nodded his head smiling. "All the time! I use pots and pans for cooking. Forks, spoons, and knives to help eat, plates and bowls to eat out of, and the fridge and freezer to help keep things fresh. And the oven for cooking." He said continuing to walk. "So, how did you and your clan keep from being wiped out millions of years ago?"

"Oh neat!" He had no idea what those things were... "We don't use any of those things. We normally don't keep anything, as we only ever hunt and gather enough food for the whole clan. But... As far as the wiping out goes... I don't believe I come from this universe... There's no such thing as a human where I come from. Just wildlife and more dinosaurs." 

"Oh...Then why didn't your looks evolve, and why didn't you guys make entire civilizations instead of having clans?" Seth always thought of evolution as a straight forward thing and thought that everything would evolve towards a similar path. 

Altair tilted his head in both thought and confusion. "Why would we? We're apex predators! The perfect killing machine! The only thing that's evolved is our teeth structure and our digestive system to be omnivorous, and our larynx, pharynx and our brains for speech and higher thinking." A beat. "Well, maybe our skin, too, to have the ability to grow fur and feathers. But really, us raptors are pretty perfect, if it's not too narcissistic to say!" He added with a trilled giggle. "But as far as the civilisations go, our clans are the best way to go, as in the past, before we evolved into... Well. This" He gestures to his furry self. "Us dinosaurs used to travel in herds by species. It just stuck. We all found it easier to fall into."

Most of what Altair said went over the young boys head, but he understood some of it. "Then what do you do for medicine? And what do you do for surgery? And what's stopping a smarter or stronger clan from attacking you guys and wiping you out? Do you have pets? And what about farming and keeping animals you eat close to you?" Seth was very confused and concerned. At least humans had laws and most them pretty similar, but what if you wanted to visit another clan, but their rules were completely different? He had so many questions about Altair's world and how it was different from his own. 

"Well..." Oy, Seth is a very inquisitive child, isn't he? Just how does one explain all the differences between universes? "Uhhh, medicine and surgeries are taken care of by Sirius, our shaman. And we don't... farm? animals. We like to keep things as close to natural balance as possible, so essentially we have specific hunting grounds that we rotate so we don't clear out the entire herd of prey." 

"So, if mom decided that we would be better off living with you guys, would you like to try cooked meat?" He understood it enough to know that he liked how Altair's world sounded compared to how his own world was going. And he wanted to see what it was like. That and he felt like his mother might like to meet the other raptors.

"That sounds... Interesting to say the least! I think I would like to try!" 

He smiled and eventually they reached the end of the trail. Seth sat down at one of the benches and took out a couple of apples and set one of them down for Altair. 

Altair smiled at how thoughtful Seth was. "Thank you, little one." He all but purred as the large raptor carefully took the fruit in his maw before crunching down thoughtfully. He hoped juices weren't getting everywhere... 

Seth ate his apple as well and chuckled watching him eat. "Hey Altair, do you think me and my mom could live with you? I know it would take a lot of adjustments, but I would really like it, and I think she would like it as well." 

Huh. That was.... An unexpected question. If said mother doesn't mind dinosaurs, then... "I don't see why not! We welcome outsiders pretty easily! I mean, Sirius was an outsider, and now look at him! The clan shaman, and resident necromancer!" Which was true. Sirius may be much smaller than the rest of the clan, but there was no doubt that the Pyroraptor was invaluable to the Clan.

Seth from finished his apple and hugged the raptor smiling. "Do you mind if I ride you home then?" He wanted to show the other his home, and feed him some meat. "Also, she might not since she fell in love with bat mommy."

"A bat mommy? What is this? And sure, hop on up." Altair asked, kneeling down so the small human could clamber up onto his back. 

Seth got on his back smiling. "You see that big tower in the distance? That's where we live with bat mommy! There's a few other bats there as well." 

"Oh okay! Head that way then?" The raptor asked as he started walking in said direction 

He nodded his head smiling. "Have you been in Metro City before? Because me and my mom has been here for a few months." 

Altair picked up his pace a little now he knew where to go before answering Seth. "I have! I have a friend named Bruce who lives there. He found me when I first came to this world! We build a pillow nest together..." he trailed off. "I've only been here for around 6 days though. I'm still searching for any family that may have landed here with me."

