#I’m not even bothered about the stones potentially being glass I think glass would be a really cool material to incorporate into silverwork

[scrivenger-grimgar]

Okay but the second and third?? There’s twice as many prongs as actually needed and it could’ve been cool aesthetically but its done so piss poor that it just looks like they’re the opposite of overconfident in their ability to set the stone.

the second picture blurry. This doesn’t hide the fact that the texturing is so wacky??? Like they textured one part so hard that the metal snapped and they went ‘oh shit,’ soldered a melted scrap to fix the band and then just didn’t even try to texture the new metal or blend the seam.

Why could they afford to make all the stones shine EXCEPT the one that’s most prominent? Did it keep fallout out and they just resigned themselves to having a grubby stone???

This is not beginner work, I’m a beginner, and this is very clearly someone who is either scamming people or just doesn’t have a teacher.

kinda obsessed with these, clearly beginner, rings on Etsy being marketed as garnet when i'd bet money that they are glass

the metal work is. certainly better than what i've ever made, so i don't want to speak to harshly. but uh. um.

[wildlyglittering]

The Perils of Being Mr. Nesta Archeron

It’s important you understand this is my incredibly poor attempt at comedy and I just wanted to write some nonsense.

This popped into my brain after seeing all the posts about how awesome Nesta is and how she had a ridiculous amount of marriage proposals and interest from human men, fae males and demons alike. 

I just kind of took it from there...

***

“I still like what Nesta’s done to the place.”

Feyre looked around the grand drawing room of the House of Wind, her dozing son on her lap and her bored mate at her side who murmured something which could be taken as an agreement while pulling off imaginary pieces of lint from his sleeve.

The House was now Nesta’s, in as much as anything sentient could truly belong to anyone, and as such was rarely used for official Night Court business. Its predominant function was as home to Nesta, Cassian and a reluctant Azriel, who’d been gifted the responsibility of ‘supervisor’ – a gift which Feyre suspected he’d like to return.

The Inner Circle still held Starfall at the House and, like now, the High Lord and High Lady of Night, would visit. When she visited alone, Feyre visited in the capacity of sister and friend but when with Rhys, it was all work.

Nesta and Cassian had embraced their titles as the Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death and their combined reputations proceeded them sending them into every corner of Prythian and the many dark outer reaches was a tactic Rhys now employed.

The aim was to achieve negotiations and encourage peaceful surrenders where necessary but if there was resulting collateral damage, it was of little consequence to Rhys.

The other reason that the House was seldom used for official Night Court business was the unnerving issue of the House itself. Whilst the majority of the architecture remained unchanged there was the occasional surprise addition. Or subtraction.

Amren discovered the House’s penchant for the latter when, on one uninvited call, she opened a door which should have led to private chambers only to find herself plummeting through the air onto the ground. She swore blind the House foundations quivered like it was laughing.

Feyre wondered how independently the House acted from Nesta and how much it carried out her wishes. She suspected that this room, the grand drawing room, had been one of Nesta’s heart fulfilments or, at least, something for Cassian.

The room was sizable, entered from the hallway via a series of doorway arches wide enough for splayed Illyrian wings. Oversized plush furniture filled the room and the floors were strewn with thick sable rugs.

The most spectacular draw to the room was the window which stretched from ceiling to floor and from wall to wall on the side opposite the doorways. The view, one across Velaris’ golden rooftops and shining turquoise waters of the Sidra, filled the space like a painting.

Feyre sighed, at least this current visit was expected and so they weren’t risking the windows opening of their own accord to fling them out. The occupants of the House had been gone for longer than anticipated on this task and so Rhys sent ahead a message that he wanted a full debrief when they returned.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak again but stopped when she heard the thud of boots and flutter of wings.

“Finally,” Rhys said with a glance towards Nyx whose eyes flickered open.

“He’ll be happy see Aunt Nesta,” Feyre said in a sing-song voice to her now awake baby, turning him so he could view the entrance. “He loves Aunt Nesta.” She wasn’t above using her infant son as a tactic to avoid her eldest sister’s potential irritation at the intrusion into her home.

Rhys eyed up the shaking walls, “Yes, as does the House.”

Nesta entered first and Feyre breathed a sigh of relief that the floor remained solid underneath where she sat.

“Hello,” Nesta said, her voice soft and cooing. Her welcome wasn’t to her sister or brother-in-law but to the now beaming baby in Feyre’s lap whose legs and arms flailed in the air as he wriggled.

Nesta stepped further into the room, treading over the rugs, arms outstretched, “Come to Aunty Nesta.”

The vast windows let in the bright sunlight, sunlight which illuminated the state of the Illyrian leathers Nesta had clad herself in.

Feyre shrieked, twisting in the chair and blocked Nyx from Nesta’s grasp, pointing at her sister’s waist. “What is that?””

Nesta paused and frowned, looking down.

Aside from the interesting splotches of red across the leathers, the utility belt tightened around Nesta’s waist contained the usual items Feyre expected; knife, pouch, knife, another knife and then... another item she hadn’t.

A leather strap was wound in multiple knots around the thick band and tied to an uneven, lumpy dome the other end. The lumpy dome ended in a stump clotted with congealed blood.

“Oh,” Nesta said with a shrug, “I forgot.” She untied the leather strap and pulled the lump away. “Just another one for the collection.” With a graceful arm movement, Nesta threw what Feyre realised was a decapitated head onto the floor where it landed with a thud, a dribble of blood oozing fresh from the neck wound.

“Well, you can’t hold the baby until you’ve washed your hands. Thoroughly.”

Nesta frowned at her, an ice-cold glare fixed on her face. “Fine,” she snapped, as though Feyre’s request was unreasonable.

Cassian, unlike her sister, had taken some time to remove his blood encrusted leathers before greeting his guests, and he wandered in through the arch with a nod of his head towards Feyre and Rhys.

His hazel eyes noted the bloodied head by the door and he released a sigh.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“The House doesn’t mind.”

The shutters covering the windows in the other rooms started to clatter up and down.

“See?”

“Yes, but I mind and besides,” he gestured across to Feyre, “an infant is present.”

Nyx, now bouncing on Feyre’s lap, slapped his hands together as hard as he could in time with the House. He gazed at Nesta as though she’d sliced her way through necks especially for him.

“He doesn’t care,” Nesta said in a sing-song voice eerily similar to the tone Feyre herself used earlier. She beamed at her nephew, “He’s clapping with the House.”

Rhys’ face turned white, “The House is applauding you?”

“Oh yes,” Az said, arriving at last and pushing his way through where Cassian and Nesta stood to flop down onto the armchair next to Feyre. “Nesta always gets rapturous applause when she brings home a kill.”

Feyre glanced from Azriel, legs sloping over one armrest while his head flopped across the other, to Nesta and then onto Cassian who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“As much as I am ecstatic to see you all,” he said, “I’ll leave Az to deal with the debrief. I need to go lie down for a while.”

Cassian exited as swift as he entered, Az not bothering to open his now closed eyes. The concerned glances of the other room occupants followed Cassian’s retreating back.

Nesta turned back to Feyre, the ice-cold glare melted away. “Excuse me while I disappear.” Then, in a heartbeat, her expression was one of joy, “Bye-bye baby, I’ll see you in a little bit for snuggles.”

Nyx let out a small sob as Nesta left and Feyre quickly turned him towards her, readying him for a feed, knowing that the small sob would turn into a loud shriek.

“Well,” she said, “she obviously prefers Nyx to me.”

“Feyre, darling – you got spoken to,” Rhys said. “I think it’s safe to say Nesta didn’t acknowledge my existence. Which I’m fine with,” he added, nervously eyeing up the House’s stone walls, “whatever makes her happy.”

Nyx, thankfully, latched onto Feyre’s bared breast and for a moment no noise sounded in the room other than his greedy milk-hungry gulps.

A thought played over and over in her mind though; Nesta’s look of concern, Cassian’s uncharacteristic broodiness. “Are they ok?” she asked Az, at the same time Rhys enquired as to how the recent mission went.

Az’s eyes fluttered open and he gestured to the head on the floor. “As you can tell – we won.” Then, his voice gentler, he turned to Feyre, “They’re fine.”

“Is Cassian upset at the violence? At Nesta doing the um...,” and using her free hand Feyre motioned across her throat with a finger.

Az laughed, such a rare sound it reminded Feyre of the bells on Solstice evening. “Not at all. He likes that she does those things it’s just-”

He paused.

Rhys, satisfied that the mission went well and not caring about anyone’s romantic woes, settled back into the loveseat while Feyre leaned forward, careful to not disrupt her feeding son.

Azriel nodded towards the head, “Before the Anguis went the way of Hybern and the Kelpie, he managed to propose.”

“Not another one!”

“Don’t worry,” Azriel said, “I’m sure Nesta is reassuring Cassian of her love as we speak.”

As though cued up with expert timing, or, as Feyre suspected, the House lifting a self-imposed sound barrier to prove a point, the thumping drifted down to the grand room from several floors up.

“That was...fast.”

Suddenly Azriel appeared just as exhausted as Cassian had. “Nesta reassures Cassian of her love at least twice a night anyway, and when she’s done reassuring him, he feels the need to thank her back.”

Feyre winced, her face contorting into one of displeasure while Rhys didn’t try to hide his smirk. “This is what – the fourth proposal? Fifth?”

Az closed his eyes and dropped his head backwards once more. “Ninth. This isn’t the worst we’ve had.”

Nyx snuffled and Feyre moved him to her other breast. “Wasn’t the first in the Winter Court?”

They’d been in Winter for the naming ritual of Kallias and Viviane’s baby and once the ceremony was done, all guests mingled in the palace hall. The High Lord and Lady of Winter stood on the dais, draped in silver and grey, Viv beaming as she held her pink cheeked daughter.

The music, food and wine flowed freely but Feyre could barely hear the former over the laughter of the high fae and the chime of glasses as toast after toast was declared. The Inner Circle members had dispersed throughout the crowds earlier, all intent on seeking their delight in various forms.

Feyre had seen Nesta on the dance floor for the opening songs but she’d long since gone and Feyre wondered if Nesta and Cassian had snuck away to take advantage of the Winter palace’s numerous private bedrooms.

She had done her duty as High Lady of Night, walking around the hall, ice blue gown sashaying around her legs as revellers congratulated her on the arrival of her own child.

Feyre had smiled and thanked them but she tired easily after Nyx’s traumatic birth and it wasn’t long before she sought out the fur-decked chaise longue tucked in one of enclaves on the far wall.

As Feyre made her way towards it, movement from the corner on her right drew her attention.

Nesta was standing by another enclave, glass in hand, virulently shaking her head. Nesta’s golden-brown hair had been braided into a complex knot adorned with diamonds which caught the fae lights and casted shapes on the ceiling. It had been this that captured Feyre’s eye.

“No,” Nesta said, “I don’t think so.” She smoothed down a non-existent crease on her dress, a pale grey-blue that shimmered like mist over ice, ever changing.

The male she was speaking to was some high-ranking courtier from Winter who Feyre had been introduced to earlier that evening but whose name escaped her. He was tall and handsome enough, gazing at her sister with sapphire blue eyes, but Nesta’s demeanour suggested nothing other than sheer boredom.

Cassian emerged from the crowds, seemingly drawn to what was happening in the corner of the room like a moth towards a flame, his body screaming nothing but fury. Still, he interjected himself between Nesta and the Winter male with a decorum Feyre felt he should be proud of. His fists were clenched and his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth but there was no violence. Yet.

Feyre moved quickly to them.

Side by side there was no contest that Cassian was the larger, broader and less refined male. He wore scuffed Illyrian leathers and the most he’d done for the event was clean his hair and tie it back.

The courtier wore ivory silk brocade strewn with pearls and viewed Cassian up and down with a sneer.

“And who, exactly, are you?”

Cassian spat out his answer, “Her mate and husband and your executioner – you are?”

“Ah yes,” Rhys said. “The naming ball. Was it just the one dance Nesta performed before she had the males panting over her?”

“Still,” Feyre said, “that one was the easiest to smooth over. No one was killed. Or maimed.”

“I think the proposal with Chrysos was when Cassian was aware this was going to be a repeat issue,” Az said.

Chrysos stood before them, undulating between the visage of a male and of something else, something other – possibly human but not quite. His skin was translucent and his gold blood ran through his veins, clear to their eyes, like streaks in white marble.

He was horrifying and beautiful and Feyre struggled to tear her eyes away.

“I must marry you,” he said, directing his words to Nesta. Chrysos’ voice echoed around the cave chamber, strangely melodic, a harmony of angels singing in chorus, one voice on top of another. “I shall make you my Queen and take you into the darkness where we shall make the sweetest music and-”

Nesta’s shoulders sagged, energy sapped from her as she gave a frustrated sigh.

“What the fuck?!”

Feyre jumped at Cassian’s yell, the noise bouncing from the tops of the cave to the bottom, deep into the darkest part and back again.

“Seriously! For fucks sake, I am standing right here!”

Rhys chuckled. “That ended quick enough if I remember?”

“We were on a recruitment mission though, we wanted him on our side,” Az said, “not dead.”

“Cassian maintains he slipped.”

“From six feet away?”

“Yes.”

“With his sword aloft?”

“I didn’t think the proposal in Summer was too bad,” interrupted Feyre, now with Nyx resting against her shoulder so she could pat his back with soothing circles.

The party on Tarquin’s barge was held at the height of the season the Court was most famous for.

The weather was idyllic; sunshine beating down on Feyre’s skin, endless blue skies stretching ahead while a cool ocean breeze drifted from the teal waters teaming with coral. Dolphins pranced in the frothy waves around them, shimmering and shining, their scales a rosy pink.

“Look, Nyx, look!” Feyre held her cooing baby high, pointing the dolphins out to his curious violet eyes.

The barge moved at a comfortable pace and again, like all parties the High Lords arranged, the music, food and wine flowed. Guests streamed from the top desk to the lower one and lower still when they felt like taking to the private cabins, the heat in the air turning into heat in the blood.

The decks were vast enough to not see the same individuals constantly but small enough to see them often and Feyre had smiled every time she walked past a relaxed Cassian and Nesta.

On their first stroll about the deck, Nyx had been awake and grinning, Nesta peppering his small face with a flood of kisses that had him squealing and his limbs flailing with joy. Cassian had joked about knowing his place in the pecking order and Nesta smiled at him in turn.

Cassian’s hair was tied back into a loose bun, strands of black hair falling past his jaw. It was too hot for leathers and, with his white linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the black tattoos on his arms, he was the most casual Feyre had ever seen him.

Nesta stunned in a dress of blue which started ice blue at her shoulders before blending into a shade so dark at the hem it was almost black. The front was a demure and delicately scalloped neckline but Nesta’s back was entirely bare, held up by invisible straps.

Multiple pairs of eyes glanced their way but Nesta’s hand never left Cassian’s and his free one travelled the length of her spine dipping beyond the fabric at her lower back.

You’re borderline indecent, Feyre told them with pretend outrage and continued to walk the deck.

The second time Feyre passed them, they had been talking to Tarquin and Feyre only caught a brief snippet of their conversation, trying to settle a now restless Nyx against her shoulder.

“One apology,” Tarquin had said, “that was my mother’s favourite building.”

On Feyre’s third pass, Nyx now in Rhys’ arms, Tarquin had gone. In his place stood a fae Feyre didn’t recognise.

“I had turned away for a couple of seconds,” Cassian said, his hands in fists, “and you thought this was your opportunity to sneak in here like a panting-”

“Cassian,” Nesta warned, “we don’t want another incident in this Court.”

“Well, there will be one if this prick doesn’t move out of here. We’ll see how he fares with my foot up his as-”

“Cassian!”

“She’s married and mated. Can’t you see the matching rings? Can’t you smell the mate bond?”

The high fae nodded his head, “Yes, but...”

“But? But what?! That’s it,” Cassian said, “we’re leaving this fucking party.”

Rhys and Az stared at Feyre as she burped Nyx, their mouths open.

“What?” she asked.

“You didn’t think it was too bad?” Rhys said, his voice incredulous.

Feyre shrugged, “No one died and no wars were started.”

“They’d only just removed the ban on Cassian to have to enforce it again.”

“I don’t think the second ban was fair though.”

“Feyre, darling. He destroyed the barge.”

“We spent hours fishing everyone out of the sea,” Az said. “Then we had to work out where Nesta’s unfortunate suitor had landed after Cassian threw him towards the cliff.”

“Wasn’t he clinging onto the side of the rockface?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t Cassian destroy another building in his haste to get away?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Feyre said, frowning. “So maybe it was bad.”

“I quite liked the proposal from Locuples,” Az said, “that was the best for all involved. No one died and we ended up with a pretty good trade agreement.”

“Oh, I remember that,” said Feyre, “I was here when Nesta and Cassian came back.”

Feyre and Az had been in the grand room, as they were now, sitting opposite each other in companiable silence. Steam from their tea cups swirled in the air and Feyre gazed out the windows at the white clouds over the city.

“What the-?”

Feyre’s head snapped round, surprised at the uncharacteristic shock in Az’s voice. He stared towards the door archways and Feyre followed his eyeline.

Cassian and Nesta had returned, surprisingly quietly, as she hadn’t heard them land on the roof. Or perhaps, looking at the display in front of her, they’d travelled by some other means.

Nesta sat on a throne on an open topped litter, carried by two lithe creatures who were more shadow and smoke than real and whose feet never touched the ground. Nesta herself, bedecked with jewels, a tiara and clutching a sceptre, wore an expression of confusion.

Cassian followed on foot, wings tersely tucked in, heaving a trunk filled with gold, jewellery, silks, furs and bottles which wafted exotic scents.

Cassian glanced at them from the corner of his eye, “Don’t ask.”

“I thought we expected this to be a hostile negotiation?”

“I said don’t ask.”

“We still receive gifts on a monthly basis,” Feyre said and slid to the floor to lay a barely awake Nyx on the soft furs - one of those aforementioned gifts. She traced a thumb on the arch of his foot and watched it curl, his lips smacking in contentment.

Feyre swore the floorboards underneath him adjusted to accommodate his shape.

“Don’t you receive monthly gifts from Helion as well?” Rhys asked. “Or did Cassian put a stop to that?”

“Cassian put a stop to that one,” Az said.

“Doesn’t Nesta still have the first gift though?”

Az groaned and placed his scarred hands over his eyes. “Yes, and I cannot express how much upkeep it takes.”

Feyre smiled, “Oh, I remember that one too.”

The shriek took Feyre by surprise and she leapt from her chair, readying herself for action. It was only seconds before she realised it wasn’t a shriek of pain but one of sheer, childlike joy.

Once again, her and Az were in the House and, once again, she hadn’t heard the arrival of the House’s other permanent occupants.

“In the name of the Mother,” Az breathed and, in what was a familiar pattern, Feyre turned to where he was looking. This time, instead of Az looking towards the doorway, he was staring outwards at the windows.

Nesta, clad in her leathers and with windswept hair was sat astride a glorious white winged horse, her black leather a stark contrast to the white of the creature she sat upon.

“Someone find Gwen and Emerie! They need to know about this; they need to come here!”

With another shriek of joy and a gentle nudge to the horse’s sides Nesta rose higher, the wings of the horse flapping with enthusiasm, happy to appease its new owner.

There was a sigh from behind them and Feyre and Az turned. Cassian leant against the doorframe, fingers rubbing his temples.

“Cass... isn’t that Helion’s last and most prized flying horse?”

“Please – do not ask.”

“That thing is a nightmare,” Az said, “it eats everything, likes very few fae and can somehow find its way into the House in the dead of night. Do you know how terrifying it is to wake to find a winged horse hovering over you demanding sugar cubes while stealing your blanket? I can’t live like this.”

Feyre shot him a sympathetic smile while Rhys laughed. In the brief silence which followed, Feyre could hear the rhythmic banging echoing its way through the house.

“Aren’t they done yet?”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“At least it will be over soon.”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“You think this is bad?” Az said, “You weren’t here after the proposal with the Peregryn.”

To Feyre, the Dawn Court was one of the most beautiful. Its shades of gold and red weren’t bright or ostentatious but were the softer golds found in the rising sun, the reds not vermillion or scarlet but something akin to a dusky rose.

Every town held a thousand clock-towers, every hand matching perfectly, the chimes on the hour synching in a glorious song, calling to the skies in praise of a new day, of promises to be made, of joy to come.

The peace of that particular morning had been broken by the shouts of males, all raised in the ecstatic spirit of competition. Nothing violent or aggressive but it spoke to Feyre of knuckles and bone crunching all the same.

She’d pushed her way to the front of a crowd, the fae recognising her and making room for her to pass. A fighting circle had broken out in a section of the town square, cheers raising into the air as one of the fighters scored a blow.

In the circle stood two males, both tall and broad, barefooted and bare-chested. One had wings similar to the Pegasus which Nesta now owned, white and gold-feathered, and the other had wings as black as night, the rising sun highlighting veins and patches of amber.

A female was eagerly watching them, a female Feyre shoved past fae to move next to.

“Nesta! Why is Cassian sparring with a Peregryn?”

Nesta didn’t tear her eyes from the males. “Some old nonsense about fighting for the right to take my hand.”

Cassian landed a punch to his opponent’s jaw, the crack reverberating through the air as the crowd cheered on.

Sweat trickled down Cassian’s own jaw and onto his neck. His muscles were strained, his abdomen contracting. As the fighters turned positions, his back faced Feyre, black tattoos against dark skin, his shoulder blades gleaming with oil.

Feyre glanced at Nesta who was dressed in a pale peach dress adorned with pearls, her hair up but with soft stands framing her face. She would have looked a wholesome picture of innocence if not for her darkening eyes.

“Shouldn’t you stop this?”

“Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

Nesta’s eyes flickered from the top of Cassian’s head down his back and then, as the fighter’s moved again, to his stomach where they lingered on the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers. She sighed.

“A few more minutes.”

Feyre blinked as if she could rid herself of the memory. “I can only imagine.”

“If I didn’t visit the river house for dinner I would have starved. The House had to perform a deep clean.”

The walls shook in what was akin to a shudder.

“The bard was wholesome enough,” Rhys said.

Az groaned, “And yet ridiculous.”

 In a concerted effort to apologise to the Courts on behalf of the behaviour of some Inner Circle members during previous gatherings, Feyre and Rhys had invited the High Lords and their significant others to Starfall.

The House remained still, either curious as to who all the guests were or silently sulking that there were guests at all.

The tang of a rich red wine was on Feyre’s tongue, not from anything she had drunk, but from a stolen kiss from Rhys, under the night sky, in a moment solely theirs before it became everyone else’s.

The night was filled with laughter and talking and Feyre slid into the embrace of her mate, content in the knowledge that Nyx slumbered underneath the watchful eye of the House’s nursery, a room which hadn’t existed before this very evening.

Her heart hurt, but in a good way, as though each chamber was bursting with a joy they couldn’t contain and her happiness spilled out into every corner of the rooftop.

Azriel was intently speaking with Nesta’s red-haired friend while Elain watched on from a distance, either not aware of, or ignoring, her own red-haired watcher.

Amren and Mor stood amongst another group, Mor’s golden hair cascading down her back like a waterfall and near the balcony was Cassian and Nesta, pressed side by side, hand in hand as they gazed upwards, Cassian pointing to a constellation.

Nesta glanced at him as he spoke, her face softening in a way Feyre never thought possible, a smile on her lips. When Cassian looked back at her, to check her understanding of what he was saying, he brought their intertwined hands up to his mouth, to kiss her fingertips.

Feyre smiled, all was well and all would continue to be well. That was until a voice, clear and resolute, spoke out into the crowd.

“My High Lords and Ladies and Paramor’s, I am a bard from the Spring Court – famed as the best in all the Courts!”

Chatter drifted into murmurs as heads turned expectedly to the fae now standing in the centre. Feyre noted his lute fixed upon his waistband but the bard made no attempt to reach for it.

“I have travelled across the land, coming to the Court of the High Lord and High Lady of Night with one purpose and one purpose only – to serenade with tales of fortune and love!”

A ripple of anticipation broke out amongst the crowd to hear such songs and Feyre turned to Rhys. “Did you arrange this?” but his face was twisted in confusion.

“I dedicate my melodies to one female, one who understands music as though her very bones were formed by the notes. My song to you, Lady Nesta and also my hand in marri-”

“FUCKS SAKE!”

Feyre let out a sigh. “I felt so sorry for the bard. He must have seen Nesta on one of her visits. To think, he spent all those weeks travelling on foot to arrive to the House and then Cassian threatens to dangle him from the roof.”

“Cassian did dangle him from the roof.”

“No one’s going to invite us to any more parties,” said Rhys with a sorrowful sigh.

“I think we can handle an overly amorous high fae or two,” Az said, “it’s the demons which worry me.”

“They’re no cause for concern,” Rhys said with a wave of his hand. “In fact, we have a valuable asset on our side. Drag Nesta in front of them and it tends to shut them up.”

Feyre frowned. “That is my sister you’re deciding to use as romantic bait. Besides, the issue we had with the Caligo demon was that it didn’t stop talking. There was such a mess.”

Screams filled Feyre’s ears as terrified Night Court citizens ran past her, almost a blur.

Tears streaked down terror-stricken faces as they grabbed the arms of their loved ones and scooped up children too small or young to so anything other than shiver and cry.

Cracks appeared in the ground beneath their feet, the cobbles of the street twisting and turning before jutting upwards like the jagged, sharpened edges of broken bone. The air was thick with acrid smoke which stung Feyre’s eyes causing them to stream with the tears she saw running down her people’s faces.

Rhys was to her right. Or that’s what she hoped. He had been standing but he’d gasped in pain and then she no longer saw him through the gaps in the cloud. When she managed to glimpse him, he was on his knees, thick red blood pouring down his face from a cut on his scalp.

Feyre choked back a sob and clambered over the rips in the earth to reach him.

Steel clashed with steel in the darkness, the shouts of Cassian and Azriel tearing through the blackness as they pressed forward. A shimmer of magic absorbed as much of the darkness away as it could and created a halo around the members of the Inner Circle.

Hands, strong and steady, circled Feyre’s waist and Nesta held her up, helped her over the torn earth.

“I am destroyer,” the thing hissed. “I am consumer, I am flesh ripper and soul tearer and I-”

It turned, watching them all, gloating in their misery and gorging itself fat on their pain. One of its bulbous eyes slid to where they stood, Feyre leaning into Nesta’s side. Her sister’s hair was dishevelled, her arms smeared with blood but Nesta’s eyes remained cold and hard upon the demon.

“And I – oh, oh, you are spectacular.”

A roar ripped through the darkness; a bellowing from powerful lungs as the words of the creature reached the ears of all present.

“Absolutely fucking not!”

Cassian advanced from the void, red siphons blazing as though he were shrouded in flame. “I am her mate; I am her husband and I suggest you put those sloping tongues back into your mouth or Mother help me...”

Feyre swallowed the rising bile. She tried not to think about the events of that night, though she didn’t know what was worse – that night or now, with the thumping above their heads gaining momentum.

“He got the job done,” Rhys said and then smirked, “and he’s doing the same now from the sounds of it.”

“Rhys!” Feyre admonished and placed her hand on Nyx’s stomach to calm herself. “Why do you think he puts up with it?” she asked Az.

“What choice does he have? Besides, he loves and trusts her. There’s no one for him but her and no one for her but him.”

“Disgusting,” Rhys said with slight mockery to his tone.

“No,” Feyre said, “what’s disgusting is the head in the corner.” She eyed up the lump that had once been somethings head; the glassy eyes, the bloodied stump. She wouldn’t relish touching the thing but she would happily remove herself out of earshot of Nesta and Cassian’s post proposal love affirmation. “Where do I take it?”

“The House created a trophy room three doors down,” Az said.

Anguis’ mouth hung open, razor sharp rotted teeth all lined up on display. Feyre felt a slither of pity. “I’ll take it there.”

“No, Feyre darling, I’ll do it.”

Feyre breathed a sigh of relief and nodded before turning to Az. “Shall we wait for them to be done? We need to discuss the next mission which is rather sensitive.”

Az shook his head, “No, you may as well go home. It was a proposal so they’re not stopping until – what day is it now, Thursday? – they’re not going to be fit for purpose until Monday.”

Rhys, still lounging, stretched out into the space Feyre previously occupied. “We can’t wait that long.”

“Do you want to volunteer to interrupt them?

“No.”

Feyre glanced between them both. “Cassian did look rather sad.”

Azriel laughed again, the sound echoing throughout the room, his head thrown back. “Don’t pity Cassian, he knows what he’s doing.”

“And Nesta falls for it?”

“No, she definitely doesn’t fall for it.”

“But isn’t she in their chambers um...reassuring him?”

“Yes.”

Feyre bit her lip, “So surely...”

“Oh Mother,” Az rubbed his hand across his face. “It’s their form of twisted foreplay. When Nesta received a proposal from – well, I can’t remember which one, I came home early and almost went blind. Have none of you questioned the indoor swing?”

Feyre’s voice was quiet when she spoke, scooping up her son into her arms with haste. “I thought they were creating an inside playground.”

“Ah,” Az said, his voice soft, “not quite.”

The thumping reached its crescendo and blessedly, stilled.

“Oh, thank the Mother,” Rhys said, “they’re done after all. Az, go retrieve them. We need to discuss the next mission.”

“Why me?”

“You live here.”

“You’re the High Lord.”

Feyre looked around her, Nyx clutched in her arms. “I think the floor is sloping us out towards the door.”

“I don’t think so Feyre, darling.”

“No really, the head - which you said you’d deal with by the way - is rolling away.”