Seth gently nuzzled the dino with a small smile. "I'm sure you'll find them. And until then you'll have people who care about you. And I'm sure Bruce doesn't mind having you around." Seth continued to nuzzle him wondering if that was helping him.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, Epilogue

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

Ienzo cleaned his glasses and stretched. His wrist was aching from all the writing. Truthfully, it would probably be faster and more efficient to type rather than write by hand. But in this case the computer felt colder and more inorganic than usual.

It was a beautiful day. A cool breeze blew in from the window behind his desk. It would be good to go outside, to get some air.

His gummiphone chimed with a text. I hate skateboards. Just set 3 different kids’ broken bones. I’ll be back in 10 if you want to grab lunch.

I was about to ask you the same, Ienzo wrote back. Demyx had taken much more quickly to the gummiphone than he had. It seemed as though, whenever they were apart, he felt the need to send Ienzo every little passing thought through his mind.

Times had changed.

He looked to the table where he had been working. Prints, files, and plans were spread around haphazardly. He really should tidy up, lest some rogue breeze sweep it all away.

“Baby, are you a library book? Because I’d like to check you out.” Demyx smiled slyly.

Ienzo fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You’ve used that line before.”

Demyx gave him a kiss. “You been here all morning?”

“More or less.” He started rolling up the delicate print paper. “I wanted to take another look at it before I show it to the committee. Incorporating Dilan’s suggestions was necessary, but now I suspect I’m developing carpal tunnel.” He shook out his hand. “But I suppose you can fix that for me. It is quite convenient to have my own on-call physician.” Demyx only ever got better at healing.

“Even would murder you if he heard you call me that.” He took Ienzo’s hand into his own and ran his fingers across the bone. A warmth replaced the pain. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a healer. In training.”

Ienzo flexed his fingers. “I think he’s a touch jealous.”

“I don’t see why he should be. He doesn’t have to chase kids around just to get them to wear helmets.”

Ienzo put the plans in their cardboard tube and sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be fully happy with it. It’s been an exercise in creativity, if anything.”

“Well. For what it’s worth, I think it’s great.”

He stacked the books neatly. Botany, architecture, spiritualism. Ienzo took off his glasses and set them aside. “In a way, this feels as though it’s my firstborn,” he said softly. “It’s a complete end to this part of my life. Now I’m to head into the unknown.”

“Isn’t it exciting?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I’d say nerve-wracking. Shall we get lunch? I could use some fresh air.”

“There was this new noodle place I wanted to try out. I can’t remember the last time I had some half-decent udon. Think you can spare an hour or two on me?”

“Maybe. If you behave.”

Demyx rolled his eyes.

They set off. The castle was a work in progress. They’d all spent some time here and there trying to tidy things up, but Aeleus especially had invested in repairs. This week in particular he was painting, covering the soft green in a pale blue that brought more light into the narrow halls.

“Good job, man,” Demyx said to him. “We’re going to town for lunch. You want anything?”

He nodded and kept painting.

“I guess we’ll surprise you,” Demyx said.

It was a beautiful spring afternoon. Radiant Garden’s famous flowers were just coming into bloom. The first breath of fresh air made him sneeze. “Yes, my favorite time of year,” he said dryly.

“If you took your allergy medicine like I told you, you wouldn’t be such a wreck.”

He exhaled. He’d never quite get used to Demyx lecturing him.

The town was full, alive, constantly growing. It was looking more and more like the place it had once been, but there was still a sort of rawness to it. They ordered their lunch and sat outside.

“It probably won’t ever be like it was, but it certainly does give me a kind of hope,” Ienzo said. It was easier now than ever to hope, and dream, despite his anxiety for what the future held. Stress of change was different than existential dread.

“It’s grown on me,” Demyx said. “I like it here.” His healing work, especially, was helping him get to know the townspeople.

“It does feel rather more like home than it used to. Though I suppose it’s more the people than anything.”

Demyx smiled a little.

“If you were able to travel freely again, would you?” he asked.

Demyx considered this. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve seen a lot in my time. Kind of enough. But I haven’t seen the worlds when they’re at peace. What about you?”

“Part of me says yes, absolutely. But the other part…” He shrugged. “You’ve got to either hide or assimilate to maintain world order, which does take a certain amount of work.”

“What’s the point of world order? What happens if it isn’t upkept? All these years, and nobody could give me a good answer.”

Ienzo furrowed his brows. Truthfully, he had no answers either, other than the half-baked “tremendous possibility for conflict”. But with so many displaced due to darkness, the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. The noodle between his chopsticks broke in half and disappeared into the broth. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “Perhaps it warrants some investigation.”

“Maybe you can work on that next.”

“Maybe,” he said cheerfully. “Though--this world is barely stabilizing.”

“Last time I talked to Cid, he said that they’re going to have to start planning some kind of government,” Demyx said. “Even though there hasn’t been any real crime or anything, someone’s still gotta step up.” He scraped at the bottom of his bowl and frowned when he found nothing else. He had to eat almost constantly to maintain weight, especially using so much magic.

“I’d heard. They’d called Ansem down a couple of days ago. They offered him the job. He was once sage king, after all.” Ansem had seemed almost guilty when he'd told Ienzo.

Demyx whistled. “How did that go?”

“He turned them down. Said he didn’t want power, and didn’t deserve it. He did say he would serve as adviser to whoever ends up in the position, should they want his advice. Cid and  Leon are going to organize a town hall. And then eventually there will be elections.” Privately, Ienzo agreed. Even though Ansem had once been a kind ruler, the guilt of what had happened remained. He didn’t trust himself. Ienzo suspected that, between the war and his time in the realm of darkness, he was psychologically too shattered to handle the responsibility.

“I wonder who it’ll be.” Demyx grimaced. “Wait. Does that mean they’ll have to live with us?”

Ienzo chuckled, and tried to brush off his worry. “Wouldn’t that shake things up. For some reason I don’t think that would go over too well. If you haven’t noticed, we’re all just a touch insular.”

“Have I noticed. They’re barely accepting me. ”

“Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself. I think Ansem rather likes having you around. It makes him feel young.”

Demyx hesitated. “How are things between you two?” he asked cautiously.

“Improving,” he said. “All the while improving. There’s more bitterness in me than I thought. But I assure you I am working through it. We both are, and we’re both willing, which is what matters.” It was true. While building such a bridge was difficult, to Ienzo it was necessary work. They shared memories, vulnerabilities. He was still unpacking the anger he felt towards Ansem, which some days rose more harshly than others.

“You don’t have to forgive him to love him.”

“I know. But I feel as though I need to, to move on.” He set his chopsticks aside. “Are you still hungry?”

Demyx sighed. “Always,” he muttered. “Aerith said eventually my body will adjust to using so much magic so frequently. I beg to differ, though.”

“Are you still enjoying it?” Demyx’s training separated them for long hours, which wasn’t always easy. But it wasn’t as though they could live their lives joined at the hip--nor was it healthy.

“I feel like I’m doing what I’m meant to. And I don’t have to give up music, either.”

“You can be passionate about more than one thing, you know,” Ienzo said lightly. “Shall we head back?”

“Yeah. Think I need a nap. Fucking skateboarders.”

“In another life you’d be one of them,” Ienzo said.

“I hate that you’re right.”

----

Ienzo shouldn’t have been nervous, but he was. “How does it look?” He appraised the meringue. "Almost. Not quite."

Demyx was whisking furiously.

Ienzo took the bowl from him and put the topping on the lemon pie. He felt twitchy, paranoid. Dinner was ready. They just had to wait.

"You still anxious?"

He sighed. Ienzo took the bowl from him and started to put the topping on the lemon pie. “I realize it’s illogical, but that doesn’t make it go away. ”

“They’re going to love it. I know they will.”

"Part of me feels like I'm rubbing salt in just-healed wounds." It may have been dealt with, but the specter of the experiments hovered over them.

Demyx hugged him from behind, and Ienzo couldn't help but give into the comfort. “They think about what happened all the time,” he said in a low voice. “This is closure. And you know closure can hurt a little sometimes.”

“I suppose.” He had a point. “Would you mind letting go of me? I’ve got to put the pie back in.”