Feyre wasn’t imagining what was happening, she’d passed under the entrance to the room, Rhys and Az’s chairs beginning to follow.

“This happens,” Az said with a calmness Feyre didn’t feel. “Usually when they don’t want anyone to overhear the next part of their ‘Nesta got proposed to again’ sex marathon.”

“Why? What could they now be planning that’s so much worse?”

“I don’t know,” Az replied, “the House always shuffles me out at this point. One time I was trying to prep my knives and almost stabbed myself in the eye.”

“Right,” said Rhys, “I think we can walk out of here without a sentient lump of stone forcing us to. Which,” he said with an eye to the steepness of the floor angle, “is completely within its’ right.”

Feyre nestled a snoring Nyx into one arm as Rhys helped her up. Az was already on his feet, out the door and into the hallway before he got flattened by an oversized, burgundy armchair.

He turned to them both.

“So, where’s the next mission to anyway? Where are you sending our glorious Lady Death and Lord of Bloodshed and can I sit it out?”

Feyre and Rhys exchanged glances. “I think we might need you in attendance,” Feyre said.

Az raised an eyebrow. “Well, I know King Lascivus is causing some problems with his tithe but as long as you weren’t planning on sending us to his palace, it will be fine. He’s famous for his side hobby of trying to find a muse to depict as the Mother in his artworks. Borderline obsessed.”

Feyre cleared her throat, “Sounds like he’s fervently religiously devout.”

“Hardly. The issue isn’t him trying to depict the Mother but that he’s spent centuries convincing everyone that she needs to be represented in her naked glory and I quote ���with the petals of her flower fully opened.’”  

Rhys coughed and moved fast down the hallway towards the roof entrance his wings already forming.

“Rhys!” Feyre called out. “You know I can’t run when I’m holding the baby!”

Az’s voice was quiet. “Feyre?”

“You know we love you,” she said, not meeting his hazel eyes, “and you’re always welcome at the river house. For as long as you want, whether that’s weeks or months.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I swear on the Cauldron, if you need to you can stay for centuries.”

“Feyre?”

She turned and didn’t look back, picking up her own speed to follow Rhys, ignoring the quiver in Az’s tone.

“We love you Az,” she shouted over her shoulder, propping Nyx into a position ready for flight as the House opened its doors to hasten her exit. “Always remember that.”

TAGGING

@live-the-fangirl-life

@champanheandluxxury

@dontgetsalmonella

@purpleglitterypinecone

[thedistantdusk]

Invisible Stranger

Written for @clarensjoy‘s Hinny Fic Fest! Prompt #28: “Just... talk to me. Please.” Thanks to Ina for the quick beta :D Summary:  When Ginny Weasley is eleven years old, Tom Riddle changes the course of her life. But she’s only eleven, so she doesn’t see it at first.  TW: Coded/implied assault. Mild smut (later excerpts).  ________________________________________________________ When Ginny Weasley is eleven years old, Tom Riddle changes the course of her life. 

But she’s only eleven, so she doesn’t see it at first. 

All she knows is that Tom talks to her when she’s lonely, although to say they merely talk would be a staggering understatement. She hears his voice more than anyone else’s. She sees his face when she sleeps. She cries to him, bonds with him, pines with him. She thinks of him so often — regardless of if they’re actually talking — that it doesn’t even occur to her that some of these thoughts might not be her own. 

She doesn’t even realize he’s entered her until it’s too late. Until he’s done it. Until he’s made her do things… shameful things. Things she’d been embarrassed to report to her parents. She knows full well she’d only be met with reprimands for making herself vulnerable in the first place. 

When she tries to ask her brothers for help, a tiny part of her is happy they don’t. How can she possibly explain this without feeling a hot, aching brand of shame deep in her soul? She’d have to answer some ghastly questions, ones that would make the whole situation even harder to believe. The thought of taking Veritaserum makes her shudder; she’d have to admit — perhaps to a Ministry stranger — that she did enjoy parts of this. 

She’d have to watch even more of her agency slip away, right in front of her eyes, as her body betrayed her yet again. The mere thought of the sort of mortifying confession that might slide off her tongue is enough to shut her up… enough to keep her from being even more persistent. 

Ginny just lies awake at night and grasps at the straws in her spinning mind until her head pounds from the exertion of trying. She’s desperate to remember something — anything — from the swaths of time that just disappeared. She eventually reaches the conclusion that perhaps she’s forgetting on purpose; perhaps she’s protecting herself. 

She just hopes and prays that the memories won’t slam into her sometime in the future with the force of a freight train.

She ultimately decides it’s a blessing, really, that she doesn’t get help. After all, she’s spent eleven years trying to convince everyone that she’s not a baby. It would be the worst kind of setback to ask for help now, just as she’s gained some independence. 

When she chucks the diary in the toilet, she’s confident she’s handled it herself. Her mother wouldn’t be thrilled that her only daughter found herself in this situation, but Ginny likes to think she’d be proud of her resourcefulness. Proud of her only daughter, who’s finally taken control. 

Still, Ginny keeps her head down, keeps her face impassive, keeps her cloak pulled tightly to hide the deepest blush of regret that crawls up her chest whenever she thinks of Tom.

Then the worst possible thing happens: Harry gets ahold of the diary. The second she sees it with his books, she can almost hear the entire world crumbling beneath her feet. 

She only has a single thought: No. She can’t let him. She can’t let Harry, of all people, have open access to the thoughts that have plagued her for months. The thoughts (the lurid, inappropriate thoughts) that she’s had about him. 

So she steals up to Harry’s room and snatches it back, her heart pounding in her throat. She’s long past the point of needing the diary itself to hear Tom’s voice, but seizing it again — letting him inside of her again — doesn’t exactly help. 

Because right from the off, this time is different. The diary hums against her fingers, throbbing in her palm; Tom hasn’t said a word, but she knows he’s going to punish her. She lets out a strangled choke, her eyes rolling back in her head. He’s going to make her regret her little stunt of chucking him in the toilet, isn’t he? Yes. He’s going to make her rue the stupid, impulsive part of her that thought she’d find a way out.  

Her last thought as she loses consciousness is that maybe death will end it. Maybe in death, she’ll truly be free.

Ginny doesn’t die, though — and to her surprise, she can’t even hear Tom when she wakes in the Chamber. All she knows is that Harry’s there. And Ron. And… Lockhart? Seriously? 

Shit, maybe it would’ve been better if she died. Then she wouldn’t have to endure the remnants of this mortifying, twisted nightmare. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to sit there and sob as Dumbledore and McGonagall explain this to her parents. 

She just lets the tears flow as her father yells, as her mother makes incredulous sounds. With every intonation and raised voice, a single word thumps against her skull: Weak.

Weak. Weak. Weak. 

She’s weak. 

But at least for now, she’s alone in her own mind. At least for now, it won’t happen again… not like it has. In retrospect, she reckons she should’ve known better to think he’d ever truly left. Because Tom Riddle has already become her past, present, and future. She just doesn’t know it yet. _______________

Tom takes a different form during her second and third years at Hogwarts. He isn’t entering her or forcing her to do things or beguiling her with his charm and feigned interest, but he’s there nonetheless. He’s dancing, taunting her in the edges of her periphery… crawling in when the weather changes and everything grows cold and dark. Whenever she does poorly on an exam — especially in the winter months, the anniversaries of when things went from Vaguely Bad to Horrifically Bad — she swears she can feel his sneering lips pressed to her neck as his high-pitched cackle resonates in her brain. 

“You’re a baby,” he jeers, his face split into a predatory grin. “I can’t wait to see how else you fail.” 

When Ginny catches a glimpse of the way Harry peers at Cho, Tom only reinforces how she’ll never compare. “Look at her,” he taunts, and Ginny can almost see the leer curling his lips. “She’s poised and beautiful and perfect. She looks like a woman. Why would Harry ever want a girl?” 

And he says it so much — and Ginny thinks it so much — that she starts to believe it. He’ll never want her, will he? It’s clear Harry likes girls, women, who don’t need rescuing. Why would he want someone who’s been tainted with darkness? 

So Ginny moves on… slowly. She finds strength in other ways. She uses quidditch to regain trust in her own body, the trust she had before Tom made her question her own muscles and movements. 

She even dates, as she feels a normal teenager would. Not that she breathes a word about Tom to any of her potential suitors. She knows they couldn’t handle it; most boys couldn’t, not that she blames them. She knows untainted boys would respond like her friends have: by awkwardly clearing their throats through a whispered, “Oh” or a strangled, “I’m so sorry.” Then they’d treat her like she’s made of glass, and it would ruin things. 

Because if there’s one thing she won’t tolerate, it’s someone making her feel weak. Weak gets you in trouble; weak ruins your life and makes you undesirable. No matter how much Tom loves to bother her in winter, she’ll never let anyone see the resulting weakness.

_______________

Ginny considers herself fortunate, really, that Tom doesn’t outwardly come up when she ends things with Dean. It’s an accomplishment that she escapes from that relationship relatively unscathed. Her darkness didn’t accidentally show itself or lay there, sprawling and naked, for him to pick apart. 

It’s different with Harry, of course. She knows it will be from the second he kisses her in the common room. He’s the first one who doesn’t need to see her in a mask of normalcy and constant contentment. He’s the first one who understands that she’s not asking for an apology or reassurance when she accidentally drops a sad piece of her backstory into a casual conversation. 

On the few occasions when she does say things like that (because, again, she doesn’t have to watch her words with him) Harry just holds her closer, her ear pressed to his beating heart, as he runs his calloused fingers through her hair. 

And Ginny thinks, for once in her life, that perhaps there’s an unspoken value in sharing that sort of darkness. 

_______________

She tells Harry the full details of Tom pretty soon after they start shagging. She knows the war’s over; she knows they’ve kind of won. She also knows a well-adjusted person would have left this bit behind… but she reckons neither of them will ever be well-adjusted, really. They’re the sort of couple who cries when they hear I love you but remains stone-faced at funerals of their friends. For Harry especially, she knows that love presents as something that makes him feel uncomfortably warm, almost smothered. It can be a prickly, painful, cloying sensation… one he doesn’t always know how to respond to. With everyone else, he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. Of seeming either too flippant or too mindful. 

But as their bodies connect, as they rock together in the dying sunlight, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulses inside her, he doesn’t have to pretend, either. 

Harry’s angry when she tells him… but not with her. He’s angry Tom ever made her feel that way. He’s especially angry with the worst of what Tom said: that on the off-chance Harry did want her, he’d only want her for sex. 

Harry brings it up several months after her initial admission.

“You know what I think about a lot?” he slurs, his finger tracing the curve of her breast as she lies naked beside him. 

She quirks a brow; no, but it doesn’t seem like a rhetorical question. 

Harry sighs, flopping over to his back. “I mean, I know it’s horrible and everything,” he allows, raising his hand in warning, “but seriously, I can’t help but be confused that Tom thought I’d be good enough at sex to use anyone for anything in the first place!”

There’s a moment of silence. 

And then Ginny cackles, shaking her head against the threadbare pillow in her bedroom. Harry joins her, pressing her against his side.

“I’m glad we’re both fucked up,” she says, when the giggles subside. “I reckon normal people are boring.” 

“Probably,” Harry agrees, his hand unconsciously toying with her hair. “Guess normal isn’t really my type, though.”

“Oh, so you prefer funny and traumatized?”

Harry smirks. “I prefer you.”

_______________

Tom doesn’t come back in full force until she falls pregnant the first time. 

Maybe it’s because they hadn’t planned on this— and regardless of how misty-eyed and excited Harry is, they definitely hadn’t planned on it. 

Maybe it’s because she’s certain it’s a boy, which carries certain burdens as the son of the Chosen One.

Maybe it’s because she’s feeling a similar loss of control, like her body isn’t her own. 

But mostly, she reckons, it’s because she’s plagued with the near-constant thought that she’s doing something wrong. 

She had a glass of wine before she found out (strike one, Bad Mum). She trips on her trainers and lands on her bum (very, very Bad Mum). She starts spotting at 12 weeks after she goes for the only jog of her entire pregnancy (horrifically Bad Mum; utterly unfit to raise a child). 

And all of this spins around in her head, faster and faster and faster, until she sees Tom’s face again one night. “You’re fat now,” he mocks, his voice a cruel whisper that slithers into the space between slumber and consciousness. “The nerve of you, thinking you’d do something so selfish as staying in shape at a time like this. I can’t wait to see Harry’s face when you tell him you’ve lost the ba—“

She bolts upright in bed, her heart pounding, and throws the blankets off to peer between her thighs. A ragged chuckle of relief escapes her lips. Nothing. There’s nothing, the baby’s fine, and—

“Ginny?” 

Shit.

She bites her lip and turns to Harry. He’s peering at her, his expression exhausted but alert. She hates that look, she really does; it reminds her too much of when he’d woken from his own dreams, right after the war. 

“A nightmare,” she whispers, brushing his hair from his eyes. “Only a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”

Harry sighs and grips her hand. He knows better. “Just... talk to me. Please. You don’t even have—“

“—It’s Tom,” she cut across, biting her lip. She feels guilty enough for waking Harry when he’s got work tomorrow; she’d better make it quick. “It’s just… stupid pregnancy shit, taking the form of Tom. Or maybe it just is Tom, somehow. I don’t really know.”

She throws her hands in the air before settling back against the headboard. And then, in a small voice: “He just… he’s so great at making me feel stupid.” 

There’s a beat. 

Harry reaches up to cup her cheek; she leans into the warmth, unsure if she’s finding more comfort in the familiarity or the gesture itself. 

“Well,” he says slowly; she can tell from his tone that he’s biting his lip, even if she can’t see it in the darkness. “You’re not stupid. But it’s also not stupid that he still makes you feel like that sometimes. Does that… make any sense?”

Her lips twitch in a soft smile. “It does. It makes sense. I just... I hate feeling weak.”

Harry chuckles and pulls her against him. She sighs into the crook of his neck, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. 

“I could use a lot of words to describe you, darling.” His fingers dance on the gentle swell of her belly; he always sounds so pleased when he touches her, especially here, like he can’t help but feel chuffed that he’s actually knocked her up. “But I’m afraid that weak doesn’t make the cut.” 

Ginny giggles. “I’ll just have to settle for mad, I reckon,” she manages through a yawn. What is it about his bloody heartbeat that always settles her?

“Mad it is,” he agrees, kissing her forehead.

_______________

“It’s him again, isn’t it.” 

It’s not a question. But if it were, the answer would be obvious. 

Ginny’s staring out the window, her whole body poised and anxious. Every fiber of her being is taut. If she had a bit more self-awareness, she might compare herself to a hunting dog who’s just sensed a pheasant. 

But self-awareness is the furthest thing from her mind. Not when she’s worried about her babies. And she’s worried about all of her babies, yes — but there’s something especially triggering about the involvement of her little girl. Her only girl. Her girl, who’s exactly the same age as she was, right when—

“He’s here!” 

Ginny scarcely hears the words leave her lips as Pig flies through the air and into their open window. Safe. She hasn’t even read the letter yet, but she can tell from Lily’s messy scrawl across the parchment, from the agreed upon symbol of a tiny dragon, printed in the corner, that she’s safe.

Ginny has to draw a deep breath to stop herself from bawling with relief.

“Told you she’d be fine,” Harry murmurs, wrapping an arm around her waist. He rests his chin on the crown of her head as Ginny rips the letter open, nonetheless desperate for the proof she knows she’ll flnd. Desperate for confirmation that her baby’s made it to school all right. Desperate to know another little girl — her little girl — won’t find herself violated and alone. 

Ginny reads the letter through a veil of tears and presses it to her chest when she’s done. Safe. Her baby’s safe. 

A few minutes later, she turns to Harry with an apologetic shrug, brushing the tears from her eyes. “Ready for dinner?” she asks, gesturing towards the door. “Or did you want to stay inside all day and mope about having an empty house for the first time in ages?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile plays at his lips. He mutters something under his breath that distinctly sounds like not sure which of us was doing the moping, darling. 

But Ginny’s happy to ignore that as she links her arm in his. She’s pleased to go to dinner and drink too much and laugh too loudly. It’s just another reminder of what she has… and how she almost didn’t have it, at all. 

Because while Tom Riddle might be her past, present, and future, Ginny will do everything in her power to ensure he never defines another little girl’s life like that. 

Ever again.

[cantdanceflynn]

I did the writing! Tada! Yes it’s camp camp, yes it relies too heavily on my own personal hcs, and yes it feels like it’s supposed to be animated instead. But also I’m really really proud of it bc its the first time I’ve written in ages and I think it’s good. So :D

One quiet, quiet night, at Camp Campbell, a young magician was sitting on his cot, fiddling with a mirror. It had been a little over a week since the Convergence, and frankly, Harrison had it on his mind more than ever. That octopus…… thing, whatever it was, knew his brother? His brother was alive? But, more than anything, he was worried. What if he couldn’t bring him back? What if he did but he messed something up? He’d done it before! At least when he thought his brother was gone for good, he didn’t have to think about that possibility. And he still didn’t know what was going on with his eyes. He got up, glancing over at Nerris as he left the tent. She was still asleep, but she wasn’t the heaviest sleeper, especially recently, so he needed to be quiet. She’d been questioning his tiredness recently, and he didn’t want her worried about him. She worried about him too much for someone she was rivals with anyways.

He quietly and carefully stepped out of the tent, and looked up at the moon. The sky was surprisingly clear this night, although it was growing lighter, and he could see it was a……. waxing gibbous? He was pretty sure that was right. He’d ask Nerris if she was in a good mood in the morning and if she wasn’t too questioning. But looking at it freaked him out after a moment. Part of him expected it to start glowing like it had during the Convergence, even if that wasn’t likely. Even if it wasn’t even possible. Not without the chant. He took a big sigh, and glanced in the mirror. He could only stand looking at his reflection for a split second, but it just confirmed the same thing he hoped he’d been imagining for the past week. His eyes had changed. His eyes were blue.

Not a normal blue, and definitely not the hazel they’d been inside the tent. A light, glowing blue. The blue of the ultra moon.  His mind flashed back to the first time he’d noticed it. He’d woken up alone, something that didn’t usually happen, especially with Nerris. He’d gone out to try and find her, but going to Preston’s tent first was a…….. bad idea. Preston had left a mirror outside his tent, and he was unlucky enough to look in it. He’d panicked, and tried going to David and Gwen, the only people who might have understood, or at least listened. But Campbell and all the other campers were there. The best he could come up with quickly as to why he was awake was “woke up alone and got scared”. It wasn’t a lie, but it was an understatement.

He didn’t know what it meant, but it scared him. More than he wanted to admit. He crouched, putting the mirror on the ground, being careful not to look at it, before sitting on the ground. He knew trying to sleep would just give him nightmares, and he didn’t want to risk waking up Nerris by going back in at the moment, so he stayed there. Besides, it wouldn’t be that long until daylight. Until he heard something. A familiar, loud, overdramatic voice. Shit, that was right. Preston had started waking up earlier, to do his rehearsals when people wouldn’t be as “bothered” by them. And based on the volume, he was approaching their tent. No one else had been, or really should be, considering how many activities they did each day, awake around this time. He wasn’t exactly ready to talk with him about recent events. Especially not considering Preston’s recent situation and ensuing play. He wanted to go back in the tent, but based on the sound of Nerris falling out of her cot in surprise at Preston’s voice, it was a little too late. So he stood up quickly, and ran for the forest.

It took him minutes of running through an oddly dark forest blindly for him to realize just how stupid he was being. Like, genuinely stupid. He’d gotten emotional when he was sleep-deprived before, but never to this extent. He could have probably slipped back into the tent before Nerris got her glasses on, and just pretended to sleep until Preston left the area. No one would have noticed anything, and it would have been fine. Now she would figure out why he’d been so tired lately. And if Preston had seen him, they might even be trying to find him. And now he was lost to boot. Lovely. He stomped his foot on the ground in frustration. Why did he always do this? Why could he never be reasonable? He’d gotten lost before, but never at night, and never this far in the woods. He sighed, pushing it down. The most important thing was getting somewhere safe for the next couple hours until it was properly morning, instead of a dark grey sky with fading stars and a lowering moon. That’s what David had said in most of his mandatory “camps”.

A few minutes of walking later, he was tired, and he hadn’t even walked all that far. But he was still lost. And that wasn’t a surprise. Almost everyone here hated the woods. And if no one had seen, they might not even try checking the woods. He could be lost here for ages. That thought was terrifying enough to make him consider using his magic. But when he was this worried? He remembered the single card he’d tried to make appear, and how it turned into a huge mess he’d barely been able to clean up before anyone else woke up. That was a no go. He’d probably burn up the entire forest, or start the volcano back up. Or make the forest homicidal again. And if they’d actually come after him? He shuddered.

If he used his magic while he was like this, well… That would be disastrous. Besides that, he really didn’t want to do anything that could potentially get him stuck here in the woods forever or hurt anyone. He didn’t know what he could do like this. So he continued to walk. Hopefully none of the animals David had warned them about would attack him. Bears, wolves, the platypus on a bad day. The trees were too thick to see the moon at all at this point, but he knew his eyes were still glowing. When he held his hand up to his face, there was light blue light still on it. Still dangerous, and still lost with no clue if anyone would find him.  

And then he heard their voices. That theatrical voice, this time with a worried tinge. And that all too familiar lisped condescending voice. Except it was oddly worried as well.

“Are you sure you saw him run this way?”

“OF COURSE I AM! He ran off this way!”

For a second there was a glimpse of hope. They were trying to find him! They cared! Then it hit him. He was only hearing them. Just Nerris and Preston. And that’s all the more reason for him to be scared. It was just them! They were getting themselves lost too! He didn’t want to tell them what he was seeing, what he dealt with, what he did, and he didn’t want to hurt them. That’s why he’d ran away! And now they were going to get themselves lost or hurt, or both, or worse! What was he even supposed to do here? Go towards them and explain everything? He didn’t want to do that. They’d hate him. But if he ran away, they’d all just get more lost. And it’d be his fault. He stood still, trying to figure out what to do. And then his magic decided to make that choice for him.

His hat started floating and he tried to reach, and pull it down. More things around him started floating. Little stones, twigs, all glowing and floating. To the point where it was very much visible. In that moment he heard a noise from behind him. One that sounded a lot like footsteps. With no better options regarding the whole situation, he turned around slowly, his eyes still glowing, brighter than ever. And staring at him were Nerris and Preston. Their blue and golden eyes stared right into his glowing icy blue ones, as debris floated all around the dark area.

He stuttered, trying to explain the situation.

“I-I-I……….”

He couldn’t get anything else out. He stepped back, something that seemed to snap them out of their standstill. Nerris stepped forwards first, her eyes flicking around the clearing. Preston followed, staying quiet for once, also looking around. He stepped backwards again, bumping past more floating sticks and pebbles. He kept panicking. They knew now just what he could properly do. And if he couldn’t gain control of his feelings, he’d set something off, or hurt them, or… or…… With every step he took back, a small rumble grew in the background of the scene. Nerris and Preston kept approaching him, a…… new. Was that the right word? New. Look in their eyes. He didn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t the fearful looks he was used to. And it wasn’t sympathetic or faked. It was similar to the looks Nikki used to give him during his magic shows. Awe. It was awe.

And it was also confusion. Confusion at what was happening. But it was mostly confusion at him. He felt his chest tightening at that. He felt anger build inside. Not at them. At himself. For being such a coward. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. How he’d gotten himself into this situation. At least if they were scared of him, they’d leave him alone. They wouldn’t get hurt by his powers, and they wouldn’t disappear. He couldn’t handle that. The rumbling grew louder, and it became clear very quickly that Nerris and Preston could hear it too. Their faces grew more confused and……. scared. And for some reason, one he knew, even though this was what he wanted, he hated it. When his foot came down again, slightly harder than before, the rumbling turned into shaking. The forest began shaking around them, causing Preston to fall over, taking Nerris down with him.

It was hard to understand what was happening, but he knew enough to realize it was his fault. He was doing it. They were going to get hurt and it was all his fault! This was exactly what he was scared of. His hands flew up to the sides of his head, trying to hold it down, as he fell back onto the ground with a thud, making more debris fly around, some of it almost hitting Nerris and Preston. Preston sat up first, and helped Nerris up into a sitting position as she adjusted her glasses. He met their eyes, and somehow, their eyes still weren’t mostly filled with fear.

But instead, they were filled with a mixture between worry, and the same awe. He shook slightly, tears forming in his eyes and, as much as he tried to stop them, running down his face. As much as he didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but speak. Like he couldn’t control himself. “I d….didn’t want you guys to….. to.. get hurt.. b…..by me. A…. and now….. now.. now you w…. will.“ He tried to push the sobs down, but they bubbled up, wracking his body. The shaking started again, and the floating got worse. Bushes started uprooting themselves, full on stones in the ground and the tips of roots all started floating away, and so did Nerris and Preston, flailing at the air and trying to grab onto something.

Both of them looked panicked and terrified, as each movement threw them further into a panic. They couldn’t move while floating, no matter how hard they reached for something, or how fast they tried to control their floating. He couldn’t look at them anymore. He buried his tear stricken face in his knees, shaking and just trying to keep himself from doing anything else, because if he did anything permanent? Just that thought made everything worse. Huge chunks of the earth pulled themselves out of the ground all around him, and the leaves on the trees started floating away too. At this rate, the trees would completely float away. Along with Nerris and Preston. He buried his head even further into his legs, which were almost completely damp from his crying at this point.

And then the ground underneath him started floating too. He tried ignoring it, hoping with all his heart that it would just go back down, that he could just be left alone, that they wouldn’t worry about him ever again. He hated the idea, but it was safe. It was what everyone else had done, and what he deserved. Everything shook, forcing him onto his feet. The piece of ground around him wasn’t exactly big, and he was barely able to keep his balance. Eventually he could stand there without constantly watching his feet. He knew what he would see if he looked up. He could see the glow, ever present, just as he could still feel the tears flowing down his face. He tried to sigh, to let out some fear and frustration, but all that came out was a body wracking sob.  

After a few seconds, he gathered the very last of his courage, and looked up at Nerris and Preston, stuck floating in front of him. They looked like they were desperately trying to move, speak, do something, but his magic had reached a point where they couldn’t even do that. But the looks in their eyes were unmistakable. Fear. Perfect, typical, fear. The safe kind, that would keep them away and alive. Not hurt, not gone possibly forever, not dead. But their eyes hit his, and all that fear morphed into…… pleading. No more awe. No more confusion. Just pleading. They wanted it to be over. And so did he. He turned halfway around, trying not to see that look any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want them to be scared of him, it hurt. But it hurt when they weren’t. Because then they’d get hurt. Above the trees, he could see the sun rising. And he knew that they could see it too. They slowly descended as the glow in his eyes faded, leaving them their typical hazel.  

The ground and everything around it settled back into place, leaving the clearing almost the same, minus the things he’d bumped into. Behind him, he heard Nerris and Preston gain their footing, now that the magic had faded. He’d stopped sobbing by this point, but tears were still falling. He waited to hear them run off, scream, say something, do something. But the only noise he could hear was a few birds chirping. He turned around hesitantly, expecting standstill fear on their faces. Instead, all he saw was…….. just them. There wasn’t any fear, or any sympathy. No awe or confusion either. It was just…….. them. Staring at him.  

Eventually Nerris spoke. "Y…you’re ok…… You’re ok, right?” Her tone was just……. worried. She was worried. About him. After everything? Why did she even care to begin with? Preston followed suit, his voice quiet for once and just as worried, with a hint of fear that Harrison no longer cared about in it. “That was……. terrifying. Are you?” Nerris stepped forwards, and reached out to touch him, but paused when she saw him flinch. She took in a shaky breath before reaching out again, patting him on the shoulder. Preston did the same, both clearly trying to comfort him. And all he could do was stare in disbelief.  

They didn’t hate him. Nerris, who he used to antagonize over something he couldn’t even control, and who he’d jab at for nothing. Preston, who he constantly teased for something he couldn’t imagine doing, let alone for as long as he had, and who he’d hurt even after the entire mental breakdown he’d had. And despite that, and despite his magic, they didn’t hate him. Despite what he just did to them. They were worried about him. “W……. why are yo……….u wo……rri…..ed abo…….ut m…..e?” He hadn’t realized how much he was still crying until he heard himself speak. It was a lot. He tried to stop them, but as always, the effort was wasted.

Another sob escaped. And another. Soon, there was nothing he could do to stop or deny it. He was crying more then he ever had before. Nerris and Preston exchanged a look, one he couldn’t read, and wrapped their arms around him. Part of him wanted to pull away. Wanted to make them go away. Wanted to convince them he was too dangerous. Like everyone else he’d really known had. But despite all of that, he found his arms wrapping around them too, as his entire body shook. But even through all the tears, he could still hear Preston’s voice. “Because we’re all your friends.”  

“Obviously!”, Nerris added comfortingly. The only response he could  muster was cut off by his tears, so he just wrapped his arms around them tighter. And they seemed to understand that. Eventually they sank down to the ground, sitting in what could be best described as a hug pile. When he could finally speak through his tears, he couldn’t think of anything to say other then, “Thank you.” It wasn’t shaky or broken like he thought it would be. They both gave him a loose smile.  

“Of course,” Preston said, still quiet. “We’re here for you,” Nerris told him, removing her arms from the mess that their hug pile was. Preston gave him an extra quick squeeze, before doing the same. They sat there for a little bit before Preston spoke again, his voice having regained its theatrical edge, although it was still quiet. “Do you want to talk about it? Gwen’s been trying to help me talk about things more, and it helps. I think it helps anyway. I’m not very good at it.” Nerris gave Preston a much more readable look, one of “not right now”. He’d seen it before. But it took him surprisingly little time to respond.  

“Yeah. I haven’t exactly been attending Gwen’s therapy sessions. For a number of reasons.” He hadn’t noticed until this point, but he was barely crying anymore. Nerris gave him a small nod, clearly listening. “I….. I mean, you saw what I did back there. I can’t really control it that well…….. especially when I’m emotional. Which is most of the time when I don’t sleep.” The looks of sympathetic understanding on their faces gave him a little more confidence. “And you were there at the Parent’s day show. You saw my parents, right?” Preston nodded, as Nerris’ shoulders slumped and she rubbed her arm. He’d been too open. Shit. He shrunk in on himself, something that they immediately noticed.  

“Hey…. It’s not your fault they’re like that. We should have noticed sooner.” Nerris was trying her best to make him feel better, he knew that, but her wording just hurt more. At this point he didn’t have the energy to cry anymore, so he settled for curling in on himself more. The two got closer, Nerris draping her cape over him and Preston rubbing his back before speaking. “Gwen says if it hurts too much, you don’t have to talk about it.” Harrison sighed. “I…. I do want to talk about it. But I haven’t before, and it………. definitely hurts. And it really is my fault.”  

Nerris seemed lost in thought for a little bit, before speaking. “Well, considering you’re talking to the elf who plays Dnd with her stuffed animals, I don’t think you have to worry about us judging you?” Her tone was oddly reassuring. Preston joined in. “Exactly! I put on plays that everyone hates all the time! How are we going to judge you?” His shoulders sunk at that. “Exactly. I’m a terrible friend. I tease you about your larping all the time, and I didn’t even try to support any of your plays." Nerris sighed. "Well, yeah, it used to hurt, but everyone did it, and either way, you haven’t really been doing it recently. And we’re still friends. And….. I’m sorry too. I did the same to Preston.” Preston had looked more hurt after Harrison had finished speaking, but he perked up at Nerris’ apology. He didn’t say anything but the thankful smile was good enough for Nerris. And he decided to take it as enough too. He sighed.

“What happened was……….. bad. Very bad. If I could change the past, I would. I wish I could, honestly. I’m here to make things reappear because I made someone disappear.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. Any other time, and at the very least, this would have gone smoother. But right now, he didn’t think he had that option. “My brother.” He didn’t expect them to leave. They wouldn’t do that. He’d figured that out by now. But he wasn’t surprised when Nerris drew in a sharp breath, and Preston’s eyes flickered away.  He sighed, managing not to cry through a combination of already having cried so much and being too tired. They sat there, all of them thinking, for at the very least five minutes. It felt like longer. He could practically see the gears turning in their brains.

Eventually Nerris spoke. “That………. explains a…………… lot. Do you want to just…………………… leave it at that?” Her tone was worried, in more ways then one. He reluctantly nodded. He’d already told them more then he’d told basically anyone else besides his parents. Preston kept quiet. After this entire situation, Harrison wondered if he’d ever be quiet again. Then, another thought crossed his mind. “How are we getting back to camp? Aren’t we kind of lost out here?” Nerris let out a small chuckle at that. “Yeah, because Nikki doesn’t have your scent down flat from her time as your apprentice. We should just stay here. We’ll be fine.”  

He let out a small smile at that. They’d be fine. “We’ll be fine.” He repeated it to himself, looking up. Even though the trees were still thick, he could see that the sun was definitely properly up by now. He really was tired. He yawned, more for effect then anything else, and decided he might as well get as little sleep as he was getting on the ground. He must have been more tired than he thought, because as Nerris and Preston did the same next to him, he didn’t even try protesting.  

A few hours later, Nikki lead the rest of the camp to a sleeping trio. If they had been awake, they would have heard the multiple sighs of relief, and the few mutterings of “thank goodness” or “they’re safe”, few being quite literal. They would have seen the worried looks turn into feigned annoyance or apathy or just happiness. But as it stood, they would wake up together at about two, and go about their normal activities, glancing at each other every time they crossed paths. No one asked them about what had happened, and they were grateful for that. But Harrison just slept in his tent that night, and within a week, Preston had moved his bed and some of his stuff in the tent. And for some reason that no one else would get for a very long time, there weren’t any complaints.

[yikeslads]

A Relaxing Evening - Yandere Sero Hanta x Reader

Trigger Warnings! - 18+ only. Non Con (sex and non con drug use). If this bothers you p l e a s e do not read this fic! You are responsible for your own consumption and this is your official warning. Also they smoke a lot of weed in this but I don’t think that really needs a warning but idk

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Long time no see (please don’t kill me, I’ve been hella busy). I’ve started my last year at university so I am super thrilled about that, just turned 21, and I have spent my entire summer working full time. But enough about me, I’m sure everyone is dealing with a ton with the pandemic plus whatever they have. Anyways, I will be doing my best to update more! I have a WIP that should be released soon (i only have like 400 words left) so that should be fun. 

Big big big big thanks to @yanderart ! If you don’t know recognize the name, she is a phenomenal artist (both in visual and literary works, an icon) who shares the yandere/dark love. Thank you SO much for your super helpful edits/comments/encouragement with this <3 

Also thanks to @opheliadawnwalker3 for the advice to start small when getting back into the writing game! I took that to heart and tried to keep it shorter this time and helped me get this out so thank you!

And thanks to @rat-suki @weebsinstash @drxwsyni because I have definitely binged all of y’alls content and used the immaculate yandere vibes you write as inspo so thank you <3 

Now let’s get started!

It was eerily silent in the hallway as your feet made their way to their destination through the mostly abandoned college dormitory. Your mind was so preoccupied with the many thoughts that demanded your attention that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Not that it mattered. You had made this walk so many times, you could find your way even if you were blindfolded and hammered, that you were allowed to fully slip into your thoughts without having to worry. Before long you were standing in front of a very familiar door, the only one in the hallway with light peaking through the crack at the bottom. Music could clearly be heard through it, Jimi Hendrix’s singing the only sound of human life that you had encountered during your entire walk over here.

It took you a moment to snap out of your thoughts and come back to reality and notice that you were already standing at your destination. Clearing your throat awkwardly at the realization, you raised your arm and knocked solidly on the door to be heard above the music and waited as patiently as you could for an answer.

From behind the door you could hear someone swear, causing a small smirk to rise on your face, along with the sound of some rustling. A few moments later the door cracked open a bit as the familiar raven haired male peaked into the hallway, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he  regarded you.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise!” Sero chirped, opening the door all the way, seeing that it was only you standing in the hallway. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?”

His cheery, warm response to your presence unknowingly brought a small smile to your face, a needed break from your tense, concentrated expression you had been wearing when Sero first opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Sero,” you began, stuffing your hands into the pockets of the jacket you were wearing to stop you from wringing them anxiously. “I’ve just been really stressed with final exams and choosing which agency I want to officially sign for and… it’s just been a lot.” As you explained, Sero’s face softened slightly as he listened intently to your words, not liking the fact that you were so stressed.

“Anyway,” you continued with a chuckle, bringing yourself back onto the subject, “I was wondering if you had any of your stash left that I could buy from you? I know I bought from you a little while ago, but I’ve been more stressed out than I can handle,” you admitted, hoping that Sero might still have some weed hidden away in his room somewhere that you could use.

It was a little into sophomore year of college that you found out that your classmate, Sero, was a bit of a stoner. And as someone going through the hero course, you are understandably dealing with a lot of stress. So what’s wrong with smoking a little Mary J every once in a while to relax, right? Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you first asked Sero if you could buy weed from him. Ever since then he had been your personal plug, but over time, you two became close friends. “I think you might be in luck, sunshine, I think I have some on reserves. Come on in,” he welcomed, and you crossed the threshold without a second thought. As you stepped inside and took off your shoes, a large but gentle arm carefully looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into the tall man’s side as you led you to the couch and sat you down on the soft fabric in front of his laptop that was open and had various work assignments in different windows.

“Tell ole Sero what’s troubling you,” Sero propositioned as he moved to his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing his needed paraphernalia as he waited for you to begin speaking. He settled down next to you on the couch, pulling the small table holding the laptop in front of you a little closer as he set down his bong, and pulled out his grinder and began the process of loading you a bowl.

You were about to begin venting, but you paused as you took in the sight of Sero wordlessly working for your benefit, and you pulled your wallet out of your jacket pocket after a few seconds. “Sorry, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” You asked, opening your wallet and beginning to pull out a few bills. You didn’t get far though, as a warm hand covered yours, drawing your eyes to meet his black ones. He gave you a boyish smile and shook his head at you, giving a small laugh. “No way, sunshine. You need a little break, this one is on me,” he offered with a grin. You were hesitant for a few moments, not seemingly convinced that you should let him give you part of his stash for free. The potential feeling of guilt ebbed away as Sero’s warm smile never faltered, kindness seemingly exuding from his every pore. What was the harm, right? Nodding, you gingerly took the loaded bong from his large, calloused hands into your own smaller ones.

“Alright,” you agreed thoughtfully as you mirrored his smile, “but I want you to smoke with me. It’s no fun getting high alone,” you countered to which you could almost see Sero’s eyes sparkle in response at your words.

“I would be happy to,” he assured, never one to miss out on the chance to smoke, especially with you, but you added one more condition.  

“And,” you drawled, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited patiently for you to continue. “Whatever food we order when we are stoned off our asses is on me.”

A soft chuckle resonated from Sero’s chest as he nodded along to your stipulation, finding no qualm with having the promise of food.

“Deal,” he agreed, and with that you went to take your first bong hit of the evening.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your sides ached as you tried to force yourself to stop laughing, but your efforts seemed trivial as Sero laughed just as hard, if not harder, alongside you as you finished Sero’s favorite flick, Scott Pilgrim vs the World. It felt so good to let go and really laugh, it had started to feel like it had been too long. Time seemed a distant concept to you at the moment, as nothing from the outside world weighed on you as you merrily enjoyed your high with Sero.

Your eyes were pink from smoking, little tears forming at the base of your lower eyelashes as you gasped for breath as your laughing fit began to subside. You don’t even remember what you had been laughing about exactly, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Your attention was brought back to Sero as he began to rise from his spot beside you on the couch, your eyes following his lazy movements as the movie credits began to roll.

“I’m getting a bit of cottonmouth,so why don’t I get us some drinks while you choose something else for us to watch?” Sero offered to which you agreed, lazily beginning to scroll through the other titles that were currently available on Netflix as Sero made his way over to the little kitchen he had equipped.

“Thirsty for anything in particular?” You heard his voice call out to you, but you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop screen, still searching for another flick to watch.

“Just water would be fantastic,” was your response as you searched through the comedy section, knowing that Sero preferred comedies.

A few moments later, Sero had returned to your side, a glass of water in one hand for you and a soda can for him in his other hand. Thanking him as you gently took it from his hands, you took the glass and raised it to your lips. Taking large sips, reveling in the cool feeling of the water flowing over your tongue and to the back of your throat, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch your every movement adoringly.

“Wanna take another hit?” Sero asked as you finished taking a drink, setting down the mostly empty glass back down on the table.

You hummed in thought at his question, before nodding, a small giggle escaping your lips, “What’s one more hit, right?”

Sero, the practiced stoner he is, had another bowl set up for you ready to go in what seemed like seconds, graciously handing you the now loaded bowl. Gently taking it from his hands and placing it in the bong, you fired up the lighter and took a huge hit.

A h u g e hit. It was a little larger than you had meant, but being high had made your judgement a little empaired. You coughed a bit as you expelled the wave of smoke from your lungs, waving your hands as Sero laughed.

Your cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at Sero laughing as you tried to regain your composure. “S-Stop laughing!” You cried, setting the bong back down, but Sero just shook his head.

“I can’t help it, sunshine. Seeing you not being able to take that hit is hilarious,” he continued to laugh, as your cheeks burned warmer at his words.

“Its not my fault that I don’t have your iron lungs,” you mocked, picking up your glass once more and finishing the contents in an attempt stop your coughing fit. “Not all of us are stoners.”

A small gasp tore from Sero’s throat, as he held a hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised by your words. “Me? A stoner? How could you even say such a thing?” He asked, shooting you a kicked puppy look which just made you giggle in return, your head feeling a little fuzzy from the extra hit.  

“Oh don’t be a baby,” patting the spot next to you, you flashed Sero a loopy smile, “come on, lets watch another movie,” you countered to which Sero agreed to, settling back down in his spot beside you. You reached forward, setting your now empty glass next to the laptop and hit play on the movie, before moving back into the cushions. Your body began to feel heavier as  you gingerly leaned into Sero’s side, who in return wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gently tugged you a little closer to his chest as the intro finished and the movie began.  

You weren’t long into the movie before you were struggling to keep your eyes opened. You shifted slightly, trying to force yourself to wake up, but the more that the time wore on, the harder it became to stay awake.

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes into the film before you were out cold, your deep and even breathing soft in Sero’s ear as your tired figure slept against his shoulder.

“Sunshine,” Sero whispered, tentatively placing a hand on your knee and gently shaking you. He watched your face carefully for any sign of rousing, but your breathing continued at its deep, even, undisturbed pace. An eager smile danced across Sero’s visage at your lack of response, his heart pounding in his chest in excitement. Wrapping his strong arms around your pliable person, Sero gently maneuvered your sleepy shape to be laying on your back, tummy up, the skirt you had worn riding up on your thighs as your leg lay limply, slightly apart.

Sero took a moment just watching you, drinking in all of your beauty. You looked so sweet and vulnerable asleep on Sero’s couch defenseless. He gazed at your unconscious body oh so lovingly as you lay completely helpless to the danger that lurks around you. It makes Sero’s heart squeeze in his chest in realization that you need him. You needed him to protect you and Sero would happily be your knight in shining armour.

“Her knight in shining honor”, Sero thought to himself merrily, infatuated with protecting his little ray of sunshine. His fingers began to skim the skin of your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up higher and higher. Shouldn’t your knight get a little reward for his services? Sero certainly thought so, afterall it was only fair that he get to enjoy his sunshine in return for all he does for you.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of your black laced panties, skirt bunched up past your hips, leaving your panty clad intimate parts exposed for his greedy eyes. There were no such things as imperfection to Sero when it came to you. All of your little bumps, blemishes, and things you didn’t like about yourself were all things that Sero adored about you. It's what made you you, and he simply ached to worship you.

Hungry hands hooked fingers into your panties, swiftly pulling the soft material down your supple skin in earnest. A groan tore from Sero’s throat at the sight of sticky, clear strings sticking from the fabric to your little treasure.

Fuck was he glad he slipped you an aprodiasic alongside the sleeping pills. Seeing your hole already wet and begging for his attention had his pants quickly tenting uncomfortably. He could not wait to get started.

Moving quickly and silently, he settled himself on his stomach between your thighs, carefully placing your thighs over his shoulders. His starved stare meets your slick slit and he couldn’t stop himself from licking a stripe up your lips, moaning at the delicious taste of your essence. His eyes flickered back to your face where he found you still sound asleep, unaware of reality.

“Perfect”, he thought to himself at your unconscious state, “just like last time.”

Confident in his security, Sero began to feast on your unprotected pussy, his tongue swiping through your folds as he drank every ounce of you in. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at your taste as if he was tasting the most divine thing ever created. He couldn’t seem to get enough as his hands encased your thighs, hungrily pulling your closer to his famished mouth. Your breath quickened in pace at Sero’s ministrations but the sleeping pills kept you nestled peacefully in between complete unconsciousness and your dreams, deep asleep. It seemed almost as if Sero had been eating you out for hours when he had finally come up for air, sucking in deep gulps of air into his lungs greedily.  He knelt in front of your vulnerable body, lips and chin shiny with your slick as he slipped a finger into your heat, quickly followed by another as he gently began to scissor your walls apart. Your warmth gushed around his fingers as he worked you open for him, using his free hand to slip down to his belt and make quick work of that before tugging his boxers and pants down. His cock now free of confinement slapped against his abs before he gently removed his fingers from your heat. Your juices completely soaked his hand as he brought it to his cock, using your wetness to get him slick for you. He watched your sleepy face as he stroked himself, his bottom lip caught between his lip as he intently drank in your features. With both of your bodies prepped, patience grew thin, so he tilted his hips down, nudging your dripping entrance with his plush tip, your legs lazily spread and looped loosely around his hips.

Slipping himself between your folds, Sero took a deep breath before pressing himself into your warm, wet, tight cavern. He didn’t stop slowly driving his cock into your twitching heat until he became fully sheathed inside your awaiting pussy. He groaned softly at the feeling of his cock being encased by your velvet walls, his eyes never leaving your face as he adjusted to the delicious feeling you were giving him. After a few moments of adjustment, Sero pulled his hips back, feeling his manhood drag against your plush walls, a soft moan escaping your sleeping shape as you stirred slightly in your hazy state. Once you settled and he was positive you were going to stay asleep, he drove his hips forward into your cunt his eyes moving away from your face and down to where his cock was buried deep inside of you. The erotic sight of you being fucked by his cock kicked him into gear as he soon found a steady rhythm as he pounded into you.

With every thrust of his hip, your cream coated his silken rod, making Sero almost feral with the sight. It took every ounce of self control he had to not fuck you the way you deserved, the way you needed him, but he couldn’t risk having you wake up during your little relaxation session. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed to keep himself from fucking you silly, but with plans for the pair of you in the future, he was willing to wait to rock your world for when you were awake and in more of a … receptive position to receive the full force of his love for you.  

It wasn’t long before Sero found himself reaching his end, much to his displeasure, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was able to get to do this again. He always made excuses to get the two of you alone, for “purely innocent reasons” according to your knowledge. He couldn’t help it! He loved you too much, and he needed to get his fix.

“F-Fuck,” he moaned as he fucked himself into your pussy, panting softly as he drew close to his completion. “You feel so good, sunshine. You were made for my fucking cock, shit,” he swore, his thrusts becoming increasinly sloppy. He pulled himself out before he came, hips hovering over yours as his hand frantically worked his length trying to finish himself off.

“Fuck yes!” Sero growled as he came, hot white, sticky ropes of cum decorating your glistening pussy as he furiously worked his hand over his cock. “God, love you so much,” he groaned as he finished,  hovering over you as he caught his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, becoming entangled with your own juices. Without skipping a beat, Sero reached over and grabbed his phone, taking a quick snapshot of your fucked out pussy covered in his essence and saved it in a secret gallery of pictures he kept of you. He needed to add to the collection, something to help tide him over until the next time. Setting his phone back down, he leaned over you and gently kissed you, like a lover would, savoring your lips while you were still asleep. Breaking the kiss, he gazed lovingly down at you, gently playing with a strand of your hair. He wished this moment would never end, but he knew that he had to get going, sighing softly to himself.