The dynamic at the table was vastly different than it had been the first time they’d all gathered here. No more uniforms, no more hierarchy. The conversation more casual, less stilted and formal. More natural. For a moment Ienzo drank his wine and soaked it all in.

“Aeleus, you know I detest that powder blue. These are scholar’s residencies, not an infant’s nursery--” Dilan rambled on.

“Well then perhaps you can fix it yourself,” Aeleus said calmly.

“I do despise those skateboard miscreants,” Even was saying to Demyx.

“I know, right?”

“You should’ve let them heal naturally. Teach them a lesson about being careless.”

“I mean, uh, that’s kind of against my code of ethics but--”

Across the table, Ansem caught his eyes and nodded once. It was an understanding of some kind, though what he wasn’t quite sure. Ienzo bobbed his head in response.

They cleaned up. Had dessert. Before they could all drift off to bed or elsewhere, Ienzo cleared his throat. Demyx took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure you all know by now what I’ve been working on,” he said. “I’d like to present it to you now, before I turn it over to the committee for approval.” He got up and retrieved the roll of plans and his written works. He smoothed out the blueprints in front of them. “It’s a garden. For those who fell.”

He’d been meticulous in his research. They could’ve easily created an empty space to keep the sets of mortuary tablets. But this felt hollow, dull, lifeless. He’d chosen several sets of blooms, one for each type of loss incurred during Radiant Garden’s struggle with darkness--those killed by the initial fall, those who became Heartless, and lastly, those who had fallen because of their research. He’d chosen the breeds for their symbolism, and for how well they would keep and take root. Each flower would represent one soul lost; at the back of this garden he imagined a wall with all their names, as well as books with more information about each person lost.

It was this aspect that had taken most of his time. There was plenty of information about their hundred subjects, but when it came to the rest, it was all a bit piecemeal. The committee had had a good deal of records concerning who had been deemed a casualty, but still there were bits missing. For weeks he’d gone on foot, interviewing those who were willing to speak. Some of the responses were vociferous; others were struggling too much with grief, or preferred to keep it quiet. About ten percent of the names were still completely lost. And might not ever be found again.

Their reactions were mostly what he’d expected.

Aeleus and Dilan were stoic, though Aeleus patted Dilan’s shoulder. Even, though clearly moved, fought to keep his face impassive. Demyx cried. Ansem stood and reached across the table to take Ienzo’s hand.

“That will do,” he said.

----

The days and weeks passed--the committee accepted his project with open arms. When they were able to allocate the resources, work on the garden started. Nearly all of them, committee and castle alike, spent a good deal of time working on it, planting seeds and tending to the new flowers, engraving the stones and plaques which would hold the names. Building benches. Giving people space to mourn, or celebrate, their lost loved ones. Ienzo spent most of the summer in a constant state of soreness and dirtiness, covered in uneven splotches of pink sunburn.

And then it was done. There was going to be some kind of ceremony later on for the whole town, but for now he was glad to be mostly alone. He stood at the small altar, where some of them had already lit incense and candles.

“Hey,” Demyx said. He held something in his hands, wrapped in white cloth. “You okay?”

“Yes.” The sun was setting, casting a warm light over everything. “What is it you’ve got there?”

Demyx gestured. “Come on. I want to show you something.” He led him through to a corner of the garden. A small red maple sapling had been recently planted, freshly enough that Ienzo could still smell the dirt. It was one of the breeds they’d chosen to recognize whole families that had been lost. A pair of mortuary tablets lay at its trunk. He took the object covered in white cloth and set it just behind them. “Didn’t want it to get dirty when I was working.” He pulled the cloth away.

Ienzo’s breath hitched. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Maybe not. But I talked to Ansem about it, and he agreed that they belonged here.” Demyx had somehow kept the photo from inside of his parents house. It had been repaired, and framed sturdily. “I figure if you want to think about them, you can come do it here,” he said.

He blinked quickly against the tears. Ienzo hugged him. He didn’t have to thank him. Demyx knew how much he meant it.

Once he had his composure back, he patted his eyes dry. Kissed Demyx softly.

“Everyone’s going out to get a drink, if you want to go,” Demyx said. “I figure we all kind of need one after today.”

Ienzo nodded. “I should like that very much.”

And they left the garden together.