It was time to start up the cleaning process.

~~~~~~~~~~

A phone ringing caused you to stir from your deep slumber, a deep yawn escaping your lips as you stretched your stiff body from sleeping on the couch. You rubbed your eyes slightly as you woke up, before you took in the room before you. You saw Sero back turned to you as he spoke in hushed tones over the phone, hearing Bakugo’s voice grunting something to him over the phone about working out later that day. You glanced around the room as you yawned again, slightly confused as to how you got here before remembering coming over to Sero’s place the previous night after being really stressed and wanting to take a break. It wasn’t long until Sero finished his phone call, turning back to your and finding you awake, looking back at him.

“Sorry,” Sero began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized sheepishly with a small smile, taking in your figure.

“It’s no worries,” you hum out sleepily finding yourself naturally returning his smile. “Did I pass out last night?” You asked, not fully remembering what had happened after that last bong hit.

“Yeah! You fell asleep about maybe half way through the first movie? I don’t remember exactly when, I was paying too much attention to the movie,” he lied smoothly, your face showing telltale signs of embarrassment at having fallen asleep during the movie. Especially in Sero’s room after having come to his room for a favor. How could you ask to hang out with someone then fall asleep on them!”

“Oh… Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” you laughed a little uneasy, but Sero was quick to reassure you. “Don’t worry about it! You said yourself that you were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed that you needed to give yourself some rest. No need to apologize,” Sero soothed you easily, a smile returning to your face as you nodded. He almost felt bad lying to your face, but this was just more proof that you needed him! He had placed all your clothes back on properly, cleaned up the mess last night and you were none the wiser! Your lack of realization of what had happened, though it pleased Sero to know he got away with his little love session, cemented your need for him in Sero’s mind.  

“Well will you let me buy you coffee as a thanks for letting me crash? We can study together at that cafe near the gym if you want? ” You offered, wanting to express your gratitude to your friend, who graciously accepted your idea, pleased to spend more time with you.

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” he chirped, quick to pack up his things in his backpack and get ready to go.

The sun was rising slowly from the horizon, fluffy white clouds moving lazily across the sky, as the two of you walked to the cafe together. The birds sang so sweetly as the pair of you made your way, but their songs meant nothing to Sero, too entranced with your own sweet voice as you chattered happily with him about whatever came to mind.

Opening the door for you once the pair of you arrived, you flashed him a sweet smile in response before stepping inside the warm coffee shop. The smile you gave, to him, was brighter than the sun, warmer than the core of the Earth, and he realized he needed it. Just like you need his protection, he needs you, his sunshine, to bring warmth into his life and make him whole. With your back to him, browsing the menu of its many drink options, you failed to notice the pair of eyes drinking in every inch of your form with intense infatuation. You had no idea the danger that lurked behind those kind eyes, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that Sero’s friendliness was more until too late.  

[anonniemousefics]

All Kinds Of New Friends

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 4,700

Rating: Teen and Up

TW: contains mentions of sexual assault

Cross-posted to AO3

Synopsis: The gang has a run in with a couple of unscrupulous characters from Inej's past, and Kaz says a few things in the middle of a rage he wasn't supposed to say yet.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to AO3 user puppy cat, who was such a supportive, lovely fan from the very first chapter of "My Dearest Inej" all the way to the end. They requested a fic based around a particular idea involving the gang at a restaurant and someone harassing Inej and Kaz losing his shit in a very specific way (being intentionally vague here to avoid too many spoilers lol). If you like this au, there's more of it in my recent fic "Samples". :)

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Nothing brought Kaz Brekker life quite like being paid to argue. And he was good at it, which was why he could charge these student athletes afraid of losing their scholarships two hundred bucks an essay without even flinching. If a more delightful way to make money existed, he had not found it yet.

He was spending his Saturday the way he usually spent Saturdays: rounding out a conclusion to a paper arguing for the death penalty, for a pre-law class he’d never take and a trust-fund upperclassman he’d hopefully never meet. In a few hours, he could drop the doc in a secure server and wait for the Venmo alert that he’d been paid. Nothing was sweeter.

Well. One thing was sweeter.

Inej was in the beat-up old recliner beside him in his and Jesper’s little living room of their third-floor off-campus apartment. This was the best way to spend a Saturday. She was sitting cross-legged and practically drowning in oversized sweats, her raven-black hair piled on top of her head while she hunched over her MacBook. And she was wearing those thick-rimmed, blue-blocker glasses Matthias Helvar had convinced her she needed (which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was being paid to promote them on his stupid Instagram, that douchebag). Kaz had cringed both internally and externally when she’d told him she’d bought a pair, but now he was seeing the merit, because, dear God, was she adorable in glasses. They were awakening strange and powerful urges every time he glanced over at her. If she held them in between her teeth while undoing her hair, he was going to have to leave the room.

Because the terrible reality was that Inej had had a rough go of it her freshman year at Ketterdam University. And even though they were sort of together now (Kaz was pretty sure they were?), the last thing Inej needed right now was to be over-sexualized – for anything. Including those really fucking cute glasses.

“I’m starving,” Jesper declared from his prone position on the floor. He had been propped up on a bunch of faded pillows between them, engrossed in shooting undead things on their Xbox. His boyfriend Wylan had spent most of the afternoon napping against his shoulder, but was now blinking awake like a blue-eyed baby owl at Jesper’s sudden announcement.

“I could eat,” Wylan yawned with a lazy stretch.

“Inej? You?” Jesper reached up to tug on Inej’s sock.

“Hm?” Inej looked up from her laptop like she was emerging from a cave while she gnawed on one of the strings of her sweatshirt. It had been like this since The Incident – Jesper and Nina often took turns making sure she would eat. (Kaz had it covered, but that was all right. The back-up couldn’t hurt.)

“Food? Are you hungry?” Jesper repeated, the unspoken question floating in the air: Have you eaten today?

Inej blinked a few times as she thought, her dark eyes flitting back and forth between Jesper and her laptop screen. Kaz knew this internal war well – the age-old taking care of one’s needs versus the siren-song of wreaking endless revenge.

Inej had come to Ketterdam University on a gymnastics scholarship, but that had fallen by the wayside – ever since The Incident. The night everything changed.

Kaz didn’t know Inej Ghafa all that well before it happened – had taken a few classes with her, studied for an exam with her once. She’d been eternally sunshiney, the kind of girl he knew wouldn’t waste her time on dark things like him.

But then she’d started missing classes.

And then showing up to class visibly drowning beneath the weight of sleeplessness and oversized clothes.

And he didn’t really know her but it had bothered him all the same. It was like watching a star collapsing in on itself.

And that’s when the story of The Incident hit the news cycle. From the moment he read the first headline, Kaz couldn’t stop scrolling, growing sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach.

She’d gone to a party at a frat house with a new friend. (Kaz had even been there before, maybe even the night it happened. Frat parties were veritable breeding grounds for potential clients – full of rich, connected kids too drunk or stoned to be bothered by classwork and crooked enough to pay someone else to do it.) It was suspected that someone had slipped something in her drink, and it was known that the friend who’d brought her there had been entirely useless. Inej had woken up the next morning, half-naked on the lawn, crude drawings in Sharpie all over her, and no knowledge of what had transpired that had left her there.

It should have ended there – that was bad enough. But then the frat boys had started posting the videos of what had happened that night. How she had been used. How she had been touched.

If Inej’s parents were going to have their way, someone was going to jail. If Kaz was going to have his way, someone was going to suffer all the way there.

After he’d learned the news, he’d found her the next day before class started, where she was at the back of the room, hunched over her desk with her hood up. She’d shot daggers at him with her eyes when he approached. He’d liked that.

“I’d like to help you ruin them,” he’d told her. Inej’s glare didn’t relent as she sized up him – his black attire, the leather gloves that clenched his gleaming cane. He usually made a point of looking like the sort of person who ruined things. Nobody bullied a boy with a cane if it looked like that same boy could take your head off with said cane.

Inej seemed to agree that he looked like he could fit the bill. And they began to plot – how to expose her abusers, how to alert every girl they ever came into contact with, how to ruin every single party they would ever throw.

And somewhere along the way, it had turned into…something. Kaz wasn’t sure what to call it. But he couldn’t call it nothing – not when Inej regularly stayed the night in their apartment and did soft things like run her hand over his chest if she liked the jacket he was wearing or blush and smile if she caught him looking at her. He’d even really gone out on a limb one night and told her he liked her, and she’d said it back. He wasn’t sure where that left them at this point. Somewhere, he guessed, with something.

“I’ll eat,” Inej was agreeing, albeit with a bit of reluctance to leave her laptop. She was elbows-deep in a catfishing scheme Kaz had concocted for their latest victim.

“Nina wants us to meet up with her and Matthias at The Sweet Shop,” Wylan said, who was catching up on the texts he’d missed while napping on Jesper.

“I swear, Nina could lure a polar bear into the jungle,” Jesper sighed next to him, because it was a little miraculous to think Matthias Helvar, fitspo Instagram model and purveyor of all things organic and natural, had somehow been corralled into a bakery cafe. Kaz was surprised that Matthias even looked at carbs, let alone consumed them.  

And, even though he was pressed for time on the illicit essay he was writing, Kaz needed food, too. He and Inej both could use the time away from their questionable dealings online.

The Sweet Shop was within walking distance, but it had begun to rain, cold and foggy, over Ketterdam. So, the four of them piled into Kaz’s beat up black Chevy and rolled into town behind the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

“Over here!” Nina waved to them, beaded bracelets rattling in a stack on her wrist, from the far corner as the bakery’s front door swung closed behind them, tripping a jingling brass bell pinned to the doorframe.

The Sweet Shop was a popular spot for the more bookish crowds to crash on the weekends, load up on starchy foods and coffee while rattling out papers on their laptops or flirting under the guise of study groups. Kaz wouldn’t go so far as to call them his type of people, but he was certainly more at home here than the drunken soirees where he spent his evenings fleecing the debauched children of alumni. Here, there were people crowded over old tables with their books, and well-worn leather sofas and faded overstuffed chairs in the corner lined with secondhand books and used board games that were almost always missing pieces. The air smelled like espresso and cupcakes and old pages, and if Matthias Helvar was going to sulk about the lack of kale on the menu, Kaz might have to punch him in the face.

Matthias was already nursing a colorful smoothie while Nina sat next to him on the old leather sofa, her long, shapely legs draped over his and a stack of sugared waffles on the coffee table in front of her.

“Took you long enough!” Nina was scolding as the four of them weaved through tables to the corner of sofas and chairs. “Do none of you check your phones on weekends?”

“A technology fast is very cleansing for our auras,” Matthias countered, with a sage look – Matthias, the self-proclaimed Instagram influencer. Kaz rolled his eyes.

“That almost sounded like real words, Matthias – good job,” Jesper smirked, as he perched on the arm of the chair where Wylan had flopped down. Matthias opened his mouth to retort something, but --

“I was just distracted, sorry,” Inej intervened with an apology to Nina and a sheepish look. (She thankfully was no longer wearing her blue-blockers or it might have been too sweet even for a place called The Sweet Shop.)

“And I was just ignoring you,” Kaz said with a shrug. Inej gave him an exasperated whack in the arm as he sat next to her on an old loveseat, resting his cane against one side, and Nina let out a put-out huff.

“Wylan’s the only considerate one among you,” she complained.

“Yes, that is true,” Jesper agreed, and Wylan grinned widely with his chin propped up on his fist.

“We wanted you here because,” And Nina drew out the because like she had something grand to follow it, “Matthias landed a sweet sponsorship yesterday, and he wants to buy us all lunch!”

Kaz and Jesper groaned in unison, loud enough it couldn’t quite be drowned out by Inej and Wylan’s congratulations. Matthias got particularly insufferable after new sponsorships – there would be strings attached to this.

“That’s very nice of you, Matthias,” Inej said, pointedly, glaring at Kaz.

“It is very nice of you, Matthias, to offer to buy us all strawberry ice cream smoothies like yours,” Kaz said, with an evil glint in his eye as he nodded to the large pink cup in Matthias’ hand.

Matthias gave an uneasy laugh.

“There’s no ice cream in this,” he said, then paused when he noticed Nina’s tight-lipped, icy stare boring into Kaz’s skull. Then his brow cinched up and looked down at his cup. “There isn’t ice cream in this, right, babe?”

“It’s not going to kill you,” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“Babe! You know I can’t do dairy right now! Tomorrow’s Six-Pack Sunday!”

There was no point in trying to stop it: a laugh in the form of a long snort rolled out of Kaz while Jesper and Wylan dissolved into a fit of giggles. Now Kaz remembered -- this is why they kept Matthias around.

“You don’t understand,” Matthias was trying to say. “It can take a whole week to detox and lose the bloat.”

“I’ll finish it for you, you big baby,” said Nina, and snatched the smoothie away from a panicked Matthias.

“I should start running laps now,” he was fretting.

“Make some food runs for us – that’s a start,” Jesper supplied, looking helpful.

“Good call,” Matthias nodded, and hopped to his feet, nearly dumping Nina onto the floor in the process. “Orders? Orders?” He looked to each of them, ready to leap into action and start fighting off the bloat.

He’d gathered up their orders and made a beeline for the counter when Nina turned to Inej.

“You had me worried, you know.” Nina leaned out a little over her knees toward her roommate. “You were just distracted?”

Kaz glanced in Inej’s direction in time to see how she swallowed hard. She’d stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets. Kaz knew the reaction all too well -- what it was like to withdraw and fight to make yourself untouchable, even to those who loved you.

“Just a lot of work lately,” Inej said. And Nina slid a suspicious glance toward Kaz, as if waiting for him to explain himself and what he was getting the two of them into now.

But it had always been Inej’s decision, how she wanted to handle her own revenge. Kaz was only providing tools. He hadn’t answered for her yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Nina sighed.

“I just don’t want to see anyone hurt anymore,” she said. The brass bell over the front door jingled again.

“That’s not--”

But Inej stopped short when she glanced toward the sound of the bell. She barely moved, but Kaz could sense her growing rigid next to him. And something about it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

He followed her gaze to two boys who were now slouching toward the front counter. Kaz had seen them both before; he was pretty sure he’d written a biology research paper for the one with the pug-nose. They were both tall and conventionally good-looking – the sort you probably didn’t think twice about. Well-muscled, expensive haircuts, brand name sneakers.

Beside him, Inej had started breathing weird.

“Fuck.” Nina had noticed her staring, too, and suddenly all pairs of eyes in the corner were watching the newcomers at the front of The Sweet Shop with murder in their hearts.

Because these two bastards had been there the night of The Incident.

Kaz found himself wondering which one he could make cry first. Probably the bulkier one -- he looked soft and dumb around the edges. His mom probably still did his laundry on the weekends and called his professors when he didn’t get good grades. Kaz wanted to see him cry until snot dribbled down his sweaty face and –

“We should go,” Inej said, abruptly. She was looking pale and shaky, and her eyes darted around as if she needed to gather belongings, even though she’d brought none. Kaz had started to grip the head of his cane, tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Fuck no.” Nina was adamant and fiery, bless her. “We got here first – they can leave.” And then a little louder. “They should be in jail, frankly!”

“Nina!” Inej hissed, and her hand flew to curl against the side of her face when the boys looked their direction. Her eyes were wide and terrified when she looked over to Kaz.

“I want to go,” she told him, and that was all she needed to say. He pushed his weight onto his cane, hoisting himself to his feet.

“Don’t worry, girl – we got you,” Jesper was confirming, and, without even needing to consult each other, he and Wylan and Nina had Inej surrounded from sight on their walk to the door, Kaz at the front.

And it almost worked, too.

“Brekker!” Until one of the boys recognized him and gave him with a jovial grin. Shit. “Hey, it’s Brekker!” The stupid kid with the pug nose gave Kaz a hearty slap on his shoulder, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to not break the dude’s wrist.

“This kid got me an B+ on my bio term paper,” the kid was telling his bulky friend, and then with a shady-ass side smirk, he added: “Wasn’t totally the A I’d paid for, but that was still awesome, bro.”

“With your GPA, an A would have been too suspicious.” Why was Kaz even defending himself to this turd? He made to shove past, to head for the door.

But that kid was still gripping his shoulder. Like he wanted Kaz to remove it from its socket. Like maybe he was just asking for it. Kaz ground his teeth, trying to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t going to do this in front of Inej. He was going to be better than this for her.

“Bro,” the human pile of excrement still touching him was saying, “I’ve been meaning to text you. I have this world religions class this semester that is just killer, and I--”

“Your next words had better be how you’re doing your own damn work from now on.”

A simple “No” would have sufficed, Kaz realized, but his girl was in some kind of state because of this waste of carbon and his patience had never been plentiful to begin with.

Besides, the kid didn’t strike him as the type who understood simple “No”s. He was going to have to make it really fucking clear for this idiot.

Sure enough, the kid blinked hard, like he’d been slapped.

“I paid you, bro,” he said, dumbly.

“Oh, he did not just--” Nina started from the back of their bunch.

“Call me ‘bro’ one more time,” Kaz dared him, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell, man?” said the thoroughly confused bulky friend.

“Kaz, just leave it,” Inej said, softly, and she slipped her fingers into the crook of Kaz’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

A wave of recognition spread over the pug-nosed douchebag’s face at the sight of her. It was sickening, the surprised rise of his eyebrows, the smug, amused smirk on his lips. Kaz wanted to rip them right off his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the dick was saying. “You’re with this bitch--”

That’s when Kaz felt something snap. Oh, he was dead now.

“Kaz!” Inej shouted a warning, but it was already too late. With the cane between his two gloved hands, Kaz rammed his weight into this dead man walking. He threw the kid against the front door, the brass bell jingling as the shades on the window rattled in the scuffle.

“That’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Kaz snarled.

Kaz was vaguely aware that there was a rising commotion around him, a crescendo of clashing panic and rage. His hand had found its way to the dude’s collar, throttling him; Nina was shouting something at Matthias somewhere behind him; chairs were scuffling about against the floor. But Kaz’s sole focus now was on making this heinous little fucker wet his pants.

“Kaz. The door.” Jesper’s clear-headed voice cut through the blinding wrath, and Kaz was somehow thinking clearly enough to gather his meaning and wrenched the kid away from the front door just long enough for Jesper to shove an arm through and open it.

And Kaz threw the pug-nose brat out into the rain ahead of them. The kid hit the pavement, hard, and scrambled back.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong if you think she’s the victim here,” the useless piece of flesh was sniveling. His nose was bleeding – pathetic, Kaz had barely hit him.

“I really think I don’t,” Kaz disagreed, thoughtfully.

“We could have you arrested!” the bulky child was screeching. Kaz turned just in time to see Matthias literally chuck the kid out after them, red-face and snarling. And Kaz had to hand it to him – even with his dairy intolerance, Matthias Helvar could toss frat kids with the best of them.

“Oh, please file a police report about this,” Kaz sneered at them. The wind and the rain were beating back his dark hair and flapping the collar of his black jacket, but he didn’t care. “I would absolutely love to know how you plan on explaining why you called my girlfriend a bitch.”

“Man, it is not my fault your girl can’t handle her liquor.”

CRACK. Kaz barely had time to blink, and Matthias had straight up decked the kid right in his jaw. Nina was rolling up her sleeves, ready to destroy the other one in the pelting rain.

“Hey!” The teenager in a green apron who’d been running the cash register was running out after them, holding a phone over her head. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t clear out!”

And when Kaz looked back at Inej, there were tears welling in her eyes even though her jaw was set firm. From the looks on the faces of the rest of his friends, they’d all noticed, too.  

So, it fizzled out before it even really began.

The frat boys had slunk off in the rain, and the six of them regrouped and sauntered back to Kaz’s car in silence. Jesper, Nina, and Matthias piled into the back seat, while Inej and Wylan squeezed into the front. And then an uncomfortable stillness descended.

Inej had pulled her hood up again when Kaz turned the key in the ignition, her arms tight in her sleeves. Every once and awhile, she’d sniffle as quietly as she could as the car ride seemed to drag on – but Kaz knew. Everyone knew. That had been awful. And it still felt awful. Kaz’s head was starting to swirl, his wracked nerves still buzzing. He shouldn’t have done it. He hadn’t wanted to do it, not really. And she’d told him she wanted to leave – she’d said it clear as day. And he’d said…oh God, what had he said? What had he done?

Kaz’s stomach was starting to lurch. He’d said a lot of things. Way too many fucking things. Things they hadn’t discussed yet. Things he’d clearly just assumed. What had he done?

“We really should cleanse this negative energy.” Goddamn Matthias was the first one to break the pervasive silence, and he was choosing to break it with this nonsense. Kaz’s glare drifted to the rear view mirror. “I have some sound healing bowls back at my place that are--”

“I swear to God, Helvar,” Kaz snapped, “if you break out even one sound healing bowl, I will make you wear it like a helmet and then drop kick you into the sun.”

In the rear view mirror, Kaz could see Matthias’ nostrils flaring.

“You are such an unbalanced piece of shit sometimes, you know that--?” But Matthias stopped short because Inej had let out a surprising chuckle. Kaz slowly let himself glance her direction – so did everyone else.

She was smirking up at Kaz.

“I just think it’s thoughtful of you to make sure his head is protected before you launch him into space,” she shrugged. Wylan barked out a laugh.

“I just think they should kiss already,” Nina added, waggling an eyebrow at a brooding Matthias, and then Jesper started to laugh, too, which really was the most infectious of laughs. Even Kaz was smiling after a moment – just a little.

Though that faded entirely when they pulled up to Kaz and Jesper’s apartment and Inej asked to speak with him alone in the car first.  

Shit, he thought. Shit. Here it is. He’d royally fucked it up now.

They waited in silence with the rain pouring over the car while the rest of their friends darted into the old Victorian home where Kaz and Jesper lived on the third floor. With each passing second, his stomach sunk lower into his guts. He wasn’t even sure he could form words in his brain, let alone with his mouth. He had no rational explanation for what had come over him back at The Sweet Shop, other than Here it is, Inej, I’m kind of a fucking disaster.

“So, that was…” Inej started, slowly. She was staring out the front window. Kaz felt like crumpling, and he hated it, hated how weak he felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know…” he muttered. He didn’t really, but he just wanted this to be over. If she never wanted to see him again, he needed her to rip the bandaid off quick.

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?”

Kaz couldn’t decipher her tone, and he couldn’t even look at her. He was just going to stare at the steering wheel until this was over.

But then Inej said: “I just would like to have known before the guys my parents are having investigated, that’s all.”

Kaz looked to her then, lifting his dark eyebrows slightly. She’d let her hair down from its knot before they’d left for the café – she’d braided it loose over her shoulder like he liked. She was twirling the ends now, a tired smile on her pink lips.

“If you want,” he said with a soft shrug. It wasn’t at all like the heroic way he thought she deserved to be swept off her feet. But she was still smiling all the same. It made him feel braver.

Funny – how throwing his weight around against perverts was as easy as breathing, but looking at her like this tore him apart.

“If you’ll have me,” he offered, even softer now.

And Inej reached across the distance between them. Laced her fingers over his, atop his knee.

“I will have you, Kaz Brekker,” she said, tenderly. It took him aback a bit. Made his breath catch. Made his throat sting.

“If I shouldn’t have--” he started to say of the row back at The Sweet Shop. But Inej cut him off instantly, shaking her head. Squeezing his fingers.

“You absolutely should have,” she said, firmly.  “And you should show me how, too.”

Kaz really raised his eyebrows at that. Inej smiled a little wider. His heart was lifting, lifting up and out of the certain doom he was sure it was about to face.

“Come on.” Inej tugged at his hand. “We’d better head up before Matthias starts culture appropriating all over your apartment.”

“You have to admit – he threw one hell of a punch, though,” Kaz pointed out, as he opened his door, and then wanted to punch himself for it. What the hell – was he defending Matthias Helvar now? This whole day was upside down.

Thankfully, there was a different kind of embarrassing going down in apartment number three when they finally made their way up. Kaz could hear it before he even made it to the top of the stairs – the loud, thumping bass, the voices shouting at the tops of their lungs.

Oh, their neighbors were going to love this. They were just making all kinds of new friends today.

When Inej opened the door, all four of their friends were dancing to Cardi B’s I Like It, blasting through Jesper’s bluetooth speaker. It took everything in Kaz to not physically recoil at the assault on his senses.

“Emergency dance party!” Jesper explained, yelling from behind Wylan.

“We’re clearing out the negative energy!” Nina shouted over the noise, her hands in the air. Matthias was jumping around behind her like an absolute madman. “But like in an acceptable way!”

“I think it’s working!” Wylan shouted at her in agreement, with Jesper’s hands on his hips.

They were all smiling.

And beside him, Inej burst out laughing – a wild, fluttery sound he’d heard only a few times before. It caught him right in the heart each time he had, and he knew he’d do anything to hear it as often as he could. He looked down at her and wondered, not for the first time, how she did it. How she managed to wring joy out of even the most dismal of circumstances.

It was something he needed more of – as long as she’d allow him to have it.

“Come on!” she was shouting to him as she took him by the hand. “You heard the man! Emergency dance party!”

And Kaz followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

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Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

[inkweaver22-blr]

Three chapters in three days! I’m on fire! Welcome to the first of the intermediary filler/fluff chapters! There will be a few of these chapters in between each of the major plot-relevant ones to break up some of the seriousness of this fic. Can’t be torturing our boy the entire time now.

AO3 Link

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Three: The Brightest Sun

Tang takes some time to think about everyone's favorite delivery boy.

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Qí Xiǎotiān. MK. The Monkie Kid.

Tang watched as the younger man mopped the floor of the noodle shop with a spring in his step. He hummed the theme song to The Monkey King Animated Series as he worked, his bright smile never fading despite the menial labor.

Tang couldn’t help being in awe of the young man. He supposed that if their life were a tv show or book series, MK would no doubt have been the main character with how everything seemed to center around him. Becoming the Monkey King’s successor, fighting demons regularly, being the hero and protector of the city. Throughout it all MK remained upbeat and optimistic. A beacon of happiness and cheer.

Outwardly at least.

Tang felt a pain in his chest as he recalled the cycle where he first learned of MK’s insecurities. The fears of being abandoned by his friends. Anxieties over Monkey King deciding he chose the wrong successor. Absolute dread at not being strong enough to protect everyone.

It hurt the scholar’s heart that the poor kid had felt the need to shoulder the impossible weight of such terrible thoughts on his own. He had gone through his own bouts of such feelings very early on in the cycles and knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep such emotions bottled up.

So he did his best to encourage and reassure MK whenever he could. A pep talk here, some unconditional support and comfort there. Tang also got the others in on it as well, making sure they understood what the kid needed.

(Oh how he had yelled at Pigsy the cycle after learning of MK’s troubles for even daring to suggest that MK was replaceable with a robot.)

The humming soon turned to singing as MK continued cleaning.

Tang didn’t bother hiding the smile that came to his lips. MK was an incredible person in the scholar’s eyes. Yes, he had his own fears and issues, but who didn’t? It was when he confronted those feelings with the help of the people that cared for him that the scholar could see a glimpse of the Monkie Kid’s true potential.

Strength. Confidence. Self-reflection. Love.

With his worries conquered by the affection from his friends, MK seemed to radiate an inner light that was almost blinding. A bright and warming sun that lit up everything around him.

Tang mused that if MK was a sun, then it made sense that he had a collection of people that tended to gravitate around him.

MK’s background never seemed quite the same throughout the cycles, but they were consistent in leaving him without parents in one way or another. Pigsy had filled in as a father figure very easily. The chef’s silent forms of affection and steady presence had been the perfect remedy for a lonely and distrustful teen all those years ago.

The Monkey King also fit into the father role rather quickly once he began teaching MK. He was a bit more distant than Pigsy when it came to showing affection, but Tang still had to admit the old monkey did actually care about MK as if he was his own son.

(It had been a struggle to get him to admit it to the kid, like pulling blood from a stone, but Tang had been patient. The smile on MK’s face had been more than worth it.)

Mei was obviously like a sister to MK, sharing in his enthusiasm and love for life.

Sandy was the kind and doting uncle who always had some helpful advice and a cup of tea ready.

Tang wasn’t exactly sure where he fit in but liked to think of himself as a favorite tutor who told some good stories.

The scholar chuckled as MK began to dance around with the mop, having switched to sing some popular pop song.

It wasn’t just the five of them that tended to get caught up in MK’s shining personality. More often than not, their enemies were also ensnared by his light in various timelines.

Jin and Yin had their mischievous streaks toned down to simpler pranks and goofs whenever MK befriended them.

The Spider Queen had become a powerful ally and aunt to MK one memorable cycle.

Even Macaque would give up on his plans of revenge if he spent time with the kid outside of their twisted training sessions.

There was just something inherently likeable about MK. Some sort of effortless charm and caring he exuded that captured the hearts of those around him.

Tang was of the opinion that if a being spent an extended period of time around MK and still disliked him, then there had been no hope for them ever being a good person.

“Noodle boy!”

Tang smirked into his bowl. Speaking of spending an extended period of time around MK…

MK greeted Red Son enthusiastically, the demon’s reply much more sedate.

The scholar slowly ate his noodles as the unlikely pair conversed. Out of every enemy they faced, the son of the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan was the most likely to be caught in MK’s light.

He supposed that made sense, as he spent more time than any of their enemies interacting with the kid through their fights.

They complimented each other as well. Both were always enthusiastic about whatever they did. MK let himself be pulled along by his heart and emotions while Red Son kept himself grounded with his more logical approaches.

Like himself and Pigsy, the exact relationship between the two seemed to be determined by a toss of a coin. Some of the time they were simply best friends. Other times they were kidnapping each other in the traditional demon equivalent of a marriage proposal.

He would never say it to their faces, but he found the pair cute together regardless of the exact relationship they had.

“I’ll be back later,” MK called out as Red Son pulled him from the shop. “Bye Dadsy! Bye Dad!”

Tang choked on his food.

He quickly placed his bowl down and stared wide-eyed at the closing door. He turned to the chef who had an equally surprised expression. Pigsy and him were the only other ones in the shop at the moment. So that must mean-

“Did he just call us…?” Tang let the question trail off, unsure of what he actually had heard and desperately hoping he wasn’t wrong.

“Dadsy and Dad? Yeah. Yeah he did,” Pigsy answered as a wide grin grew on his face.

Oh. So he had heard correctly.

Love, strong and warm and bright, welled up inside of Tang. His smile was equally as big as the chef’s and he had to remove his glasses to wipe away a few tears.

MK had the brightest personality Tang had ever known. One he was in awe of.

He would do his absolute best to be a good father for MK if that’s what he wanted.

Isn’t that what all the best dads did for their sons?

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D'awww! Wasn’t that just so sweet? Next chapter won’t be as fluffy but I would still consider it a bit of filler. Until then!

[unmaskedagain]

Mean Queens

            This was for a prompt I mentioned earlier today. I decided to test my hand at Loyal!Alya fic to see how it plays out. Hope you like it.

           Marinette had officially been exiled to the back of the class and excommunicated. Lila and most of the class had been waiting for Marinette to arrive; each with cold looks on their faces. The bluenette had looked for Alya, hoping her bestie could tell her what was going on. But there was no sign of the glasses-wearing girl yet. So she had tried to catch Adrien’s eye but he had refused to make eye contact.

           Then it all came out.

           The class accused her of being a mean and horrible to Lila since the day the Italian girl came to class. Nino told her she’d become even worse of a bully than Chloe. Alix had called her a jealous bitch. Most of the class agreed. Even Sabrina who usually followed around the blonde Queen Bee now clung to the coattails of the newest golden ticket.

           The end result? They weren’t going to be her friends anymore.

“Cool,” Marinette had shrugged and took her seat in the back.

           Chloe got to class just as it happened, took one look around, snorted, and joined Marinette in back; claiming the left seat next to her. She knew the difference between diamonds and fools’ gold. And diamonds are a girls’ best friend.

           Alya arrived not long after. She had been late on purpose. The entire weekend, the class minus two (Marinette and Chloe) had been firing messages back and forth in a group chat about Marinette. It had started Friday after school. Nearly everyone had bashed their once favorite bluenette while Alya had been the only one to defend her. Adrien just said he wanted to stay out of it. Things took a dark turn when Alix admitted and joked to tripping Marinette as revenge. Then Mylene admitting that spilling coffee all over Marinette’s sketchbook hadn’t been an accident. It got worse from there. However, they all claimed it was in defense of Lila. Alya was left stunned. Nothing Marinette could’ve done deserved any of what they did. How could she be so blind as to not see that the so-called “accidents” weren’t accidents at all.

           No matter what Lila said, Alya just couldn’t believe Marinette was capable of such things. She had known the girl far too long. And honestly, she was a little surprised the kids who she knew had known Marinette since like pre-k and then suddenly they could think the worse of the so-called “Everyday Ladybug”.

           To make it worse, the things they said about Marinette were terrible and just mean. The girl who had done so much for them deserved better. So Alya kept fighting for her friend, trying to convince her friends that something wasn’t right. Maybe Lila was a bit confused or something.

           But they wouldn’t listen.

           Then Alya thought maybe if she could get Marinette to realize how amazing Lila was then everything would be fine. She just needed to show Marinette proof.

           …There was none.

           There was literally no evidence backing up any of Lila’s stories. Not even the ones about her mom being an ambassador. The only real information about anything fantastic the Italian girl did came from the Ladyblog. And Alya had deleted that video within seconds upon the realization that Lila hadn’t been telling the truth.

           Alya didn’t hesitate to create another group chat about trying to explain that maybe something was a bit fishy about Lila. She spent most of Saturday just trying to get them to listen to her. But she just got accused of being biased. Even Nino had blatantly told her that she was too close to Marinette to see what she was really like.

Was this how Marinette felt, she had found herself wondering.

“Can you prove she doesn’t actually know Ladybug?” The words tasted sour in Alya’s mouth. The more she thought about them, the worst the taste and feeling in her stomach got. Though she had remained silent the look Marinette had given Alya was like the bluenette was questioning her sanity. Or maybe her intelligence.

           Because Alya was officially questioning both about herself.

           Of course, Marinette could prove Lila didn’t know Ladybug! She was the one who originally helped Alya get her first big interview with the hero.

           And when Alya realized (remembered) that, she also remembered that fact Marinette knew Jagged Stone very well and could easily dispute Lila’s cat and plane story. Her bestie also knew Clara Nightingale and managed to become friends with the superstar; there was no way Marinette wouldn’t ask the singer if she knew Lila Rossi. She probably already had. And the answer was probably no.

           Alya pinched her nose to fight the urge to slap herself. The idea that Clara Nightingale stole Lila’s dance moves was obviously a ridiculous lie; one she had eaten up.

           By Sunday morning, Lila had subtly hinted that her classmates’ chances of meeting all the celebrities she knew and the opportunities they stood a chance for were decreasing. Or as Lila texted:

No one wants to be associated with a bully. (sad emoji)

I’d hate it if people thought you were one too.

They’d never work with you then.

           That was all it took for the class to agree to drop Marinette like a hot potato.

           And that was the final nail in the coffin as far as Alya was concerned.

           She was at Marinette less than half an hour later. Alya apologized for not believing Marinette about Lila. She had taken off her glasses when she began to cry. She handed her phone over, and let Marinette read the group texts. The hurt that flashed over the Asian’s girl face nearly broke Alya’s heart.

“You’re my best friend,” Alya had stated firmly. “I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve had your back. I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

           Marinette wiped tears from her face. “You had my back when it counted the most.” A cold look appeared on her face. “Tomorrow, we’ll find out who’s really my friend.”

           Alya agreed but wanted to point out that friends didn’t do what they did. She couldn’t stop herself from remembering all the nasty words and mean jokes they made about her bestie. “Okay, but then we get revenge.”

“Nothing to mean.”

“No promises.”

           Alya looked at the faces of the kids who she was once her friends; to be clear, they weren’t anymore. She couldn’t trust them. If they could turn on someone like as awesome Marinette for a few sickly sweet promises and false tears, then they’d drop Alya, who could admit to herself she wasn’t nearly as nice as the bluenette, in a hot second.

           She didn’t bother saying good morning to them. Alya shook her head and promptly walked to the back of the class and sat in the right (in more ways than one) desk next to Marinette’s. To her credit, Alya didn’t blink twice at Chloe’s new chosen seat; as she far she was concerned Marinette needed all the friends she could get.

Alya crossed her arms and glared at the class. A cold fury filling her. Still, she gave her ex-friends, Nino (her soon to ex-boyfriend), Lila a small smile and a chuckle, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

           There would be hell to pay for they did her best friend. This wasn’t war. No, War meant the ingrates in her class actually stood a chance. They didn’t. It was Marinette, Alya, and Chloe versus everyone else. This was a war, it was an execution.

           First thing first was they had to plan.

           After school, the three girls met up at Marinette’s.

“No matter more being a doormat, Dupain… Marinette,” Chloe corrected at the last second.

           Marinette frowned, “I’m not a doormat.”

“You kind of are girl,” Alya said, despite the part of herself that hated agreeing with Chloe. They were on the same side, she reminded herself, the same team. “You’re are constantly running around to help everyone. You’re constantly doing favors; handing out free custom design clothes, banners, food, the works. And they treat you like dirt. They’ve been treating you like dirt, and yet you still help. It’s not right. I never thought it was.”

At first, Alya hadn’t said anything because she was too new and didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. But she should’ve.

“It has to stop,” Alya continued. “They’re not your friends anymore; you don’t owe anyone anything. Even if they were; your designs are way too badass to be giving them away for free.”

           Marinette nodded. She could agree to that

           Chloe put a hand on her hip, “The three of us are the most formidable girls in class; possibly the entire school. Outside of class, most of the school loved Mariette; the artists, the geeks, the fashion club, bakers’ club. Thanks to the Ladyblog, Alya is the most known girl at school; people trust her because Ladybug trusts her. Me? I’m the richest girl in school and I throw the best parties; the elite follows me because they have no choice, and the popular because they don’t want to risk not getting an invite. As hot and as smart as we are, we are ruling that hellhole. You know what our problem is?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Marinette’s too nice. I’m too bossy. Alya’s too stubborn.”

           It wasn’t the first time or the millionth that someone calls Alya stubborn. “We need to work as a unit; they come at one of us, they come at all of us. Lila isn’t done yet.”

“She lied her way to the top,” Marinette said. “As long as she thinks I’m any kind of threat to her, she won’t stop.

           Chloe nodded, “Mostly because of the tops a long way from the bottom and it’s her social status, her reputation, everything she got since she came to school that’s on the line. The fall will kill her;”

“Then let’s make sure she takes our ex-friends with her,” Alya said darkly. “We got nowhere being nice and honest. Lets’ try mean and ruthless.”

           Marinette wanted to protest but the texts from her so-called friends still tore at her. They had said so many hurtful things; about Marinette, her designs, her parents’ bakery. It was terrible. “What do you have in mind?”

           Alya smirked, “We’re going full scorched earth.”

           Revenge is a dish best served cold.

           They let the class think they were safe; let the worry of any potential consequences slowly fade from their minds. It took weeks before their ex-friends would stop reading themselves for an attack whenever Chloe, Alya, or even Marinette entered the room. And during those weeks, the girls assembled their powerbases; slowly but surely, they took their rightful places at the top of the social hierarchy.

           A few of the so-called Queen Bee of the school took afront of this and did their best to sabotage each other

           But what none of the other social climbers expected was for the three to combine their forces. Marinette, Chloe, and Alya were cold and merciless in defense of their new positions; each one using their own unique still to remove or outright destroy their competition and anyone else that got in their way.

           However, it was until Olivia Knight, the former most popular girl in school, popularity fell to just above the Goth kids that people finally got the message.

           There were Three new queens in their school. Call them the Lannisters, Call them the Tyrells, or the Baratheons’; whatever However the message was the same. The Queens would do anything it took to keep their thrones.

           Two months; nine parties, one school election, a dance (where Chloe was elected Queen) and joining seven clubs between them Marinette: Fashion and Art. Alya: Track and Comic Book Club. Chloe: Mathletes and Drama. Finally, all three joined the World Travels’ Club. That way they had a foot in with the nerds, jocks, the geeks, the loners, the goths, and (by way of throwing awesome parties) the popular kids. And Marinette, Chloe, and Alya were officially the most popular girls in school.

           Marinette and Alya were surprised to learn the kids from Bustier’s class were lower on the overall school’s popularity scale than the creepy loner kid that hangs out behind the gym and smokes. They only really hung out with each other and seemed to have more problems than any other class in school. The main idea seemed to be that Bustier’s class was black hole no one ever managed to crawl out of until Alya, Chloe, and Marinette surfaced. Or a budding cult. Now that they had broken free, the three could see how they had gotten that idea.

           When they were in class, it was like they were in their own world. They were all in high school now but most still acted as they did on their first days of middle school. It was like they refused to grow up, mature mentally and emotionally. Bustier never seemed to mind.

           She was a hindrance. She blamed the victim and protected the bullies.

           It was why Bustier had to go.

           Getting Bustier fired was remarkable easy. A week’s work of videos of what life was life every day in her class, and she was gone.

           A substitute didn’t come to replace her. No someone (Chloe) had leaned on Damocles hard to get the entire class split up until a permanent one could be found. Thus they were in for a hard lesson.

           The first? Who really ruled the school?

           The best part was for that ditch the girls were planning on leaving their ex-friends in, those morons brought the shovel themselves.

           It took a few days for Bustier’s class to settled into their classes and schedule but once they did, they immediately tried to go back to their old ways.

           The teachers shut down most of it; making it clear they would NOT be tolerating any crap.

           Still, that didn’t stop everyone.

           Bustier’s students, as they would be known by the students and teachers, yelled out they’re answered, frequently disrupted the class, argued loudly with each other.

           Lila tried to spin her stories again but Marinette and Alya already spread the truth about how much of a liar she was so one bought anything she said. Most just ignored her. Lila didn’t like that. She thrived off attention. No attention meant Akumas. Unfortunately, this just caused Lila to look even more immature than she already did.

           When Alix “accidentally” tripped Marinette. Marinette let herself fall, crash, and spill all her school supplies. Alix and Mylene snickered.

           Aurore who had witnessed the event didn’t hesitate to call them out, drawing the attention of the other students. They saw Marinette on the floor, Alix and Mylene laughing and came to the correct conclusion. Marinette’s new friends rushed to help her, glaring viciously at the two girls while she did so.

           Word spread quickly. And then Alya “accidentally” let it slip about the mean texts about Marinette. And then Chloe “accidentally” revealed all of the classes’ dirty little secrets; things that had only be known by Bustier’s students. Rumors flew.

           It wasn’t long before most of the student body would rather be seen with the creepy loner smoker kid than with any of Bustier’s students.

            No one realized just how true that statement was until Marinette announced yet another fantastic party. Chloe, Marinette, and Alya had become known for them.

           …This party was different.

           Usually, it was a mass invite; welcoming anyone and everyone.

           This party was an invitation-only which was strange because it seemed like everyone in school was invited. Until they got to the party that Friday night and realized just who wasn’t.

           Bustier’s students.

           It was the worse sentence the Queen could’ve delivered to their ex-friends. It wasn’t just a drop on the popularity scale. It wasn’t social exile. The message was clear; Marinette, Chloe, and Alya would not tolerate their ex-friends whatsoever.

           No one wanted to get on the girls’ bad side. No one would even consider risking it. No one wanted to be the next Olivia Knight. Olivia who never fully recovered her reputation or her social status; most of her old friends wouldn’t even speak to her anymore. They were not about to put their necks on the line for losers Bustier’s class.

           They’d only lose their heads.

           The (Demon) Queens of school decreed it, by next Monday, the students of Bustier’s class would be deleted.

           And yet that still wouldn’t be enough for them.

           As far as they were concerned they were only just getting started.

           Move over Heathers, Plastics, the Queens have arrived.

[op-sheepy]

6. dark law, 19. Davy Back, 36. the whimsical captain trafalgar law, 55. marine pet AU!

 Oh, good eye. Those are some of my favorites.. Here is another long one under the cut. Also sorry for the late response. :D

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6. Dark Law

Essentially my take (one of them at least) on what would have happened had Corazon not taken Law from the Donquixote pirates but left anyway when he thought Law had ratted him out.

Some details regarding this:

Rocinante returns to the marines and was able to submit the intelligence he'd gathered. This doesn't do much except inconvenience Doflamingo, as already acknowledged during Law and Doffy's fight.

Vergo gets discovered so he just goes back to the family.

Law does not eat the Ope Ope no mi since Doflamingo never intended for him to. At least, initially.

Because, I'm assuming, not everyone can perform the "Perennial Youth Operation," as it was stated they needed to be 'wise' or 'knowledgeable' and being a doctor does not really automatically equal that, Doflamingo had to kill the users he had chosen when none of them could do it so the fruit could go back to the circulation and he could feed it to the next potentially qualified person he could find.

Law's Amber Lead Syndrome got healed by one of these users though it was only because Law, himself, taught them how to (being familiar with the disease through his father's research as well being a good doctor)

Eventually, everyone realizes that Law is actually the most suited to wield the fruit (all the other smart doctors either having a fruit already or are simply inaccessible), certain that Law would be able to figure out how to do the ultimate technique. So, reluctantly, because he does care in his twisted conditional way, Doflamingo gives the Ope Ope no Mi to Law.

Law at this point had been raised as Doffy's right hand, all according to his plan. While he truly considers Law family and might genuinely regret making him give up his life, Doffy would still ask it from him because there is nothing more important than Doflamingo and his goals. A sentiment that almost everyone in his family considers true.

And Law... well...

Doflamingo rested both hands on Law's shoulders. His tinted glasses peering down, voice heavy with regret, "I wish there was another way."

Law's face remained impassive only broken by a small wistful twitch of his lips. It almost looked like a smile. He grasped Doflamingo's arm and directed him towards the operating table.

"You have taught me many lessons one of which was the futility of wishing for better circumstances." Law seated him and prepared his equipment.

"You taught me to take advantage of any situation by using whatever it is at my disposal." Carefully, he opened a package of sterile gloves. It wasn't really needed but the ritual of opening the pack and putting the gloves on one hand at a time always helped settle his nerves.

"I had expected you to do the same so I'd been prepared for this even before you gave me the fruit." Law lifted his eyes as he slid the first glove in place. "Don't feel too bad. I really am grateful for everything you've done for me. This is just me returning the favor."

He slid the other glove and stretched it over his hand. Softly, almost a whisper, without taking his eyes off his would-be patient, "I wish there was another way too." The snap that followed the release of the glove was too loud in the small operating room.

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19. Davy Back

Early Heart Pirates stuff. And another workaround for writing with at least one of the nameless Heart Pirates.

A Davy Back Fight is initiated for an abused crew member of the opposing crew because Penguin couldn't help himself. The rules are a work in progress, hence this fic's state in limbo.

I really like writing about how these guys were when starting out. They probably looked too adorable, to be honest, so in the harsh North Blue they must have had a hard time getting treated seriously. Not that that would have bothered them (I honestly think they exploited it a lot.)

The enemy captain stared intently at each Heart Pirate then at the list of members given to him. The man didn't bother controlling the upward curl of his mouth.

"No powers. No weapons. Sumo wrestling with your navigator and hand-to-hand combat with your doctor."

Shachi choked and struggled a little bit to get his breathing back to normal. He waved away Penguin's hands patting his back. The pats were a little too harsh, clearly an admonishment if the accompanying glare was anything to go by.

Penguin almost felt sorry for whoever it was being matched against Law. Bepo, while just as incensed by the other crew, was way too conscious of controlling his strength to ever really hurt anyone too badly. The captain, on the other hand, could turn someone into a useless writhing lump of agony by systematically dislocating joints Penguin hadn't even known could be dislocated. Gruesome as severed body parts looked, the powers could at least make it painless.

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36. The Whimsical Captain Trafalgar Law

More Heart Pirates stuff though would feature some of the allied crews as well. This is actually a series/multi-chaptered (or would be).

A Heart Pirates adventure fic where they all go along with their captain's whims all while trying to figure him out. His crew is so used to it they barely even flinch anymore.

Not to say they understand him because who knows what goes inside their captain's head. In fact, they debate that sometimes (a lot of times) the crew being divided among those who think Law has got a plan and those who think he's winging it (often switching really).

"You can't possibly tell me there's some sort of plan behind this."

More than half of the crew looked a bit skeptical, the rest looked defensive.

Clione held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'll follow the captain wherever same as you. But you gotta admit that there isn't always a method to his madness. He really does do things on a whim."

"I disagree. The captain's just saying that but he knows what he's doing. Pretty sure there's a reason behind all his actions..." Protests started, so Penguin amended, "...that isn't just him being a bastard on purpose because he hates someone. Which is a pretty valid reason since we are pirates."

"How about that time we raided the flour factory?" Ikkaku asked.

Penguin's reply came immediately. "Discreet incendiary." A beat. "...also he hates bread."

Before they could celebrate, Shachi interrupted, "His dislike of bread counts as a reason and since it's incidental it doesn't count as a whim."

With narrowed eyes, Clione tried again. "The monastery? Dressing up as monks."

"Medicinal plant in the courtyard bred by this one priest."

"Marineford?"

"Allowed us to get intel and allies."

"And the emergency operations without anesthesia?"

"Possible drug interaction. Emporio Ivankov and their hormone powers."

So continued their back and forth. By the end of it, Penguin and Shachi looked way too smug. Truthfully, they both agreed Law was more impulsive than he let on, often unaware of it himself. But they knew the man they chose to follow always had a plan and purpose (though not necessarily present at the start, but semantics)

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55. Marine Pet AU

Haha... Another one of those difficult to explain ones. Starring the Marines (particularly the original three admirals and Sengoku), and the Shichibukai.

Uhm... So everything's the same except the Shichibukai aren't pirates. They're animals. That's it.

It starts with a wayward flamingo wearing eyewear harassing officers near one of their HQs. Also the Marines need to improve their public image. For some reason, the best they came up with is to get a mascot. Hitting two birds with one stone. (Except they can't really hit the bird. They tried)

So the Marines build a zoo or a habitat. Here are the only types of pirates the World Government can tolerate. Aren't they cute and fluffy?

The public eat it all up. It's popular so now they have to commit. And really, these animals become so important their safety and wellbeing become the higher-ups' problem.

Kizaru is having fun. Aokiji is resigned. Akainu tries (he doesn't quite know what but he'll do what's best for the Marines even if that's getting that damn flamingo away from the reptile enclosure for the tenth time that week on a Tuesday.)

Will feature other marines as well as all of the Shichibukai. All of them.

He checked the schedule and sighed deeply.

Boa, Doflamingo, Mihawk.

He had the most troublesome ones. Briefly, he contemplated just letting his subordinates handle them but quickly scrapped the idea.

He wouldn't say these animals were attached to him and the other admirals but they got more difficult to handle the lower the rank as though these creatures' egos get ruffled. It wasn't a matter of ability. It was perhaps more accurate to say that they had respect. A modicum of it.

It should be Boa's feeding time. Another sigh escaped him as he headed towards the grooming room, a room specifically made to groom Boa's food.

It took them a while to figure out the snake's preferred diet but they found it out when a stray kitten had snuck in and Boa swooped in to swallow it whole. From there they determined that she would only eat cute animals--any less adorable and she doesn't even look at it. So puppies and kittens. And maybe bunny rabbits. Which was bad from a PR perspective so they've taken to grooming rats. Put a nice lovely ribbon and brushed them so they're all fluffy.

He entered the grooming room and one of the officers assigned there took a quick look at him, glanced down the rat they were grooming, then burst to tears (they tended to get attached.) He pressed his hand to his head letting the ice cool down his budding headache. Why couldn't he have gotten Jinbe?

Thank you for playing. :)

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 25

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 4.2k

; Warnings: Drunken behaviour

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is a fun chapter and I hope you all enjoy it too :D please let me know what you thought in the comments and reblog it so others can read it too!

; Flower Masterpost

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“Aren’t you bothered that he’s over there and not with you?” Jungkook asks, pointing over to the bar where Hoseok is currently standing and having what appears to be a very serious conversation with Namjoon, Eden and Jimin. Though given how tipsy he had been half an hour ago, you weren’t sure whether it was ‘meaning of life’ serious or ‘were all the children on Barney on drugs’ serious. 

Smiling, you shake your head and take a sip of your Coke that you’ve been nursing for an hour now. “I’m his girlfriend, not his keeper. Besides, it’s his birthday. He can spend it wherever and with whoever he wants.” 

“Very nice of you.” The younger man mumbles and you note the way he keeps shyly looking over at Soyeon, currently sitting opposite you in the booth you’d all situated yourselves in upon arriving. There were too many of you all now with Hoseok’s friends combined with you, Chungha and Soyeon, so they were also sprawled onto a table next to you.

“I’m just saying, but you’d both make a great couple.” The words whisper light against Jungkook’s ear and he shivers slightly as your breath tickles the small hairs of his neck. But he doesn’t say anything in response, instead just setting his jaw before looking back at his bottle of beer.

You’re not sure why you suddenly got bold enough to tell him that, but you were always braver when it came to helping your friends. On your own, you hated talking on the phone but if they needed you to talk on the phone for them then god dammit you’d do it.

Still though, you decide not to push it any further. You’ve said your peace and indicated to him that not only do you think they’d work well together, but also that you would most definitely approve if they decided to actually try out a relationship. The thought of it was quite exciting and you wondered if this was how Chungha and Soyeon had felt when you’d started dating Hoseok.

Leaning back, you casually listened in to the conversation that Chungha, her girlfriend Dahyun, Soyeon, Yoongi and Amelia were all having while Jungkook occasionally added his input. He was a naturally quieter guy, like you, which meant you both ended up simply observing for a lot of the time. Though you were even quieter than him as you weren’t drinking unlike everyone else.

From the glazed look in Chungha’s eyes, she was well on her way to being inebriated and you wondered whether it was the glass of white wine in her hand that was doing it or the two double Southern Comfort and lemonade’s that she’d practically inhaled earlier. Dahyun didn’t look much better and you chuckled as she struggled to get out a word, tripping over her own tongue as she slurred.

Amelia was also sober, due to her normal baby duties outside of this event, and you were pleased that she’d finally been able to come out for something. She’d told you earlier that the baby was being looked after by her sister for the evening, meaning this was the first time that Namjoon and her had been able to socialise like this with their friends in months.

You were pleased that she’d come for Hoseok’s birthday and as you looked over all his friends that were dotted around the room in his favourite bar, you felt a warm happiness swell in your chest at the knowledge they’d all come out for him. You couldn’t imagine being this cosy with this many people like he was but you’d long ago recognised that you were both different people with different needs.

So while you’d inevitably grow bored and tired of being around so many people in...okay well you were already there really, you knew that Hoseok would happily keep going until the early hours of the morning. And he’d made his intentions of getting absolutely fucked earlier in the day to you after he’d opened his presents.

Your vinyl player had gone down very well thankfully and he’d been ecstatic about it, desperate to begin playing some of the many records he’d already been gifted from his family and friends. Along with that, he’d begun drinking at noon with a bottle of special ale that he’d been given by Seokjin and had declared that for the first time in almost a year, he was going to get absolutely wrecked tonight.

The idea of that was horrible to you, someone who hated drinking, but you knew he didn’t let loose like this anymore. So you were more than happy to watch him drink himself into blissful happiness, surrounded by his beloved friends before driving him home later when he was probably too drunk to walk straight.

You were just very thankful that he didn’t do this often as you weren’t sure you could handle it.

“You should go to England, it’s great with a lot of history and beautiful landscapes outside of London. Plus, you can travel to Europe really easily as it’s so damn cheap. I mean, they can take a train to Paris! What the fuck?” Yoongi says, his voice a tone higher than it’s normal deep and rumbling level. 

Laughing quietly, you watch as Chungha nods in an overexaggerated manner before pointing at Yoongi to make a point. Only she’s completely off and is instead pointing out towards the bar. Smiling, you gently take her hand and move it to the correct position and snicker when she doesn’t even realise you’ve done it.

“Right?! I mean...I mean a train! To another country! Like...woaaah. It’s crazy. Can you imagine? Do they have planes over there? Or is it all trains and stuff?” Dahyun gasps at Chungha’s slurred questions and you bite your lip in amusement, rolling your eyes at your best friend’s drunken ramblings.

“Chungha, you know they have planes. You flew from Greece to Italy, remember?” There’s a really blank expression on her face for a moment before realisation hits and she ooh’s loudly, excitedly waving her hands in front of her face.

“Oh my god! Yes! I did! Oh, Greece was so pretty. So...so blue. Pretty.” Jungkook is the one to snort this time and you look at him, raising your brows in question but he just shakes his head, a small smile dancing on his lips.

Finally, you decide to get involved with the conversations, leaning forward so that they can hear you better. “I’ve never even been out of the country before. Hoseok’s been to England though, some metal festival or something.”

“Yeah! That’s the trip I went on. We went to Download Festival and travelled around the UK after that. Went to Wales and Scotland too to get the full experience but we couldn’t get to Northern Ireland in time. Sucks, I wanted to see those big stone thingies in the sea. Man, Hoseok got seriously fucked at Download though. Like, he got into a drinking competition with these guys from the UK in the tent next to us and they absolutely destroyed him. He was vomiting everywhere all night.” Your brows rise at that, looking over at your boyfriend where he’s stood at the bar.

Well, he hadn’t told you that. Made himself sound far more cooler than what Yoongi had just told you.

“I thought he could hold his drink?” You ask, though you’re wondering about that as you watch him down another glass of beer. He’d never got so drunk that he’d vomited around you yet, but given his history you wouldn’t put it past him.

"He can, to a degree. But he was mixing all kinds of alcohol that day and it just...was bad. They thought it was hilarious. Hoseok did not enjoy the next day as he still went to the stages and watched the bands. Idiot almost got a migraine."  Despite his words, there’s an incredibly fond look on Yoongi’s face and you note that he’s probably not quite as drunk as you’d initially thought.

Soyeon snorts with laughter and you look at her with a frown before noting the way she nods with her head towards your side with an amused smile. Glancing over, you realise that Jungkook has left and your boyfriend has taken his place. 

There's a glassy look to his eyes that tells you he's a bit drunker than before and you wonder what Jimin had been giving him at the bar. The mischief maker, who you'd been well warned about by both your boyfriend and his friends, had sworn to make sure Hoseok had a great night. Which evidently meant he had to get the birthday boy absolutely shitfaced.

Hoseok feels overwhelmingly warm as he leans a little too heavily against you, his face having gone incredibly red from the alcohol he’d spent the day consuming. But as soon as you look at him, he gives you what you presume is meant to be a charming smile but instead makes it just look like he has wind.

And then he blinks really hard, causing you to tilt your head at him in confusion. He does it again before blowing you a rather sluggish kiss and you realise what he’s doing with a snort, holding your hand against your mouth.

“Baby, you’re not winking at me. You’re just blinking very hard.” The smooth skin of his forehead wrinkles immediately as he obviously thinks about what you’ve just said before he tries again, getting the same result. And then he purposefully holds one eye open with his fingers, causing you to laugh even harder as you take his hand to stop him from potentially hurting himself.

“Oh my god, please stop." Reaching out, you playfully cover his face with your hand and giggle when he simply flops his head into your palm, eyes closing with a ridiculously loud sigh. It was just after 1am and you were a little surprised he seemed to be flagging already.

Then again, you remembered that he'd been drinking in some form since noon now. The fact he could barely hold his head up right now was possibly the least surprising thing you'd heard all night.

“Are you okay?” Leaning closer to him, you make sure that he can hear you over the raucous talk and laughter of the other bar patrons and the music that’s blaring over the speakers. For a few seconds he doesn’t respond and you wonder whether he heard you, but then you see his face wrinkle and realise he was just taking that long to comprehend what you’d say to him.

“I’m not a baby.” He whines, bottom lip jutting out almost comically and you have to steel yourself to stop from laughing at him. Because he was certainly acting like one right now. But it also endeared you to him and you simply pushed at his lip till it was back in place. Each blink looks particularly slow and lethargic, telling you that he’s probably reached his limit.

“I didn’t say that but okay. Do you want to go home?” This time, you speak clearly into his ear as close as you can get. Almost immediately he makes a noise of protest, his shoulder coming up as he cringes from your voice being so close. ASMR always made him shrink away and you felt a little bad.

But he doesn’t start protesting wildly like some drunk people might, proclaiming himself to be perfectly fine and ready to troop on through the night while downing beer after beer. Instead, he stares blankly at the bottle in his hand for a minute or so, oblivious to the chatter of which 90s boy band was better before nodding slowly.

“‘M tired.” He sighs out and you watch closely as he lifts the bottle to his lips, about to take a sip before sighing and placing it back down on the table with an overly loud thunk. It makes some of them jump around the booth, their eyes widening in drunken surprise and you give them all a smile of apology.

“Here, enjoy this,” You say to Yoongi, hanging him the beer that Hoseok has rejected. There’s no point in letting it go to waste when there’s someone more than willing to have it. “Birthday boy is done for the night it would seem.”

That makes everyone pause, all of their gazes moving to your boyfriend. Hoseok doesn’t notice them, though you’re not sure he notices anything really given how it looks like he’s about to fall asleep right there. Chungha pouts dramatically and holds her arms out, wanting a hug from you which you give her with a laugh.

Looking over at the others, who are slightly more sober, you give them a stern face. “Please make sure she doesn’t drink too much and gets home okay.”

“She’ll be fine.” Soyeon says and you realise she’s the closest thing to sober on the table outside of Amelia. It even looks like she has a big glass of water to keep her going too and you give her a relieved smile before gently persuading Hoseok to leave the booth. He wavers dangerously on his feet, once standing, trying to get his balance before staggering off with his weight leaning heavily on you.

“God, you’re much heavier when drunk.” You mutter, shifting yourself to cope better with the dead weight of his arm on you. There’s a brief pause by the bar to say goodbye to everyone else, and you’re not surprised when no one protests you leaving when they see how far gone Hoseok is now, before you successfully manage to navigate out of the busy bar and onto the street.

Your car was in the nearby parking lot and what had been a two minute walk ended up being ten minutes with Hoseok walking at a snail’s pace. Though that was because he’d almost fallen over about three times. He was surprisingly quiet though, which you found odd as he was pretty loud and boisterous when tipsy.

Not a single word leaves his mouth until he’s slouched in the passenger seat of your car with his seatbelt finally secured, looking very much like the drunk person he was with his limbs placed wherever they’d happened to land. His head rolls back on his shoulders until it thumps against the window, letting him look at you as you fasten your own seat belt and turn the key in the ignition.

“‘Luff you.” He mumbles, the words slurred but still audible to you over the quiet noise of the car engine. Glancing over at him, you can’t help but smile as your heart squeezes at the sight of him. His eyes are beyond glassy now, so unfocused and yet it’s almost like he’s looking at you with his own heart. Hoseok is not only a quiet drunk, but a sappy drunk too apparently.

The speakers kick to life as it connects to Spotify on your phone and you cringe slightly as Metallica starts playing. You’d let him pick the playlist for the night and now you were going to have to suffer for the rest of the journey home as you’d already started driving.

Hoseok is so quiet on the trip back that you keep panicking, looking over to make sure he’s okay only to be met with his blank, impassive stare. Though you think it’s probably only blank because thinking is likely too hard at the moment. It makes you want to giggle at the thought but you don’t, biting your lip to stop yourself.

“You’re pretty,” Glancing at him quickly, you note the way his hand is wavering as he attempts to touch your cheek, only his aim is wildly off and you make a noise of protest as he instead bops you on the nose. It doesn’t deter him though and for the sake of driving safely, you take his hand and press it to your cheek instead. “So pretty. Love you.”

“Okay Hobi, I get it. Thank you. Now, please stop poking my face while I’m driving, okay? You can touch my face all you want when we get home.” You ask him, giving him a persuasive look before taking his hand and squeezing it before placing it back on his lap. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue but he quietens down again, slouching and you’re not sure you’ve ever loved him more than in this moment weirdly.

The rest of the journey is much easier and you pack up outside your apartment building with ease, Hoseok’s car next to your own. Getting him to your apartment is a bit of an issue given he doesn’t appear to have really sobered up any since leaving the bar and you have to cajole him into getting back up when he slides down the wall of the elevator, giggling to himself as he sits. It’s only with the promise of cuddles and Kasumi that he finally gets back up and staggers down the hall to your door.

“God, I really hope I don’t have to do this too much.” You mutter as you get him inside, watching as he toes off his shoes while leaning heavily against the wall. As much as you love him, you hate dealing with drunk people because there’s just no reasoning with them sometimes. Thankfully, at least Hoseok appears to be an amenable drunk.

“Hello my baby! My little angel, oh hello chicken. My little Kasumi-pud, my beautiful girl. I’ve missed you! Aren’t you the cutest kitty?” Hoseok has become immediately distracted by the sight of Kasumi as she walks over to greet you both, the soft chirp causing Hoseok to explode into even more drunk nicknames that get increasingly ridiculous.

And then you curse as he gets a little over eager in his attempts to pet her, bending over instead of crouching and soon toppling onto the floor due to his lack of balance. Kasumi starts, her eyes wide and every inch of her primed to run before moving back over to Hoseok, sniffing his nose and mouth curiously as he simply giggles and strokes her in a surprisingly gentle motion.

“Hoseok! Come on, get up. I don’t want you to hurt yourself now.” You grumble, helping him to stand despite his protests at wanting to stroke his ‘ickle chicken’. Why he was calling her that, you had no idea.

You’re soon shown that Hoseok is even more of a handful once home as you turn around to take your own shoes off and hang up your coat because as soon as you’re back, you realise he’s gone. Eyes widening, you wonder where the fuck he went before you hear the shower turning on in the open bathroom door.

Rushing inside, you see Hoseok has half undressed himself and is standing in the shower, eyes closed as the water beats down on him. Only he’s still wearing his shirt and is only naked on the lower half, causing you to sigh and roll your eyes. 

“Hobi, come on. I don’t want you to get hurt or...drown or something.” Grasping his arm, you try to encourage him out of the shower without causing him any harm but he yanks his arm away in protest, a sound that he must assume is a word leaving his mouth before he goes to grab his shampoo.

“Fuck sake.” You mutter, realising he is not going to let you take him out of the shower. Fine, if he won’t leave then you’ll at least make sure he doesn’t drown himself. It takes a bit of encouragement to get him to take his soaked shirt off but you appease him by instead taking over the hard work of washing his hair and body for him. Why he’s so insistent on this you don’t know, until he mutters when you wash his arm.

“Icky. I’m icky. Stupid Sambuca.” It’s then that you realise his arm is ever so slightly sticky beneath the water. Someone evidently spilled Sambuca over his arm instead of actually drinking it, and your nose wrinkles at the thought of him going to bed stinking of aniseed, alcohol and being sticky.

Drunk Hoseok apparently makes the occasional good decision.

Once out, you manage to help him get a towel wrapped around his waist before he decides he wants to impale himself on his toothbrush. Brows rising as you watch him, you wonder if this is just general drunk Hoseok behaviour. He was a generally neat person normally but you don’t particularly remember anyone getting this drunk and demanding to be clean before bed.

Still though, you don’t want him to hurt himself so you carefully brush his teeth for him. And try not to notice the fact he’s giving you that sappy look once more. It’s not quite as cute when his mouth is full of toothpaste foam. Or maybe it’s even cuter given he’s evidently incapable of controlling his facial expressions.

After coaxing him to spit out what was in his mouth, and not swallow it like he’d almost seemed like he was going to, you finally get him to the bedroom where you make him sit on the bed. He does so pliantly, his lips pressed together in a content smile that makes his dimples show and causes him to look far younger and sweeter than the extensive tattoos on show do.

Brushing his hair for him, you press a kiss to his forehead before pointing at him with narrow eyes. “Stay here. Do not move. I’m going to get you a glass of water that I want you to drink and then we’ll dry you off and get you dressed, okay?”

His response is a nod, looking very much like a child with how eager it is and you snort in amusement before leaving to the kitchen. You’re probably gone a minute, if that, before heading back into the bathroom with a glass full of fresh water and pausing in the doorway at what you’re seeing.

Hoseok has not sat still like you’d told him. Instead, he’s stood up and is now completely naked. Only he apparently appears fascinated by the fact he has a penis and is too busy giggling to notice your arrival. 

Clearing your throat, you watch as he looks up with wide eyes. If you’d thought it was because he’d been caught doing...whatever he was doing, then you were wrong because instead he just gives you the brightest smile. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he proceeds to point down to his groin with excitement.

“Look! A helicopter!” And then he gyrates his hips until his dick swings in a circular motion, causing you to sigh so deeply that you’re not entirely sure if you haven’t just felt your soul leave your body. Taking a moment to yourself, you stare at the floor before looking up with a smile.

“That’s great Hoseok. Now please drink this while I get you dressed.” He pouts at your lack of reaction but you figure it’s probably the best route right now. Otherwise he might be encouraged by your laughter to do something even more silly. The last thing you need is for him to wake up having injured himself doing something stupid in your bedroom.

He takes the glass from you and begins to drink, the sound overly loud and exaggerated but you don’t question it as you make him lean against the wall, allowing you to get him into some boxers without him falling over and hurting himself. A shirt gets childish whines, apparently he’s too hot, but you finally get it on him and get him to sit back on the bed.

“I’m going to get you another glass. Please...just sit there, okay?” There’s no response this time and you wonder what he’s got upto this time when you head back to the bedroom, only to find silence greet you. 

Silence, because Hoseok has evidently decided it was time to sleep. He’d curled himself up under the covers, despite his insistence of being warm, on your side of the bed and appeared to be completely gone. Smiling fondly at him, you place the glass on the bedside table next to him before finding his phone from the jeans he’d thrown off in the bathroom and plugging it in to charge next to yours.

Thank god he’d taken these off before showering.

Going through your own nightly routine, you crawl into bed next to him on his side and sigh as his scent overwhelms you. Hoseok doesn’t move at all and you wonder how strong his hangover is going to be in the morning. Or if he’ll even remember anything that’s happened.

You’re definitely telling him about his dickcopter though. Chuckling to yourself finally at the memory, you shift forward till you can kiss his clothed shoulder fondly and get yourself into a more comfortable position.

His tattoos were never going to look intimidating ever again now.

[agentrouka-blog]

When Jon think about wanting winterfell and it's Lord he felt hunger which he later connect with ghost's hunger. Do you think that passage is implying something?

Hi anon!

I think the passage has many layers when it comes to symbolism and foreshadowing.

ASOS, Jon XII is a fun chapter. Jon’s been through a lot. His trip North of the wall left him traumatized and disillusioned in a way that’s hard to sum up. Anything he had hoped to be proud of in life was obliterated, he suffered serious injury, has been separated from ghost, learned that all his family are dead or missing, fought a viciously cruel battle, feels responsible for the death of his stockholm-syndromy abuser, was stripped of all respect and honor by his superiors, and he got to see a woman die in childbirth. Now Stannis and Mel are squatting at Castle Black, and the threat to the North keeps looming.

Life sucks. 

We’d been introduced to some options that were denied to him in life:

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on."

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. (ASOS, Jon V)

or

“If the boy shows any skill with sword or lance, he should have a place with your father’s household guard at the least,” Jon said. “It’s not unknown for bastards to be trained as squires and raised to knighthood. But you’d best be sure Gilly can play this game convincingly. From what you’ve told me of Lord Randyll, I doubt he would take kindly to being deceived.” (ASOS, Samwell IV)

One fails because of the seasons, the other was prevented by Catelyn. The Watch has been a soul-destroying nightmare, Ygritte’s offer of taking over a Tower “after” is not even worth a moment’s consideration to him. Every hope he ever had about his life has been disappointed. 

Jon’s just about sixteen and is completely done. Sam notes how much time Jon spends in the training yard, even though he’s injured and off-duty for the title of turncloak. He does not bother voting in the Lord Commander election. A maligned outcast again. Forever. 

The warg, I’ve heard them call me. How can I be a warg without a wolf, I ask you?” His mouth twisted. “I don’t even dream of Ghost anymore. All my dreams are of the crypts, of the stone kings on their thrones. Sometimes I hear Robb’s voice, and my father’s, as if they were at a feast. But there’s a wall between us, and I know that no place has been set for me.” (ASOS, Samwell IV

He is lonely. Even Ghost is gone, his one proof that he belongs to something.

Stannis alienates Jon by talking ill of Robb, but he offers Jon recognition for the things he did right, a rare thing, and then he offers him legitimization. Basically, “You proved your worth and you have the Right blood. All you ever wanted can be yours. For the small price of breaking your oaths for real and of your own volition and forsaking your gods.” Downright mephistophelian.

Jon is torn, can’t sleep, fights. For the first time he has a real choice. He remembers the traumatic incident where his bastardy became a true concept to him.

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.”

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he’d taken. (ASOS, Jon XII)

And Jon’s response is a near black-out rage against his sparring partner. All his suppressed feelings of grief and anger and longing and loneliness are just broiling inside him.

Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

Jon soaks in the hot tub and thinks of Winterfell, mulls restoring it versus not belonging and destroying its soul in the process

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods

The tree is almost described like a person. A person with Tully coloring, like all his siblings save Arya. Like Sansa. The hot springs in Winterfell have a potential link to his decision to join the Watch, or at the very least to his siblings in general. The castle of Winterfell is juxtaposed with the heart, with the purpose and point of it all. Save a structure by destroying what made it a meaningful place? Betray his family in his heart, the person whose castle is truly is, betray all his values and his gods?

He takes a walk past sites of all his recent experiences and North the Wall over the recent battle field and just sits to think. 

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. 

There’s an essay I could write about walls, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa (the sun to Arya’s moon) and how they all interact in the books, but let’s say just like this word play, the fact that Jon answers his own question is not an accident:

"Close your beak, crow. Spin yourself around, might be you'd find who you're looking for."

Jon turned.

The singer rose to his feet. (ASOS, Jon I)

The singer rose. Lyanna, his mother, the riddle. But also Sansa, who unwittingly took up her mantle. One unlocks his path to the other and everything that follows in his imagination:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

Jon paints a picture of recreating his own childhood with his wolf pack at Winterfell, only this time there are no outcasts, and he is the Father. He gets to be Ned. The Lord of Winterfell with a lady’s love. And a son, something he had, apparently, dreamed of until he stoppped. 

He has always wanted this thing that he has no right to and it filled him with a guilt strong enough to concern the gods. But he admits it to himself, lets himself truly feel it. The feeling flows through him the same way the rage did earlier. powerful and all encompassing. 

Like a dragonglass blade. There we have some lovely foreshadowing for a) potentiall the origin of the Others, b) Jon’s paternity, and c) his own death when his desire to abandon his vows and head to Winterfell is met with, you know, some blades. Not to mention d) his desire to have these things.

Each of these is answered by his primal hunger response. Which is of course, his connection to Ghost. The wolf he has so woefully said goodbye to, that he missed deeply and bitterly, chooses this moment to reappear. This moment where Jon returns to his own feelings, his true self.

a) the answer to the Others are the direwolves, the Starks, their magical connection to Winterfell and what happened way back when.

b) the answer to Jon’s paternity is a violent embrace of his mother’s side.

c) the answer to his own stabbing will be warging into Ghost and biding his time in there, becoming more wolf than he ever anticipated.

d) the answer to his heart’s desire...

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?” He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. “Ghost!” he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. “Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red suns. Arya’s wolf has golden coins (haggling for death, faceless men coins, spinning fates), Grey Wind has molten gold (like a crown that kills you). 

Jon’s wolf has red suns. Like the colors that the sun painted on the Wall. The direwolf in heart tree colors, inverted bastard colors of house Stark, Tully colors, Sansa colors. 

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

Not the red gods, not fire. The old gods. the heart tree, the wolves. He may be a Snow, but the old gods gave him Ghost. His own wolf. His white wolf. His place was made by their will. 

There is honor in that choice. No matter what anyone else says, Jon knows who he is and he has that power: to reject betraying his heart. 

How does this choice led by Ghost fit the layers?

a) The answer to the Others: don’t steal, don’t trick. Be honest. Accept what was painful. Not the Wall matters, the answer is in the heart tree.

b) The Dragon father does not Need to guide his decisions. He can let that go. He is a Snow.

c) Being in Ghost will lead him back to himself. Not fire, not Melisandre. The old gods.

d) Well... What does Jon want? What IS his answer?

Jon is filled with sudden energy. He strides back, rejects Val in his mind, stalks dramatically into the dining hall and is suddenly voted Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We close on this:

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.

Jon’s answer? We never hear it in this chapter. 

We hear it in ADWD, Jon I:

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." 

And ADWD, Jon IV:

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." 

The chapter is followed by? Sansa. Rebuilding Winterfell out of snow. 

When Jon lets go of pretense, honestly asks himself what he wants, shame or not, his wolf takes over and helps him find the answer and the path. The answer is not in taking the Castle and creating a mimicry of what it was, it is in honoring what it truly was and truly means. The heart over the structure. 

And in giving supremacy to the heart, to the red-white heart, he unknowingly paves the way for his own place: Winterfell built of Snow. He doesn’t have to steal the castle, he will be invited to belong.

That’s my own humble interpretation, anyway.

[deathisanartmetzli]

More Than Meets the Eye || Vic & Metzli

TIMING: Early August

PARTIES: @natusvincere @deathisanartmetzli

SUMMARY: Vic runs into Metzli and gets a lot more than just unwanted flirtation.

CONTAINS: Gore

As the final remnants of the sun dissipated, Metzli let out a soft sigh. It was a long day, a little too long for their liking, but it was finally over. Giving the place a final look, checking off each box on their nightly routine list, they heard a faint crack. Curiously, the crack seemed to echo. The sound of rock breaking apart likewise broke their concentration.

Following the sound, it led to the sculpture section of the gallery. Nothing seemed out of place in the slightest. Metzli walked through to make double sure, and when they found nothing, they headed back towards the front to grab their things.

Metzli was quick to swing the strap of their bag and engage their security system, doing it twice out of cautiousness. Their footsteps clacked against the tile floor, coming to a stop as they exited. The key slid in and an audible click sounded as the door locked. Pocketing their keys, their eyes caught sight of a rather beautiful woman. They smiled and thought maybe they could get lucky today. “Good evening, miss. How do you do? Lovely evening, is it not?”

The definitive worst thing about being a vampire (besides that annoying eternal life thing), was being forced to avoid the sun and it’s beauty at all costs.  Even in Vic’s worst days as a human, the sun had a way of adding both a literal and figurative brightness to her day, because even in the darkest of times, it always returned.  Now, without it, darkness loomed.  The quacks of the 21st century would say something about vitamin D deficiency.

The twilight of the late evening gave at least some sort of loophole from this problem, and it was when she found herself venturing out most when she wasn’t working.  The plus side, too, was that most people were too wrapped up in trying to get home to their families to even think about bothering her.  But fuck all, apparently she wouldn’t be so lucky tonight.

Vic usually lingered in her walks by art galleries, enjoying careful peaks inside if they were already closed for the night.  She had been planning on doing just that, too, until a person locking the door all but accosted her.  Her face instinctively formed into a scowl, automatically on the defence.  “I’m not your miss.  I am a grown woman”, she said.  At their second question, she looked the person up and down, a firm scowl still set, though morphing into one a bit more judgemental.  “Well, it was a good evening.  Do you need something, or can I continue on my walk?”

“My, my. You really know how to make a gentlethem swoon,” Metzli retorted with a chuckle. It wasn’t often that someone met them with such disgust within the first second. It usually took about ten, so this was a remarkable record. “I never claimed you as mine, but maybe just for the night you can be,” They flirted, horribly so. The fact that Vic had no interest only made them want to bother her more.

Metzli faced Vic fully now, hearing no heartbeat and gathering a familiar scent in their nose. They leaned onto the door and crossed their arms casually to take in Vic’s unrelenting visage. The sight only made them smile wider, revealing perfect white teeth. “Do you treat everyone with such charm, or is it only special people like me?” This was no longer about the art of flirting, but the art of annoying.

Just as Metzli opened their mouth to continue, another echoing and rocky crack resonated in their ears. This interruption made their head snap towards the glass doors, to peer inside. “Did you hear that?” Everything, the annoying and flirting, was out the window now. Something felt off. Something felt…sinister.

Vic stared stone faced at the person in front of her, blinking twice as she tried to decide exactly what about their interaction was so swoon-worthy.  She let out a huff, her stone face somehow becoming even more stern.  “I don’t belong to anyone, blobfish.  Especially not dense, odd-looking people like yourself.”  The lack of a heartbeat didn’t help either, though the fact that she didn’t think to automatically call a hunter on this person made her gut flutter uncomfortably.  Especially after hearing barely 3 sentences from them, it was already clear that they were relentlessly annoying.  Turning in a potential vampire should have been easy, but especially when they were as antagonistic as this person was.

“Can I tell you a secret?”, she asked, slapping on her famous fake charm for only a moment before turning it off in an instant. “There is nothing special about you.  Never was, never will be.  When I leave here, I will never think about you again, even though you’ll spend the rest of the month at least thinking about me. Now I’m only going to say this once, so make sure you turn on your listening ears.  Back. The fuck. Off.”

Just as she spoke the last of her threat, a loud, earthy rumble could be heard inside the gallery.  She turned to it, her eyebrows furrowed in investigation.  “Of course I heard it, stupid.  Did you accidentally leave someone in there with the merchandise?”  The sound rumbled closer rather quickly, and she forced herself to look back at the person in front of her.  “Don’t you work here?!  Shouldn’t you know what’s going on in your own place of employment?!”

Without a shadow of a doubt, Metzli knew they poked the bear thoroughly. Only, this was definitely a vampire bear with a vengeance against her own kind. Or maybe against amazing people flirting with her. They didn’t know, but they certainly knew she was way off base with the blob fish comment. “Whoa there. Blob fish? Fuck that. I’m attractive and you’re way too hot headed to acknowledge such decadence.” There was no malice in their tone, only a light joking one.

“Furthermore, while you have every right to turn down my advances, I don’t think I ever gave you a reason to be so…for the lack of a better term, bitchy towards me.” Metzli was mocking Vic, and it was obvious with the kind of voice they used. Layers upon layers of annoyance and sarcasm, molded together to serve in their words. Their toothy grin remained plastered on their face as they retrieved the keys from their pocket.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, gorgeous, I gotta ch—“ Something crashed into the door, breaking the glass and frame completely before Metzli could even put the key in the lock. “Fuck!” Glass sprayed everywhere as the two vampires were knocked to the ground by an unknown creature. It took a few moments, but Metzli managed to follow the trail of broken stone. Nothing but their eyes moved until they locked onto a grotesque and slobber-ridden chupacabra. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hm, you seem really eager to prove how attractive you are.  Am I sensing some deep-seated insecurity here?”  Vic blinked in surprise when she was called bitchy, tilting her head in offense.  “Ooh, I can see why you approach strangers on the street instead of using acceptable ways to find someone to validate you as a person with fake praise and sexual favors.  Your lack of tact explains a lot.  Having a hard time finding a first date, Honey?  Try not insulting people you’re trying to pick up.”   She wanted nothing more than to slap the grin off their face, but her words had the ability to cut deeper than any physical injury could muster.  

She was about to bite again at the pet name, seriously second guessing her decision not to figure out for sure if this person was a vampire like she thought, when she was thrown to the ground unexpectedly, glass shattering all around her.  Her eyes landed on a slimy, thin, reptilian creature, and she looked at Metzli with disgust.  “What the hell is that?!”

She stood up quickly, dusting herself off and not bothering to help her companion stand up.  Was the gallery doubling as some weird, supernatural breeding ground?  She didn’t have time to ask, because the creature was seemingly bounding toward them without hesitation, fast and slobbery and with nearly nothing stopping it.

Gathering their wits about them, Metzli dove towards the chupacabra, not hesitating to halt its path towards Vic. Though most people would mistake this as a heroic act, it was more showboating than anything. “It’s a fucking chupacabra, numbnuts!” They barked out the statement, struggling to hold the creature still. Thanks to living over a century, their strength was more than quintupled now, but even that wasn’t a total advantage here.

Metzli huffed as they threw the chupacabra to the side, hoisting it several feet away. “That was a sculpture before it was this. Someone must’ve donated it as a threat or because they’re stupid.” They thought out loud as they moved over to Vic. Survival was crucial here, and so was keeping a low profile. God knows what this would do to the gallery’s reputation. And a woman dying in front of it too? No, that wasn’t going to happen. Not on their watch.

The creature growled and shuffled around, trying to refocus and find its prey. With widened eyes, Metzli watched as the beast loomed closer, baring its teeth in a threatening show of dominance. They stepped back slowly, trying not to make any loud noises. The time to get out of dodge was now, and they knew they’d have to bring the aggressive woman with them if they wanted to protect their gallery’s image. Before bolting for a dark area nearby, they reached for Vic’s hand, and uttered a single word, “Run.”

It was highly offensive to be thrown to the ground and then be called a name within mere seconds.  Vic shot Metzli a look, one that was sure to let them know how incredibly displeased she was, before her eyes found their way back to the creature, trying to study it.  She certainly had never heard of a kookaburra in White Crest, but stranger things had happened.  “That’s not a bird, you imbecile.  It’s a lizard!”

With the creature momentarily disabled, Vic took the opportunity to stand up, backing behind the person she had determined was responsible for this whole mess, Metzli.  “You and your staff didn’t think of double checking the matter before you allowed the statue in your facility?” she asked incredulously, disgusted by the clear lack of customer service going on here.

At Metzli’s command, Vic took off immediately, pulling the other person with her and not taking a second to look back to see if they were being followed.  Even if Metzli had clearly gotten the name of this thing wrong, they seemed to have at least some knowledge of what it might be.  “What the fuck does it want?”, she asked as they ran, no more breathless than she’d been when they were standing still.  “How do we fucking get rid of it?”

Metzli practically rolled their eyes all the way back as Vic ridiculed them and their staff. “I told you, it was a statue! A full blown, marble statue! No movement, and no charms indicated a live creature resided in it!” Their words jumped about as they ran, too frantic to keep it even. “In here!” Vic was pulled into a dark alley, a little roughly, but she was put behind them. Being much taller than her, they covered her completely.

“Chupacabras don’t normally go after anything but goats, I thought. But maybe it’s mad.” Metzli whispered, taking slow and controlled steps back, leading the two further into the alley. “If we stay put, it’ll go away and bother less important people. Like humans.” A quiet laugh escaped their lips and they grabbed a metal pipe, just in case. Vic seemed like she could beat the shit out of something, but Metzli couldn’t rely on pure assumption right now.

“Can you do anything other than be an ass? You look strong. Super strength or are you just one of the useless undead people with toned bodies for show?” Even now, Metzli just had to push some buttons.

“A statue in White Crest”, Vic shot back incredulously.  “It’s entirely irresponsible to assume that anything brought to your facility is just going to be normal.  Wouldn’t it make sense to hire some sort of...supernatural curator or something?”  Normally, she wasn’t so forward when it came to issues of the supernatural.  She wasn’t one of the idiots who flaunted her knowledge around the town as if they were speaking about the sales at the grocery store instead of something as life or death as supernatural creatures.  But Metzli clearly knew about the subject, so much so that they might be the only person helpful enough to help her survive whatever situation they had gotten themselves into.   She nearly let out a shriek as she was pulled, and her eyebrows pressed together at how close their bodies were pressed together.

She looked up at her companion, a huff leaving her lips before she spoke.  “Mad like angry, or mad like losing its mind?,” she asked, chancing a peak toward the creature.  She scoffed, pushing Metzli away from her at their idea.  “What kind of immoral slob do you think I am?,” she demanded, clearly offended.  “First of all, who said anything about being undead?”.  Even with an admission she knew of the supernatural, and this person’s apparent knowledge of her lack of heartbeat, a stranger would never get the privilege of hearing about her status as a vampire. “Second- we cannot just let this thing off to destroy people’s lives.  We have a responsibility to stop it before anyone gets hurt, you depraved ingrate!”

She swallowed, frustrated, and looked between Metzli and the creature once more.  “I’m a rather adept boxer”, she said, clenching her fists as she spoke.  “But I’m not confident that thing won’t turn itself back to stone once I try to take a swing- is that something it would do?”  Her eyes settled on Metzli, who she just decided she hated asking for help.  “What about you?  Are you good for anything other than being annoying and irresponsible?”

Boy oh boy was Vic getting on Metzli’s nerves. She was so hot-headed that she couldn’t even give a semblance of grace. “Listen, I’m trying to help you, despite how fucking disrespectful you’ve been. I’m new to this fucking place, but you’re too fucking busy to even give me a chance. A single. Fucking. Chance.” A low, guttural growl tickled through their throat as they glared at Vic. She had finally gotten on their bad side, it didn’t matter how hard they tried to push through the anger, they needed a minute.

Forcing a breath through their teeth, they squeezed the pipe to the point of leaving indents before finally succumbing to calmness. Metzli simply muttered, “They’re mad, as in angry. And no, turning to stone isn’t a specialty. Someone else must’ve done that. Also, I can obviously hear that you have no pulse, and you’re fucking freezing.” They rolled their eyes and paced forward to the entrance of the alleyway to take one last look at the chupacabra. “Fine. We’ll take care of it. But only if you stop being such a dick. I was trained in a clan and can handle myself well, and…fuck. Fine. If you need help, I guess I’ll have your back.”

They reached a hand out, motioning for Vic to shake their hand, “A small truce for now. I don’t know what your problem is with your own species, but I’m willing to put aside everything if you are. I haven’t had the best few weeks so…I—so—ugh. Sorry I blew up.”

Vic blinked, stopping for a moment to let her gaze fall on Metzli as they blew up on her.  She pressed her lips together, processing exactly what was being said to her.  Everything that they said felt justified- they were thoughts that had been tossed around her own brain for decades now. Thoughts that she worried everyone felt anyway. But still, despite how her mind was feeling, her mouth went on the defense.  “I’m too busy trying to survive”, she muttered, though her eyes flashed away from Metzli’s.  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her eyes wandered to where Metzli’s hand was wrapped around the pipe, and then back to their face, letting out a low breath of her own.  “What do you suppose it’s so angry about?”, she wondered aloud, bracing herself for a fight with the creature, as if one were only moments away.  “I have an undiagnosed medical condition”, she lied matter of factly, not interested in sharing the truth.   She wanted to tell Metlzi that they’d probably take care of it in terms of self-preservation anyway, but maybe after upsetting them, it was best to leave well enough alone.  She let out a huff before shaking their hand reluctantly.

“A truce”, she agreed, as ridiculous as it felt, “I suppose I can put insulting your character on hold until we’re in a safer situation.  I’m… sorry if anything I said offended you”, she said through gritted teach.  Before either of them had a chance to have any closure on their apologies, the creature was bounding toward them.  It rushed it’s body into Vic, sending her against the wall of the gallery with a grunt.  

“It’s probably mad at the people who turned it int—” Words were interrupted by the bellowing roar of the bounding chupacabra, followed by a crunching blow. There was no time to react, to stop the beast from running straight into Vic. Without thinking, Metzli threw their body at the chupacabra before it could do anything else to her. The metal pipe was thrusted into its chest with pure force and it screeched in pain.

Limbs thrashed and teeth snapped over and over again until Metzli was successfully thrown off. “Come on, Medical Condition! Rip its fucking head off!” they demanded, getting pummeled and bitten over and over again. Black blood pooled on the ground as it seeped from every bite.

A hand found a slippery grip on the protruding pipe, pulling it out and using it as a method of defense. It was the last resort, the last chance Metzli had against the devastating blows. Whether they lived or died didn’t matter, but they made a truce and told Vic they’d protect her. And if there was anything Metzli was not, it was a liar. They kept it distracted, trying to give Vic the chance to compose herself and attack properly. It was a struggle, but they wouldn’t lose their resolve.

Thankfully, Vic’s brain had the chance to process what Metlzi was trying to say before the wind was figuratively knocked out of her.  It would have crushed her body if not for Metzli’s intervention, and for the first time, she was actually thankful for their presence.  With the new defensive attack, the beast had found a new target in Metzli, and at first, all Vic could do was stare in disbelief at it’s anger and violence.  Violence on this scale, while it was something she might have incited, wasn’t something she experienced first hand often, or even liked to think about.  It brought back painful memories that were too stubborn be forgotten after 400 years.

But then her companion’s words shook her out of her temporary stupor and she sprung into action, using the chupacabra’s distraction to her advantage.  She jumped on the creature from behind, muttering expletives in Swedish as it tried to throw her off, fighting for dominance.

She grit her teeth when she finally got a good hold of it’s head, and with Metzli’s earlier advice ringing in her ears, she tore it off.  The creature’s body stood stiff for a moment, as if time had frozen between the three of them, but then it tumbled to the floor, sending Vic down with it.

She looked up at Metzli, the previous rigor of a fight in her features replaced with concern.  It was the first time she had felt any type of sympathy for the other person.  “Are you going to be okay?”, she asked, pushing herself up.  “You’re looking rather rough.”

Stillness took over not only their body, but the air surrounding the two. Metzli felt their thick and congealed blood pool around them, and they felt so hungry. The chupacabra’s body was still very much warm as it laid dead on the ground next to them. “Nice job, Medical Condi…” But they trailed off, black consuming their vision as dizziness took over their head. Rolling over, they managed to get to their knees and crawl to a wall to prop themselves up. This was the worst condition they had been in since their days in the clan.

“I think after all of that, I should get at least a date at the bar,” Metzli coughed raspily until it bled into a dry chuckle. Despite the pain they were feeling, they wanted to give the notion that they were more than fine. Great, even. “I’ll even buy the drinks.” They continued to joke, only being half-serious about the gesture. Vic was definitely appealing visually, and even showed strength that they respected, but her personality was a little too hot-headed for their taste. But if there was anything Metzli had learned in their years of living, it was that people, just like them, put on a front to conceal their true selves from others.

“Hey…”, Vic said, walking the short distance to them.  She rested her hand on their back, leaning down to get a good look at their face.  Their condition was possibly even worse than she thought it was, and there weren’t many ways to help an injured vampire that she was comfortable with.  

A Vic from last year would have seized the opportunity to turn them in to a hunter.

Instead, she said, “We need to get you some animal blood.  I know a guy, if you don’t.”  She tucked a hair behind her ear, still refusing to acknowledge the truth of what she was.  Thank god for Metlzi’s impeccable timing for annoyance, because it gave her a chance to recover.  “Don’t hold your figurative breath, Sweetheart.  You know, you’re a lot more likely to get laid if you don’t sound so desperate.  You sound like an insufferable teenager when you continuously come onto someone who’s clearly not interested.”

She pressed her lips together, leaning her back against the wall they were using as a crutch.  “Sorry about your statue”, she said genuinely, gesturing to the bits of glass that surrounded what used to be a door.  “I hope the gallery has good insurance.  

Seeing Vic a little concerned, Metzli couldn’t help themselves and said, “Ha. You care about me. Well, you did. For at least two seconds.” They spit to the side, black blood spattering on the floor. Aches and pains cascaded to every nerve, making them grimace as they got to their feet. “Nah, I’m good, Vic. I’ve annoyed ya enough for one evening. It’s getting boring.” Each step hiccuped with a limp and they rolled their eyes at themselves. Being so injured was annoying, but it was also exhilarating to have been so close to death. So close it made them laugh. “That was a lot of fun though. Would’ve been funny as shit if I had died.”

Vic’s concern was so out of place that it made them stumble and reposition their hands on the alleyway wall. “My gallery will be fine. Thanks, though. Maybe you’re not so bad. ” Metzli teased, walking around the corner and passing the ruins of their entrance door. Glass crunched under every step. They sucked their teeth and took out their phone to start making calls for the door, subsequently taking out a business card and holding it out for Vic. “If you wanna keep in touch, here’s my card. Sorry your night got all ruined. Pretty women like shouldn’t have to deal with shit like this.”

Vic didn’t bother to suppress her eyeroll, which was so much easier than acknowledging that Metzli might have been right.  Still, there was an itching of concern for them, especially when it was notable that they were still definitely not in good shape.  “Our definitions of fun are vastly different”, she decided out loud.  Inwardly, she decided to walk Metzli home, or at least make sure they got home okay.  She figured it’d be better than having to worry the whole night if they made it safely or not.  Even if she’d have to sneakily wait till whatever time they decided to leave.

She took their card, but vowed to destroy it when she got home.  In her hands, if she were in another state of mind, it would be too dangerous for her to have that kind of information. She let out a breath, tucking it into her pocket and looking back at them, her face barely changing.  “Nobody should have to deal with shit like this”, she argued, unblinking.  “But I guess that’s the world we live in, isn’t it?”

For so long, she thought she had been making the world they lived in a better place by ridding it of vampires.  When one proved to her the amount of humanity they could have, like Metzli did tonight, she had to wonder who the real monster was.

[might-be-a-zygon]

Ohhhh Thasmin and "are you kidding me?! you're not 'fine'!" OR River/13 and "i can't believe i almost lost you

This one got away from me a little, I’ll admit. It’s pretty angsty and features a lot of (canon) character death, so fair warning on that one.

I’ll add an AO3 link in the reblogs!

---

The Ghosts That Broke My Heart

Sleep had always been a funny thing for the Doctor.  She certainly needed a lot less of it than her human friends, but it had always been a reliable break from whatever life chose to throw at her that week. She had dreams, like everyone did, but there was one thing which the Doctor didn’t really do.

She didn’t have nightmares.

Really, what would she have them about? The Doctor faced the creatures of nightmares every day. To some species, the Doctor was a creature of nightmares.

Still, after what had happened on Gallifrey? She’d found the creatures that could jolt her awake screaming.

Ghosts.

Whatever she’d done to overload the matrix had broken centuries of carefully constructed barriers, holding back the people she’d lost, and now her mind saw fit to make her relive each dark moment whenever she let her guard down to try and sleep.

It had started out right away- that first night in the Jadoon prison she’d laid down on the slab that passed for a bed, and closed her eyes to sleep.

“What does that mean?”

Jenny was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, all wide-eyes and excited smiles. The Doctor could recognise a lot of her own nervous energy in the young woman- ready to go off and explore the brave new world that awaited them. She also saw the gunman poised to take all that away in a moment.

It was like she was watching through thick glass. Poised on the sidelines, watching her past selves getting it all wrong over and over, but helpless to interfere. She slammed her palm against it, sending a too-real shooting pain through her arm, but making no audible sound.

“It means a new world.”

Sandshoes was grinning now, more genuine hope than she could ever really remember feeling shining in those eyes. He’d burned in the end- she remembered that much. He’d been angry. Vengeful.

The Timelord Victorious.  

How different might things have been if he’d just turned around? The Doctor tried to speak, to shout for him to get her out of the way. Her voice didn’t make a sound.

She watched the happiness melt from Jenny’s face, even as Sandshoes maintained his stupid, complacent grin. The Doctor was pounding on the glass now, silently screaming that it wasn’t worth it, but of course she couldn’t change it. Jenny shoved Sandshoes out of the way, the bullet striking her square in the chest. Martha- brilliant Martha who she’d never once deserved- she knew right away there was no chance. She watched her past-self hold their dying daughter, and tell her of a future she’d never see, already knowing she was beyond saving. Lies had always fallen too easily from her tongue.

“You’re gonna be amazing, you hear me, Jenny?”

Had she even heard?

 That first night, when she woke with a whine, curled up into a tight ball on her uncomfortable prison bed, the Doctor had attributed it to stress. She’d jumped haphazardly from Byron, to the cybermen, to Gallifrey, to prison with no time to clear her head. The Master always did funny things to her mind, anyway, it was normal there’d be some aftereffects.

Her hand ached from where she’d been slamming it into the ‘bed’.

She tried to shake the traitorous vision of Jenny- bright, young Jenny with so much potential sacrificing herself for the father she hardly knew. The father who would go on to do so much damage.

Against her better judgement, she’d turned over, and tried to get to sleep again. It was the last time she made that mistake.

 The first thing the Doctor heard this time, was screaming.

She was on a ship, which certainly wasn’t her TARDIS. It took her a minute to recognise the place- but, maybe that made the whole thing even worse. Somebody was screaming for her help, and she couldn’t even remember who it was.

She stood there, behind whatever barrier her mind had constructed to stop her interfering, and watched the doddering old fool she’d been back then just stand there while a good woman was in trouble just feet away. She could have reopened the airlock doors- she’d known how- but she’d been so desperate to look for a way around it, that she’d left Katarina there screaming.

“Change course.” The Doctor in front of her finally ordered. “Take him back to Kembel. Take him back to Kembel! Let the Daleks deal with him.”

In that moment the Doctor looked into her own eyes and saw a spark of that ruthless fire which would one day burn galaxies. It was that same fire that made her risk tearing time apart for Clara Oswald- the fire that burned too brightly. If she was feeling generous, she might have called it admirable, that she was willing to fight so unbelievably hard for the people she loved.

Right now, she called it selfishness.

Steven stepped towards the old Doctor, his anger doing a poor job at masking his fear. “Yes, and us!”

“Don't worry, dear boy, We'll find a way out.” The Doctor cringed at her first face (or, the first face she remembered), while standing in her glass prison. Her methods of comfort hadn’t come on any in three thousand years. She was still a liar.

Both of the men who’d been with her bck then had been afraid. Bret had even tried arguing with her, but the Doctor had never been an easy person to argue with.

“I can't sacrifice everything for the sake of that one girl.” He argued, still at the controls. Luckily, she was spared the embarrassment of having to watch her former self argue by Steven stepping in.

“Listen! Without us you wouldn't have got off Kembel at all, and nothing would be worth bothering about!”

“All right, so we all go back together. But without me, I doubt that you would have got this far either.” Bret had given in quickly enough, and all the while the Doctor just stood and watched, and listened to Katarina’s frightened screaming in the airlock.

She watched as Katarina broke free and hit the release for the airlock. She watched as both her and Kirksen were sucked out into space. She watched, and knew that that girl- that girl who was so brave in the face of so much danger- had sacrificed herself so the three of them could get away.

Her hearts ached, as she thought of a dozen ways she could have saved her, if she’d tried harder.

“She wanted to save our lives and perhaps the lives of all the other beings of the Solar System.” The old Doctor in front of her began to make his silly speech, and the Doctor turned away, revolted at her own self-importance. “I hope she's found her Perfection. Oh, how I shall always remember her as one of the Daughters of the Gods. Yes, as one of the Daughters of the Gods.”

Rule one.

She hadn’t thought about Katarina in centuries. That poor, brave woman, who had made the ultimate sacrifice to keep them all alive, and the Doctor hadn’t even bothered to remember her.

 The Doctor had awoken, still curled up on that cold stone slab, unable to shake the revulsion at her own actions. Was she still like that man? So pompous as to think that every being in the universe made their decisions based around her.

She hadn’t tried to sleep again, after that, shifting to lay on her back, staring at the celling, and trying to shake what somewhere, deep down, she knew.

There were very, very good reasons, she was in prison.

 At first, it was always death. Faces she’d remembered, and ones she’d long since forgotten, all meeting their end because the Doctor had failed to save them.

 “It snapped my neck, Sir. It wasn’t as painless as I expected, but it was pretty quick, so that was something.”

Angel Bob.

The Doctor had forgotten all about Angel Bob. He was young, and clever, and he was so scared, and she had just walked away and forgotten all about him, as though he’d never even existed.

She could see the look on the faces of the others- the muted horror on River’s, and the more pronounced look of it on her mother’s, as well as the well-managed grief of the soldiers who’d fought with him. They were all ghosts, now. Amy, River, the soldiers. All blown away like smoke on the wind.

“If you’re dead how can I be talking to you?” She tried not to think about the genuine interest her former self’s voice held in that moment- a man had just died, and Bowtie was curious about the mechanics.

“You’re not talking to me, Sir. The angel has no voice. It stripped my cerebral cortex from my body and reanimated a version of my consciousness to communicate with you. Sorry about the confusion.”

She tried her absolute best not to think too hard about how conscious the original Bob was at that moment. Had he known what had happened to him? Had he felt the angels turn him into their puppet?

She watched as Bowtie told them all to run- to run into the maze of weeping angels with no plan, and to just trust him, and she watched as he stopped behind to defend himself.

“Yes, I called you an idiot, and I’m sorry-“ He didn’t sound sorry at all, but the Doctor in her glass cage watching it play out certainly was, “But I couldn’t have saved your men.”

“I know that, Sir. And when you’ve flown off in your little blue box, I’ll explain that to their families.”

She watched, sick to her stomach, as Bowtie smirked.

 “I’ll have to tell his mother.”

Seeing Rose, even after all this time, was still painful. This was only the second day they’d met, back before they’d travelled together.  Before she’d managed to soften the war ravaged Doctor standing in front of her now.

The Ears had been one of her shortest lived, and angriest faces, and the ways he’d treated people were downright cruel at times. She saw the questioning look he gave Rose, clueless in the face of Mickey’s apparent demise, and why she’d be at all upset.

Why Rose hadn’t walked away then and there would forever be a mystery to the Doctor. She’d never once deserved that kind of love.

“Mickey” I’ll have to tell his mother he’s dead, and you just went and forgot him, again! You were right, you are alien.”

Alien didn’t have to mean cruel, though. So why did callousness seem to come so easily to her? Maybe it was just the sheer amount of death she’d witnessed, but it still hurt to see. She had to keep reminding herself that this death, at least, hadn’t been real- that Mickey was alive and living on earth, raising a son with his dad’s eyes and his mum’s brains who’d have the whole world talking in a few years.

At least it was a good reminder of why she was staying away from August Smith.

“Look, if I did forget some kid called Mickey-“

“Yeah, he’s not a kid-“

The Ears cut Rose off before she could keep speaking, but the Doctor watching from the side-lines found herself nodding in agreement. Rose was right. Of course Rose was right.

“It’s because I’m busy trying to save the life of every stupid ape blundering about on top of this planet! Alright?”

“Alright!”

“Yes, it is!” Ears sounded insufferably smug.

The Doctor shook her head in disgust, glancing at Rose and quietly muttering, “Why did you ever put up with me?”

 “Look out!”

It was another voice she hadn’t heard in a long time, and one she’d frankly been dreading hearing. If Nyssa was here she had a good idea of what she was about to see. She saw the cybermen coming up behind her back, while her fifth-self fumbled with the controls. It was as good as useless.

A cyberman lumbered up behind her, and her past-self ignored it completely, leaving Nyssa to have to shoot it down with a discarded cyberweapon. She was once again saved by a more competent friend, and her own hypocrisy when it came to guns.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever even thanked Nyssa for saving her life.

“I must save Adric!”

Stuck in the corner, exhausted and emotionally drained, the Doctor was just glad that, while she was having to watch another of her failures, this version of herself was at the very least trying.

“Look!”

“Adric.”

The screen came to life, and the Doctor tried to shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch, but of course it didn’t work- in her dreams she wouldn’t be allowed to block out the parts she didn’t want to see. The only consolation was that she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

She’d always been cowardly like that.

She watched as the ship began to come apart- watched as Tegan and Nyssa held each other, and Celery just stood there gawping like a fish who couldn’t believe his own incompetence.

She still remembered that feeling- like someone had clawed the hearts out of her chest and shown them to her. Back then, it’d been such a long time since she’d really lost someone that she wasn’t used to the pain of it anymore.

When had she become careless enough that death just bounced off of her?

 It only took ten days of reliving her worst moments before the Doctor had begun actively fighting sleep. Prison, at least, was a safe enough place to do it. She’d pace her cell at night to keep herself from drifting off- reciting books she knew by heart, or just talking to herself to keep her eyes from closing for too long. During the day, she’d do the same- chatting to the other prisoners, pacing, never letting herself remain still for fear of finally giving into the exhaustion which seemed to have seeped into her bones.

Of course, even a Time Lord (if she could even call herself one anymore), couldn’t stay awake forever. After weeks of forcing her eyes to stay open, she’d eventually collapse, usually when she was in her cell, if she was lucky, and she’d endure another walkthrough her past- too exhausted to even wake up- before being woken by the prison systems to begin all over again.

After a while she’d slip into waking dreams, too exhausted to even think straight. She’d sit in her cell, nutrient block in hand, while her sleep deprived mind played out snippets of her life, a few seconds at a time, while she fought to wake up enough to dismiss the visions.

 At first, when she next saw herself- sitting on a bench, eating chips, she thought maybe this was just her mind crying out for some real food. It was easy to forget the specifics of what had been discussed all those years before, after twenty years sitting in a cell.

“She scares me.” Came Bill’s voice from next to the older-Doctor, quiet in its honesty. Admitting you were scared was something so few people ever did- least of all when they were around the Doctor, and being brave was so important, but Bill had never been afraid to admit it to her. She’d been strong like that. “Like. She really scares me.”

As much as she still, after all this time, wanted the Master to be everything she knew he could be, it was hard to deny how right Bill had been to be afraid. After all- it was the Master who’d handed her over to the cybermen, in the end, just not the version she’d feared.

“Okay. Just, promise me one thing, yeah? Just promise you won’t get me killed.”

“I can’t promise you that!” Eyebrows had laughed at her, as though her concerns were something flippant. As though her fear was something worth laughing at. He’d been right, in the end, he hadn’t been able to keep Bill alive, but it was horrible looking back at it now.

The Doctor had managed to shock herself back into reality, but she hadn’t been able to shake the self-contempt that settled in her hearts.

 Most of the time, those waking nightmares came while she was stuck sitting around, waiting for the time to come that she’d be allowed out into her tiny cube of the exercise yard, just for something to break up the routine of sitting alone, and thinking about death.

 “I keep remembering all the people I’ve killed. Every day I think of more. Being bad- Being bad drowned that out. I didn’t know I even knew their names. You didn’t tell me about this bit.”

“I’m sorry, but this is good.”

“Okay.”

The Doctor watched herself hold her self-ascribed goodness over her oldest friend, and couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t what had driven the Master to the depths of madness he’d displayed on Gallifrey. She might have lorded it as a good thing back then, but she was quickly learning the types of things that isolation, imprisonment, and guilt could do to the mind. If she got out of prison with her sanity, she’d count it a blessing.

 She’d dreamt about Missy a lot, after a while. The longer she stayed locked up, the more her guild-addled mind saw fit to remind her of her stint as jailor.

On those nights she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open, the Doctor saw herself through the glass again. It was her twelfth face- well, the twelfth she remembered- the one with the angry eyebrows and the trusting nature. She saw Missy standing there, looking more dishevelled than she had before the vault, standing so close to the forcefield that it was rippling. She looked strangely earnest despite the pantomime of madness she put o- as though she was proud of herself for actually helping.

She watched as Eyebrows shoved Bill back away from Missy, not seeming to care much about how what had just transpired had clearly affected her. She’d never been good enough for Bill- the kind, inquisitive girl who’d gone out of her way to buy the Doctor Christmas presents and who’d called her grandad, and who she’d promised she wouldn’t get killed. Bill who had been so strong, who had fought off the monks and the cybermen by sheer force of will. Bill who’d deserved so much more than what the Doctor had given to her.

She watched Eyebrows walk up to that rippling forcefield, and look his oldest friend in the eyes like she was still the monster she pretended to be.

“Even if that was the truth the fact that you’re suggesting it shows that there’s been no change. No hope. No point.”

Eyebrows sounded angry, and the Doctor winced slightly at that. How was the Master ever supposed to change with the Doctor constantly telling her that her progress meant nothing? Was that why she’d given up in the end? It had to be easier to go back to what you’d known before rather than being constantly strung along and put down by someone who had promised to help you become better.

Missy’s face contorted for a moment. The Doctor left her here for months, all alone in this dusty room with almost nothing, and then he’d turned up just to talk to her like this? Her Twelfth face was one of the few she’d always thought of as good- or, if not good, at least kind. Sandshoes had been angry from the war and from everything he’d lost, but Eyebrows had tried so hard to be kind. Was this really what her version of kind did to people?

After her own stint in prison, leaving Missy trapped like this for so long was beginning to seem more and more cruel. She’d wanted to help people, she really had, but it wasn’t as though her friend had come to her and asked. She’d saved her, and then abused that power, keeping her prisoner for decades to try and make her into something she’d never tried to be. It was hard, knowing what had later become of the Master, not to wonder what all that time in the vault had done to their already fragile mental state.  How much had she contributed to his snapping and destroying their home?

Looking at it like that how was the Doctor any better than the Jadoon? And how was Missy running off with the Master much different from her running with Jac They’d both been escaping jailors who kept them confined alone for long enough to drive them half-mad.

“We don’t sacrifice people.” The scene playing out in front of her was hardly easy, but the Doctor laughed anyway, because the irony of that wasn’t lost on her. She’d let so many people die for her as Rainbows that Eyebrows’ words felt hollow. “It’s wrong because it’s easy.”

“Back in the day I’d burn an entire city to the ground just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made. I’m sorry your plus one doesn’t get a happy ending, but like it or not I just saved this world because I want to change.”

There was a forced lightness to Missy’s voice, almost undetectable unless you really knew her well- and the Doctor knew her better than anybody. It’d been a cry for help, of sorts- she’d wanted her friend back, and Eyebrows had ignored her. She’d saved the world- the Doctor would have likely spent months searching for infected water supplies and food chains following up his own stupid theories, and Missy had told him the answer freely, and without reward. She’d saved the world and he’d told her there was no hope for her- no wonder she’d run.

“Your version of good is not absolute.” She continued, her fingers pushing slightly against the forcefield now. The Doctor watched it ripple from behind he own glass patrician, and she knew the look in Missy’s eyes far too well. If that forcefield had been replaced with glowing blue bars it could have been her in her own cell. At least during her imprisonment she hadn’t had to live with the knowledge that her oldest friend was her jailor. “It’s vain, arrogant, and sentimental.”

Vain, arrogant and sentimental.

She always had said the Master knew her soul a little too well.

 Once the spectre of death faded, somewhat, it was her own shortcomings her subconscious decided to force onto her. Those moments when she’d forced others into complying with what she’d wanted- as though that was always her decision to make.

She was the Doctor, after all. Who would ever dare to question her whims as anything less than genius?

 “You know you can fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot-wiring the fragment links and superseding the binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary-“

Not this. Not Donna. How was this fair? At least with Jenny she hadn’t seen the gunman. She could see it in her past-self’s face that he knew this was killing her, and he was just standing there like an idiot, watching it happen. He could have stepped in sooner.

��I’m fine.” Donna was showing off that big grin, back to talking a mile-a-minute. The Doctor had always wondered if on some level she knew what this would do. She had all of that knowledge inside her head, it must have been somewhere in her all along that she’d become an impossible thing.

She didn’t pound on the glass or scream this time, watching her own past unfold with her hand pressed up against it. She mouthed I’m sorry, but no sound came out.

“I bet he’s great, Charlie Chaplin. Shall we do that? Shall we go see Charlie Chaplin? Shall we? Charlie Chaplin. Charlie Chester. Charlie Brown- no he’s fiction-“ She watched as Donna pranced around, playing with the console and the phone. This wasn’t quite Donna- not really. This Donna was far too Doctor- maybe that was why she found it so unsettling, seeing her charming, funny, irreverent friend talking like someone she hated.

“Friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton-“ Donna cut off with a gasp, and the Doctor wanted to slap Sandshoes for leaving her in this state. She had to be scared, and he wasn’t even bothering to explain it to her. Of course, with that much of the Doctor’s mind burning through her own, Donna had probably understood it all already, but there was still something to be said for compassion in a situation as horrific as this one.

“I was gonna be with you forever.” The sadness in Donna’s eyes spoke volumes. She’d trusted the Doctor so much, had so much planned for them, and it was all the Doctor’s fault.

If her hearts hadn’t already shattered they did now. Nobody ever stayed with her forever- not really. Even if she wanted them to, she’d always destroy them before they got a chance.

She was on the floor, kneeling on the dirty floor of a TARDIS she’d long since tried to forget. When had that happened?

“I know.”

She screwed her eyes shut, grateful that this time, at least, she managed to block out the visuals- maybe because this time, the sound of Donna begging for something the Doctor was too selfish to give her was enough. She wouldn’t watch Sandshoes lie to her like that- like he’d lied to Jenny, and to Bob, and to Steven. Pretty words to ease the pain she was about to put her through.

“I can’t go back. Doctor. Please. Please don’t make me go back.”

Listening to her beg wasn’t any easier than watching it. Or living it- especially now she knew just how painful it was to have your memories taken from you. Gallifrey may have erased her path, but she’d run roughshod over her friend’s mind just as carelessly.

“Donna Noble. I am so sorry. But we had the best of times.” Was that supposed to make either of them feel better? She’d been so self-righteous back then. The Doctor opened her eyes again, and regretted it almost immediately, curling in on herself behind her little partition. “Goodbye.”

“No. No! No please! No. No! No!”

 Staying awake proved easier once she’d left prison.

During her incarceration, it had only been the thought of getting home to her fam which had really kept her going, so having Yaz back at her side was a real boost to her mood, which kept those waking nightmares at bay.

The running helped too- adrenaline in her system keeping the more dangerous effects of her sleep-deprivation at bay. Still, it didn’t mean that nights didn’t come where she came down from that high of finally being able to help again, and her tiredness came crashing down on her like a crushing weight.

This time, it came after a particularly harsh day.

She was getting sloppy in her exhausted state, and that sloppiness had put Yaz in far greater danger than she’d ever wanted to risk again. She’d told herself, that after the cybermen, and the daleks, she’d be more careful, but then all of a sudden there they were, stuck in a trap she should have been able to spot, if she was thinking clearly.

They’d been held hostage for longer than she was willing to admit- some scrapper who was very keen on getting hold of the TARDIS- not that he really knew what it was or what significance it held. No, for this man the greatest ship in the universe was worth some spare parts, and whatever the scrap value of its base components was.

They’d gotten out, in the end, but it wasn’t as though she could even take credit for that- it was quick thinking on Yaz’s part which had distracted their attacker for long enough for them to get to the TARDIS. As impressive as it was, it was still terrifying to see Yaz be so like her in the way she acted. The last person who’d wanted to be the Doctor had gotten killed trying to do so.

She’d hardly said a word once they returned to the ship, trying her best to ignore the furtive looks of concern she kept getting. She slipped off to the library alone when Yaz went to make a cup of tea, getting there on her fourth attempt (since the TARDIS seemed insistent on placing her room behind every door she opened), and counting on the near-infinite nature of the TARDIS rooms to hide her for a while. She needed a little space while she cleared her head and tried to get rid of some of the overwhelming guilt that was eating her up inside.

She could have gotten Yaz killed today with her carelessness. If Yaz wasn’t as good as she was, she would have gotten them both killed.

No matter what horrors from her past her brain decided to drudge up, a world without Yaz was still a terrifying thought.

 “I’m not asking you for a promise. I’m giving you an order.”

She really didn’t want to see this.

The Doctor had not gotten her memories back just so she could watch Clara Oswald face the raven all over again. Even in prison her mind hadn’t been cruel enough to remind her of that particular death. She remembered the others- Oswin, and the governess she’d met in London, and a hundred other Clara’s who’d died to save her- but this one had never come up.

Evidently, her subconscious thought she needed a reminder of what happened when she took her eyes off things for a moment too long.

“You will not insult my memory. There will be no revenge. I will die, and no one else here, or anywhere, will suffer.”

Well there was a promise the Doctor hadn’t managed to keep. She’d tried to tear time itself apart to save Clara, and worst of all, she’d never even known if it succeeded. Testimony didn’t remember whether Clara had lived or died- it’d been taken the moment before the raven hit- before the Doctor had tried to pull her from her timeline. She had no memory of anything that’d happened with Clara after this, and while she knew they’d been together on Gallifrey, she didn’t know how permanent that salvation might be, or what about it had taken her memories to begin with.

“What about me?” Eyebrows asked, and the Doctor who was watching him managed a harsh, bitter laugh. Clara was dying, and as usual her former self was there to be selfish and make her comfort him.

“If there was something I could do about that I would. I guess we’ll both just need to be brave.”

“Clara-“ He was trying to argue again, but all at once she was pulling him into a hug, and looking at the desperation of it from the outside, the Doctor just knew that Clara was trying to pull some comfort from it too, since Eyebrows hadn’t been offering her any.

She’d been human, and she’d been dying, and she’d been scared, but she’d forced herself to be brave so her friend didn’t have to be.

Looking back on it, Clara had always been so much stronger than the Doctor had ever been.

“Don’t run.” It had to be the first time she’d ever said that to one of her friends in a bad spot. “Stay with me.” Eyebrows was practically begging her now. Worse than that, the Doctor knew that if she had to go back and do it again, she wouldn’t be any stronger.

“Nah.” She could see how heard Clara was working to keep her tone casual, not wanting to hurt the Doctor any more than this whole thing already would. It was heart breaking, really, knowing that even in her final moments she’d had to suppress her own feelings to try and save her pain. “You stay here. In the end everybody does this alone.”

She shouldn’t have had to do it alone.

“Clara-“ Eyebrows tried again, and if the Doctor wasn’t stuck in her self-imposed cell, she might have hit him. This was his last chance- why couldn’t he say something to her? Why couldn’t he make sure that she died knowing how deeply she was loved.

“This is as brave as I know how to be. I know it’s gonna hurt you but- please. Be a little proud of me?”

There was a hopeful note to Clara’s tone despite everything, and in the end that was what really broke the Doctor. Her hand was pressed against the glass, desperate to say something, but unable to- the sands of time separated them more surely than the glass ever could.

“Always.” She promised, because if Eyebrows wouldn’t say it, then this new Doctor would. “I’m always gonna be proud of you.”

Clara turned away from her, and walked towards her grave.

 “No no no no…”

The Doctor’s eyes blinked open, giving her a hazy view of the warm purple walls of the TARDIS library. She was curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire, her eyes still heavy with sleep. How long had it been since she’d last slept? Weeks, at least. Maybe months. And since she’d last slept properly? Well that had been decades.

Her hands ached from where she’d been clutching onto the arms of the chair.

Her eyes were already falling closed again, too exhausted to even force herself to stay awake.

 “If you die here it’ll mean I never even met you.”

She’d never really appreciated how true that statement was. Without the Doctor blundering through her mother’s life, River Song would never have existed. Melody Williams (would she even have been called Melody, with the paradox of her name?) would have grown up safe and happy, the human daughter of the journalist and the nurse. She’d have had a normal life. She’d have been raised by loving parents, and have had a happy childhood, and maybe even brothers and sisters- maybe she’d have still written books, or taught archelogy, and had a much happier marriage than theirs had been.

Melody Pond would have been so much better off if she had never met the Doctor.

“Time can be rewritten.” For once, she seemed to be in agreement with Sandshoes. He was selfish, but at least he’d have been doing her a favour.

“Not those times. Not one line. Don't you dare. It's okay. It's okay. It's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come. You and me, time and space. You watch us run.”

Live great lives. That’s what she’d told her fam. If anyone had lived up to that, and lived a great life despite the Doctor’s meddling, it had been River Song. They’d had some amazing times, saved so many people, so many planets. There were stars out there still burning because River Song had been there to save them.

If the Doctor had found a better way around getting the people out of there, there might have been so many more.

The computer counting down the seconds left of her life in the background wasn’t helping the way that the Doctor’s hearts were pounding. She was crying, now- she wasn’t sure when that had begun.

From her cell, she watched Sandshoes babble on about his guilt- his suspicions, being expertly put down by River. She was so used to shutting him up when he was talking about things he didn’t know anything about- she could really use that, right now.

She should have saved her.

“Hush now. Spoilers…”

River smiled, and the Doctor lunged at the glass in front of her, shouting words that even she could barely comprehend. She was still clawing desperately at the glass when the room flashed bright white.

 The Time Lord didn’t even fully wake that time, despite having thrown herself onto the floor at some point during her anguish. She was barely drawn out of her nightmares for a moment, a noise that sounded awfully like a whimper escaping her. Her eyes were shut too-tightly, and she had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, fingernails digging into her arms as though that would protect her from the horrors of her own mind.

 “Who decides they’re so unimportant? You?”

The Doctor knew where she was this time without even looking up. Somehow, this scared her even more. She wasn’t watching a loved one die, she was watching her own stupid power-play blow up in her face. This hadn’t been a mercy mission, it’d been her trying to prove to the whole Universe that the Doctor had power over all.

“For a long time now I thought I was just a survivor, but I’m not. I’m the winner- that’s who I am. The Time Lord victorious.”

“And there’s no one to stop you?”

“No.”

“This is wrong, Doctor. I don’t care who you are. The Time Lord victorious is wrong.”

Captain Adelaide. She’d been so brilliant- she’d understood more about this than her idiot younger self ever could. The Doctor just about managed to give her a smile from behind her glass wall before she resumed staring at Sandshoes in disgust.

“That’s for me to decide. Now, you better get home.”

It was chilling. Watching her old face shift so quickly. Darkness turned cocky in an instant as he pointed his sonic at the door. Unlike with the other dreams, The Doctor wasn’t shouting. She didn’t try to say a word, just watched on with self-loathing and dread weighing down her hearts. A silent spectator of her darkest moment since the Time War.

Sandshoes smirked at that brave, doomed woman, challenging her to argue her fate further. He’d set himself up as a self-styled God. “Oh it’s all locked up- you’ve been away. Still, that’s easy.”

“Is there nothing you can’t do?”

“Not anymore.”

She watched as the great Time Lord Victorious turned his back on Adelaide. She watched as the captain drew her gun. She braced herself for that flash of blue light and the thud of a body hitting the floor.

“Don’t do it, Adelaide.” She was talking to nobody, but she still couldn’t help herself trying to butt in- trying to fix the damage she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t-“

 “Doctor?”

A hand on her shoulder drew her out of there before she had to watch that, jolting her awake. She came to, immediately caught off guard by the shadow of someone standing over her, and the scent of a familiar perfume hitting her. It took her a moment or so to place it, but when she did her hearts picked up a little. Yaz. Brilliant, wonderful, human Yaz who’d probably just heard her rambling all sorts of scary nonsense in her sleep.

“Doctor are you alright?”

The Doctor swallowed a little too hard and sat up quickly enough to make her head spin, forcing a familiar, false grin to spread across her face. Her body was aching from sleeping on the wooden floor, and she was pretty sure she was going to be bruised from where she’d fallen off the chair.

“Yaz! Yasmin Khan- Sorry, must have nodded off-“ Her voice sounded a little false even to her own ears, and she did her best to pass it off with a yawn.

“Sorry, just, you were talkin’ in your sleep an’ I thought-“ Yaz looked a little sheepish about waking her, and her eyes were full of concern.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry- Time Lord. Vivid dreams- I was…” She forced another yawn, trying to give herself time to think of a lie. “Did I ever tell you about the time I met a real life siren on a pirate ship? That was a good one, that. Dream about that one a lot. M’fine, though. Really.”

Yaz shot her a look that showed she didn’t believe the Doctor for a moment. There was a beats pause, before she exploded

“Are you kiddin’ me?! You’re not ‘fine’!” She drew air quotes around that last word, straightening up, to stand over the Doctor, showing she was serious.

“I’m-“

“I swear if you say ‘fine’ I’m gonna-”

The Doctor shut her mouth before Yaz could finish the threat.

There was a tense moment, almost like a standoff between the two of them, before Yasmin’s hard eyes softened, and she bent down to help the Doctor to her feet.

“I’m worried about y’.”

Suppressing her initial urge to insist that she was fine, the Doctor bit her lip.

“You shouldn’t be.” She eventually managed.

“When was the last time ‘y slept?” Yaz asked.

“About a minute ago.” The Doctor tried to make a joke. Yaz laughed weakly.

“Before that.” She clarified, glancing at the floor where she’d found the doctor collapsed.

“…I don’t remember.” The Doctor admitted.

Yaz sucked in a surprised breath through clenched teeth.

“Doctor-“

“I’m not human. I don’t need as much sleep as you lot.”

Raising an eyebrow, Yaz gave her another of those easy, disbelieving looks. “And that’s why I found you passed out on the floor cryin’?”

The Doctor blinked, bringing her hand up to her face. Sure enough, she’d been crying- she hadn’t even realised. Waking up with tears in her eyes was just normal by now.

“What’s so bad that it’s keepin’ you up?” Yaz leant forwards, taking one of the Doctor’s hands in both of her own. “Please don’t lie to me.”

There was an earnestness in her eyes that reminded the Doctor of all the people she’d loved most. Rose, Amy, River, Clara. Even Koschei. She’d always liked the people who could be honest with her the best- she needed honest people to stop her tearing herself apart and taking everyone else with her.

“I’ve lost a lot of people, Yaz.” She said, resigned note in her voice. “You saw Gallifrey. My home world is gone, my wife is gone, my children are gone, my granddaughter is gone. I’ve lost most of my friends, and- since Gallifrey, I can’t block them out anymore. I see them die every night.”

All at once, Yaz leaned forwards, just like Clara had in her dream, wrapping her arms tightly around the Doctor, holding her grounded to the spot. Even that brief contact allowed some of the tension in the Doctor’s body to loosen, her shoulder’s slumping as she leant into the contact.

“’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Yaz pulled herself back from the hug, keeping her hands firmly on the Doctor’s arms, so she could ground her while looking her in the eyes.

“Have you got a bedroom on board?” She asked.

“Somewhere. How come?”

Yaz smiled, “Because you’ve gotta sleep sometime, and I think it’s probably comfier than the floor.” She let one of her hands fall, the other moving up to brush the hair out of the Doctor’s eyes. “Come on.”

She caught Yaz’s wrist in her hand, suddenly looking nervous. She was really worried where her subconscious would go from what had to be one of the worst things she’d ever done. “I don’t wanna. Not yet.”  

“Y’ need to.” Yaz insisted, still trying her best to smile. The Doctor recognised that look from how often she herself wore it- that false-cheer that just barely covered the worry. “I promise I’ll sit with y’ the whole time- I can wake you up if you start makin’ noise.”

The Doctor thought about that for a minute. It’d certainly been easier to deal with the dream about Adelaide since she’d been pulled out of it before she actually had to hear the shot go off. If Yaz could pull her out of the bad moments before she had to see anything too bad- Maybe it would let the Doctor get a bit of sleep. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, and it didn’t seem as though it would last too long, but- it was an infinitely better one than her current plan of depriving herself of sleep until she could hardly stand.

“You really wouldn’t mind?” She eventually asked, her fingers still resting around Yaz’s wrist, though she wasn’t trying to use them to push her away any more.

“I love you. Let me take care of you, for once.”

There was another slight pause, before the Doctor let go of her hand, nodding. “Okay.”

Yaz let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?” The Doctor turned to her, genuine confusion etched across her features.

Yaz took another step closer, cupping the Doctor’s face in one hand, and giving her the most genuine smile either of them had shared since they’d reunited. “For letting me in.”

[jadelotusflower]

Roundup - September 2021

This month: Saving Fish From Drowning, Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, Anne Boleyn, Cruella, The Chair

Reading

Saving Fish from Drowning (Amy Tan) - I've always enjoyed Tan's work (particularly The Joy Luck Club, both the book and film) - Fish is somewhat of a departure, following a group of American tourists in Myanmar, narrated by their recently deceased friend Bibi Chen. The novel begins with a preface in which Tan explains she drew inspiration for the novel based on real events chronicled by a San Franciscan psychic's "automatic writing" channeling Chen's spirit (in truth a complete invention on Tan’s part, both literary device and metaphor).

Bibi is a compelling narrator, full of wry commentary of her friends as they bumble their way through their trip, the tone of the novel quite light despite some of the dark subject matter around the political situation in Myanmar (the novel was written in 2005 and set several years earlier) and the nature of intervention - the title referring to fisherman who "save fish from drowning" by netting them. It was at times difficult to keep track of all twelve (!) of the main characters and who was who outside of the few who get the most attention of the narrative.

An interesting read, about the stories we tell ourselves and others, and the fictions we believe for comfort and hope.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass and what Alice found there (Lewis Carroll) - I've been making more of an effort to work on my novel lately, which makes some reference to these works so thought it was due for a re-read. It seems impossible to consider these separate novels given how conflated they have become in pop culture - even the Disney film takes elements from both - they act as either a duology, or alternatively a single story told in two parts.

I personally much prefer Looking Glass, perhaps because I imprinted on the 1985 miniseries as a child (which adapts both novels, but we only had the second part on tape) - best known for it's celebrity cameos in silly costumes - including Sammy Davis Jnr, Donald O'Connor, Ringo Starr, and Carol Channing, among others, and the danger of the Jabberwocky as a manifestation of Alice's fears quite a nice idea that isn't found in the original text.

Perhaps Looking Glass, while remaining absurdist, is more cohesive than Wonderland with the chess motif and central motive for Alice to reach the Eighth Square and become a queen. I do however find the constant poetry tedious, and wonder whether both Wonderland and Looking Glass are better remembered for the concepts rather than the actual text.

Watching

Anne Boleyn (episodes 1-3) - I didn't think we needed another film/show about Anne, but I was always going to watch it. This series relies upon familiarity with history as it begins with Anne's final, doomed pregnancy - opening with the haunting words “Anne is the most powerful woman in England - she has just five months to live.”

There's nothing especially new here; rather a mood and character piece as Anne's isolation and desperation grows. It is of course built around the central, compelling performance of Jodie Turner-Smith, in every single scene and not afraid to shy away from Anne's sharper edges while remaining profoundly sympathetic, surrounded by a court of whispers, her existence on a knife's edge. We know only what Anne knows, and we see the smaller, heartbreaking moments usually passed over in other adaptations - in her grief following the stillbirth, Anne sits up in bed almost catatonic, milk leaking from her breasts, her attempt to walk back the infamous “dead man's shoes” comment, and the long days of her imprisonment.

Then there’s the beautiful costumes - in a court of dark furs, Anne wears bold primary colours and velvets that catch the light, that them become more subdued prints once she is in the Tower.

The other notable feature is the casting - described as "identity conscious" rather than colour-blind, representative of the othering of Anne and her relatives. Another standout is Thalissa Teixeira as Anne's cousin Madge Shelton, fleshed out as her confidant and the only one who remains true to her. It's a fresh perspective and a worthwhile watch, particularly for Turner-Smith's performance.

Cruella (dir. Craig Gillespie) - Spoilers. I wasn’t planning on bothering with this, but my sister wanted to watch it and I’d been told by several people that it was actually quite good. Look, I'm not saying they lied, I just think they were able to look past things that I was not.

Because actually, the core story has potential and the film has enjoyable elements (notably Emma Thompson), but simply falters every time they try and shoehorn references to the source material, and there are some truly egregious attempts - Roger is the Baroness’s lawyer for some reason? And writes the familiar Cruella De Vil song about how awful she is when she's just given him a puppy?

It doesn’t work as a prequel, or villain origin story, or even a reboot, since Cruella’s character journey is over by the end of the film (I have no idea what the purported sequel is going to be about) - in fact "Cruella" is just a persona Stone's Estella adopts (complete with a terrible affected accent), and there is no conceivable way for her to become the wannabe puppy murderer we know from the book or any of the film adaptations. Oh, and Pongo and Perdita are siblings! Well done, Disney. Slow clap for you.

Also, with a runtime of 2 hours 16 minutes it is Interminable and the whole thing is saddled with a terrible, unnecessary voiceover. Seriously, they should show this in film class to demonstrate when v/o hinders not helps.

They were likely going for a Maleficent-style re-imagining, but where that succeeded (somewhat) in a completely new retelling right down to a different ending to the source material, this wants to have it's cake and eat it too - it wants to have the Cruella aesthetic (the car, the hair, Hell Hall, the camp accent) but doesn't ever let her be a villain, or even the beginnings of a villain, but that's that's reason she's so memorable in the first place. It puts all the pieces in place for the story we know, and yet that story simply cannot happen with this version of Cruella.

In the end, it's a story of a fundamentally decent person who maybe goes a bit overboard in retaliating to bullies, and swindles a sociopath to reclaim what's rightfully hers. Cruella De Vil! I just couldn't get over this fundamental misapplication of the source material.

In many ways, it almost feels as if this was pitched as a sequel, with Cruella in the Baroness role. It would have fit a lot better with the aesthetic, the time period, and the concept of punk disruption of classic fashion. Or, it was a completely unrelated story of a plucky orphan who rises in the fashion world, that at some point was grafted onto the Dalmatians property. Either one would have worked better, frankly.

I am probably being overly harsh. If you switch off your brain and enjoy the clothes it’s fine. But honestly, if you want your live action Cruella fix, just watch the Glenn Close version, because it is superior in every way.

The Chair (season 1) - I watched this for Sandra Oh, and I was not disappointed, because I got to watch Sandra Oh. On the other hand...it's not that I didn't like it, I just...wish it had been better?

The story revolves around Ji-Yoon Kim, the first woman (let alone woman of colour) to become Chair of English at a "minor Ivy" university, as she tries to juggle the clash of old style academia and new, raise her daughter as a single mother, and deal with a series of controversies caused by one of her professors (and love interest). It's the latter I feel sucked up way too much time and was ultimately unsatisfying - particularly the end, which was played like a moral victory but really rubbed me the wrong way. If this gets a season 2, I hope they dump Jay Duplass' fuckup sadsack because hoo boy, am I sick of that kind of male character.

But Sandra Oh is wonderful.

Writing

The Lady of the Lake - chapter 5 posted, 4215 words (10,261)

Against the Dying of the Light 1954 words (11,976)

Here I Go Again - 414 words (12,948)

Novel - 1039 words (1484)

Total this month: 7,622

Total this year: 48,435

[matthewfairchilds-lil-bitch]

The Truth

I had to write a short (~3800 words) one-shot for Matthew x Cordelia. Story is set a few months after James and Cordelia announce their engagement. Matthew confesses his feelings to her. It was getting very smutty but I toned it down for my own sake. Rated M (lil bit of sexy kissing, nothing crazy).

Matthew was in a particularly foul mood when he arrived at his parabatai’s estate. He trudged up the stone steps and knocked twice loudly. Just before he could lose his patience and barge in himself the door swung open to reveal a sleepy, confused James.

“Math?” he asked, taking in Matthew’s torn and bloodied waistcoat.

He brushed past James into the foyer instead of answering. With a huff of frustration he tore the waistcoat from his arms and tossed it across the room. It was soaked in foul ichor.

“I just received that yesterday,” Matthew complained. “I’d ordered it months ago, custom made.”

“You’re bleeding,” James walked up to take Matthew’s left arm in inspection. 

“Did you not hear me?” Matthew pulled his arm free of James’ grasp. He stalked down the hall towards the library. Matthew threw himself down onto the ornate green and gold rug in front of the fireplace, stretching his sore legs towards the gently crackling fire.

“Yes, yes, your new coat is ruined,” James said as he entered. The door slammed shut behind him, worsening Matthew’s already throbbing headache.

“The embroidered carnations were made of silk,” Matthew’s voice dripped with despair. “Silk from China.”

“I won’t deny that it looked like a lovely coat,” James came to lean against the couch by the fire. 

“It was more than lovely.”

“I’m sure you can have another one made,” James suggested with a shrug.

Matthew rolled his eyes and didn’t look at his entirely too sensical best friend. Of course it hadn’t made sense to go on patrol wearing his newest prized possession. Thomas had pointed that out to him numerous times before they’d even left the Institute.

“If we hadn’t run into those grotesque Mantid demons-”

“Mantid demons?” a soft voice cuts Matthew off from the entry to the library. He turns to see Cordelia walking quickly towards them. Her dark red hair hangs loosely over her shoulders. She ties her ivory robe securely around her waist, concealing her knee-length nightgown from view. Matthew has to look away so she won’t notice the slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” James can’t seem to meet his fiancé’s eyes when she looks at him. Cordelia looks at Matthew instead, watching him with concern as she stands beside James. “Matthew was on patrol with Thomas. He showed up bloodied and irritated.”

Matthew huffs dismissively. He hates the way it feels to have his parabatai’s fiancé stare at him so intently. He hates the way she looks worried, because it makes him feel good. 

“Are you hurt?” she asks.

“No,” Matthew says at the same time that James says “Yes.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cordelia commands. 

“I am fine,” Matthew doesn’t bother to hide his frustration. 

She crosses her arms over her chest and gives Matthew an impatient look. As always, it was pointless for him to try and argue with her. He doesn’t drop her gaze as he begins to unbutton the cream-colored linen. Cordelia only looks away once Matthew reaches the last button and shrugs the shirt off completely. Her eyes dart to his lower abdomen and she frowns.

Matthew looks down at his bare torso and notices a large, jagged cut. It spans from the top of his left hip bone to just above his navel. The blood around it is mostly dried, but a small amount of fresh blood still seeps from the wound. He’s not surprised he didn’t feel much pain but the sight of it now brings it to his attention. 

“I’ll get a washrag and water,” Cordelia says. Matthew is confused by the tightness he hears in her voice. James sighs after the door shuts behind her.

“Trouble in paradise, Jamie?” Matthew taunts him. It’s not like him to goad his friend, but frustration from tonight and the past few months is finally overwhelming him.

James doesn’t look at him. He stands up from the couch and strides over to the liquor cabinet across the room. Matthew winces when he hears the clink of an empty glass against another.

“I’m afraid my Dai-” James clears his throat. “I’m afraid Cordelia is reluctant to continue our engagement.”

For once, Matthew is shockingly unable to reply. He knew that their engagement was an illusion, a promise for the sake of their societal appearances. Cordelia and James were only to be married for a year before they would divorce and seek true relationships. 

Still, it surprised him to hear that Cordelia would consider ending their charade before it could even benefit them. But he understood her pain. To be so close to someone you loved and know that love would never be returned, he was very familiar with that feeling. 

“Can you blame her?” Matthew wasn’t sure James would understand. His relationship with Grace had barely changed at all during the past few months. Of course they’d kept it all quite hidden, but James could hide nothing from Matthew.

“I know the situation is less than ideal,” James says quietly. He walks back to his previous spot against the couch, this time carrying a glass half filled with dark brown liquor. 

James holds the glass out for Matthew, who only shakes his head. Matthew wants to be mad at his friend for automatically offering him his preferred liquid vice but he knows the blame is only his own. The habit has become entirely too representative of Matthew.

“You know me too well, James,” Matthew looks into the fire. “But I’m afraid the gesture would be against my best interests. I am rather uncharacteristically attempting sobriety.”

James drops his extended arm, placing the glass on the low wooden table behind Matthew. 

“I think that’s excellent, Math,” James says. 

Matthew only grimaces. He’s sure that James is doubtful of his efforts, just as he was. It has been an agonizing two days for Matthew, but he felt a new sense of power within himself every time he denied the drink.

Neither boy is used to this much silence between them, and the longer it drags out the worse it feels. James bends down to sit beside Matthew. He pulls out his stele and taps it against Matthew’s shoulder.

“Ought to have drawn a few Iratzes by now, haven’t I?” James attempts to lighten Matthew’s mood.

“Yes, you are quite the failure this evening,” Matthew says. He leans his head back as James brings the stele to the side of his wound. A familiar gentle burn spreads across his stomach as the rune begins to work.

“I don’t blame her,” James says quietly. Matthew opens one eye to watch his friend. James is careful with the stele but his eyes show that his mind is faraway. 

“It’s difficult for her,” Matthew says. “She cares for you more than you realize, but she sees the way you love Grace. She knows you’ll never love her that way.”

“That’s not true,” James snaps, somewhat harshly.  

“So you don’t love Grace?”

“No- well, I mean yes,” James stammers, lowering his stele to his lap. “But I care for Cordelia.”

James looks almost pained to be saying this, his mouth slightly open in his own confusion. The mask he wore so often seemed to be slipping its way back across his face. Matthew is about to question him further when the library door opens to reveal a slightly flushed Cordelia carrying a sloshing bowl of water.

They both stand up at the sight of her. Matthew uses one hand to keep pressure on his still-healing injury, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Everything is fine,” she tries to reassure their worried expressions. “Christopher is here, he just needs help at the Institute. He said Anna has received word of a questionable downworlder gathering.”

“I’ll head there now,” James starts towards the door and Matthew follows.

“You are staying here, Matthew,” Cordelia holds out a hand to stop him before he can pass her.

“Don’t be absur-”

“You are in no condition to join them,” she cuts him off and wraps her hand around his wrist, pulling him back to the couch. Matthew gives James a disbelieving look, but he only shrugs in response. 

“Please be careful, James,” Cordelia says. She gives him a tight-lipped smile. 

James bows his head slightly. He hesitates at the door, watching Cordelia as if trying to convey something without words. Before he can decide on what to say, Christopher calls out from the front hall. 

“James, we really should be going!” Christopher rarely sounded impatient, but it was clear in his voice now.

James gave Matthew and Cordelia one last uncertain look before dashing out of the library. It was nearly impossible for Matthew to just sit there and not follow his friends into potential danger. Cordelia still gripped his wrist as if she knew what would happen if she were to let go.

“They will be alright,” she says quietly, almost to herself. Cordelia lets go of his wrist and Matthew remains still. 

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Matthew asks.

“Someone had to stay behind and clean you up,” she offers him a small half-smile to show she’s teasing.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself, regardless of how helpless you believe me to be,” Matthew smiles down at her.

“I never said you were helpless,” Cordelia says, pulling out a washrag from her robe’s pocket. “You did kill a Mantid demon tonight. I would hardly consider that helpless.”

“Thomas killed more than I did,” Matthew admits. He’s embarrassed to be flattered by her words, however small of a compliment they may be. 

“Well you were wounded,” Cordelia squeezes the excess water from the rag after dipping it into the bowl. “And you haven’t complained at all. That must count for something.”

The damp rag is cold against Matthew’s warm skin. Cordelia gently wipes away the dried blood, being careful not to push too firmly against the cut. Matthew watches her while she concentrates. He notices the way her eyes narrow slightly as she studies his injury, notices the way her lips scrunch up to one side. 

When a lock of her hair falls into her face Matthew is startled to see his own hand coming up to tuck it back behind her ear. Cordelia doesn’t flinch away from his touch, but her hand stills against his stomach.

“Your handiwork is as skilled as ever,” Matthew drops his hand to his side. “Thank you for tending to me.”

“Of course, Matthew,” Cordelia drops the rag into the bowl and smiles at him for a moment. 

“If only you could repair my ruined waistcoat,” he laughs softly. “You would have loved the silk flowers.”

“I’m sure it was very beautiful,” she sounds somewhat regretful. Matthew wonders if it’s just on his behalf, as she’s very familiar with his admiration for intricate clothing.

“You called me beautiful once,” Matthew almost whispers. “The first night we met.”

Cordelia looks caught off guard at the memory. Matthew has no idea why he is bringing it up and has no idea why he won’t just sit there quietly.

“It was bold of me to say,” she blushes. “But it was the truth.”

“The truth,” Matthew muses. “It can be so cruel, can it not?”

Cordelia’s eyes flit back and forth between his, in search of something. Matthew has grown used to this look from her. One of the many things he has come to appreciate about Cordelia is that she isn’t afraid of figuring people out. She’s inquisitive and persistent, especially when it comes to her friends.

Matthew realizes they’ve been regarding each other in silence for a few minutes. She seems to notice the same thing, and she clears her throat when her gaze drops to her lap.

“You should rest,” Cordelia says. She stands and reaches for the dark wool blanket across the back of the couch. Matthew doesn’t move as she throws it across his shoulders.

“Good night, Matthew,” she offers a small smile before turning away from him. She’s halfway to the door when Matthew stands up, causing the blanket to flutter to the floor.

“Would you like the truth, as well?” his voice is too loud in the quiet of the room.

Cordelia halts but does not turn to face him. Matthew notices the way her shoulders tense under her pale robe.

“The truth is I am a horrible fool,” he laughs bitterly at himself. “I have done something so despicable that I can hardly accept that it is true.”

“Matthew, if you’re referring to the secret you confided in me-” Cordelia whirls around.

“No,” he shakes his head at her. “You’ve known that truth about me for weeks now, this is something else.”

“Then what is it?” Cordelia manages to sound both kind and demanding at the same time. “What could be so awful?”

Matthew’s heartbeat is racing now. He cannot imagine revealing this truth to her, not when she has already uncovered so much of his dark past. Matthew wants to evaporate into the air rather than face her pitying reaction, but he’s come this far and the momentum of his pulse pushes him to keep going.

“What’s awful is that I have fallen for a woman who deserves so much better than what I can give her,” his voice is empty of every emotion but anger. “The truth is she deserves so much better than what any man has ever offered her.”

Cordelia stares at him, almost hypnotically. She’s utterly still and Matthew wonders if she’s stopped breathing. He takes a step towards her.

“And the truth is I am betraying her in telling her this,” the space between them is disappearing with each shaky step he takes. “Because it is wholly unfair of me to burden her with this truth.”

“Matthew,” Cordelia breathes. Her hands are trembling slightly at her sides. Matthew has never seen Cordelia tremble, not in the face of any danger they have ever known.

“Cordelia, the truth is…I am in love with you,” Matthew feels as if all the air has left his lungs at this declaration. 

Her mouth falls open as she takes in a sharp breath. He’s close enough now to notice the soft pink blush spreading across her warm, dark cheeks. Cordelia makes no move to stop him as he reaches for one of her hands. 

“I realize it is cruel for me to admit this,” he says, staring at their intertwined hands. “You care for James. I am sorry for-”

“No,” her voice is shaky when she cuts off his apology. “Don’t.”

Matthew can’t look at her when he drops her hand, can’t stand there in front of her while the last shred of his heart accepts what he already truly knew. 

“I’ll go,” Matthew whispers. “I am truly sorry. Goodbye, Cordelia.”

He has taken three long strides to the door when Cordelia’s hand captures one of his. Matthew is yanked backwards and spun around to face her.

“No, Matthew,” she sounds firm and unhappy. “Do not apologize to me, not for that.”

“Why not?”

“Because as much as you might hate the idea of loving me, I do not,” the words rush out of her, but she sounds sure.

“Why? How could you not-”

Cordelia’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth. Matthew furrows his brows, desperate for her to put his restless mind at ease.

“You truly don’t understand, do you Matthew?” Cordelia asks in awe. He can only shake his head, and she drops her hand. It comes to rest against his bare chest and Matthew is briefly electrified by her touch.

“Have you really not noticed how difficult it is for me to look you in the eyes?” her voice is breathless. “Have you not caught me watching you from a distance on more than one occasion?”

The rapid beat of Matthew’s heart should concern him. His hand is clammy in Cordelia’s but he doesn’t dare let go of her.

“What are you saying, Cordelia?” Matthew has to know.

“It should be quite obvious,” her eyes drop to focus on his rosy pink lips. “I’m saying that I am in love with you, too.”

A ragged breath escapes him, and he brings his free hand up to cup her face. She leans into his palm and smiles at him the way Matthew only ever dreamed that she would. His thumb strokes her cheek while he stares at her incredulously.

“Would it be unfair of me to be bold once again?” Cordelia asks.

“I would hardly expect you to be anything else,” he states simply. His voice is quiet from the shock of her words. Her eyes flutter shut for a second and her tongue juts out enough to wet her lips. 

“Then I would like for you to kiss me now,” Matthew almost couldn’t hear her over the blood pounding in his ears. 

Her words finally register with him and he can’t contain his grin. His hand slips behind her head to tangle in her hair and Cordelia’s breath catches in her throat. It’s all the motivation he needs to push his lips against hers.

Matthew feels as if he’s lept off the side of Blackfriars Bridge. The only thing anchoring him to this world is his grip on the back of Cordelia’s neck. Their lips are unbearably gentle against each other’s, as if the gravity of the moment restrains them.

Cordelia moves one hand to grasp Matthew’s hip and pull him against her. A quiet moan falls off his lips and he pulls back enough to take in her reaction. Her eyes are wild and bright as she studies him too.

“Kiss me again,” Cordelia’s voice is only slightly shaky. Matthew is still too stunned by the fact that he has kissed her at all to move. 

Cordelia lets out an impatient huff before she wraps both arms around his neck, kissing him harder than before and without any hesitation. Her vigor sparks an immediate response in Matthew.

His arms lock around her waist to erase the remaining distance between them. Cordelia’s hand twines through Matthew’s messy blonde hair and she tugs the strands lightly. It is a maddening sensation that causes him to gasp with pleasure. 

His reaction makes Cordelia smile proudly against his mouth. Matthew uses the moment to run his tongue against her bottom lip, and her hand tightens in his hair. 

“Cordelia,” Matthew’s voice is rough and pleading. 

He needs to hold her tighter, to feel her soft and toned frame entirely against his. Matthew’s hands move to grasp the back of her thighs. He lifts her up and her legs wrap around his waist gracefully. 

Their kiss is unbroken as Matthew leads them to the nearest couch. 

Cordelia’s tongue strokes against Matthew’s as her hands roam his scarred shoulders, his muscled chest. Her touch somehow soothes his frantic thoughts and ignites them simultaneously. 

Matthew pulls Cordelia down to straddle his lap when they reach the couch. He holds her hips with enough pressure to leave bruises if he’s not careful. Cordelia pulls back and gazes down at him, her long hair burning a beautiful shade of garnet in the light from the fire. 

Her neck is exposed to him alluringly, begging him to taste it. When he bites it softly Cordelia moans and grips the tops of his arms. The sound is fuel to his fire, encouraging him to suck the skin at the base of her throat and lick away the pain. 

“I will need several Iratzes now, thanks to you,” she says. Matthew can hear the smile on her face.

“It would be my pleasure to assist,” his breath fans across her neck and he’s pleased by the way she shivers at the heat.

Matthew kisses his way up Cordelia’s throat, across her jawline, under the shell of her ear. Her skin is warming rapidly under his touch and her quiet panting increases when his hands roam the expanse of her exposed thighs. 

“I have waited so long for you to do this,” Cordelia admits, sounding relieved.

“Not as long as I,” his hand moves to the small of her back, shifting her against him desperately. “I have dreamt of you since the night I watched you dance at the Hell Ruelle.”

Cordelia lets out an airy laugh at the memory. The movement shakes her shoulders slightly, causing her robe to slip down her arms. Her dark skin glows in the firelight under her pale blue nightgown. 

Matthew’s lips trail down across her collarbone, leaving a path of gentle bitemarks and wet kisses. He cannot comprehend the reality of this glorious moment. The feeling of her palms against his neck is a fever dream, the weight of her body on top of his is a heavenly hallucination. 

When Matthew’s mouth reaches the skin above her left breast he hesitates. Cordelia senses his apprehension, and makes it disappear when she gently pushes his head towards her. He places a tender kiss there before his teeth sink in faintly. 

“Matthew,” she whimpers. His name tumbling from her lips causes him to bite down harder, and she arches against him. 

Her grip on his shoulders would be painful if he wasn’t already on fire. His tongue darts out to soothe the bite, a light red mark already blossoming there. 

Matthew pulls back to admire her. Cordelia’s eyes are lidded, the corners of her swollen lips turned up softly in a sated smile. He reaches up to twine a finger around her brilliant red hair. She brings a hand up to cup his chin. 

“This feels so natural,” she sounded amazed. “It’s as if this could be our hundredth kiss.”

Matthew chuckles and presses his lips against her jaw. He’s thrilled to hear her say it so freely and so easily. 

“Well I never let myself believe I’d be able to kiss you at all,” Matthew says. “But now I’ll dream of our hundredth, our thousandth, and every kiss after that.”

Cordelia laughs and drops her forehead to his before saying, “Don’t bother dreaming of our second.”

Her soft lips slant against his and he cups the back of her neck to hold her there. Matthew always took pride in his imagination, but this lust erupting between them was far greater than any fantasy he had ever envisioned. 

They burn together in newfound pleasure and acceptance. The fire behind the grate pales in comparison to their fevered discovery of each other. 

Their hands roam across each other, caressing every surface they can access. Every kiss sparks an ember within his heart. Every brush of her hand against his skin fills his hollowness with a molten bliss. Matthew lets Cordelia’s presence incinerate the wall of ice he built over time around his soul.

He had forgotten what it felt like, warmth. 

[kiaraspeaks]

Anansi x Female!Reader: In a flash we'll meet again.

You hope that he understands one day, his father is a complicated man. Man? That's a stretch of the imagination right there. You loved Anansi, loved him more than anything and anyone else in the world, besides Charlie, but, you couldn't stay with him. Children only are able to see what you put in front of them, and Anansi painted just enough of a vision of himself to hide his world from your child. Children. What a fucking mess that is. There are days that you wished that you hadn't met him but that's a pointless line of thought, Anansi desired you, to know you, to have Charlie, long before any war. He may have driven you up a wall at one point but he was family, and you knew that despite any differences when you called he would always come.

After all that's how you met, you weren't trying to summon a God. But praying for somebody, anybody, to stop this man chatting you up in the bar. You came for a quick drink at Randy's Divebar, Anansi materialized nearby (or perhaps he was waiting in the wings the whole time, just waiting, as he had done your entire life) what might be a hideous green and yellow floral pattern worked for him, long lean lines that might make someone else seem imposing made him even more inviting despite the man yammering on and on about himself.

"Bothering you?" He said, he inhaled on the cigarette and blew smoke into the face of the man hassling you. Whichever meathead that was hassling you didn't take kindly to it, but Anansi didn't care, had never cared, didn't care that he was thinner and obviously more breakable. He out maneuvered everyone before ever setting foot in any room, that included you too. "Move."

"Or what?" They said, he'd been hunched over you for the better part of the night but he was standing up rod straight and cutting an imposing figure. First, Anansi smiled, something you learned much later masks more pain and irritation than any human body could tolerate. Next, he picked up his glass and drained it and turned it over in his hands a few times. You heard it, the sound of the glass shattering, the crunching of the bones in his face, and finally saw the mess of the meathead's face. They ran out screaming, bleeding and crying. You should've been positively frightened but you weren't. Not even as Anansi plucked glass out of hands and tossed it into the drink of the man who had annoyed you.

"That wasn't necessary." You said and nursed your drink. The bartender didn't say anything, clearly they had some type of understanding. They moved further down to tend to other customers.

"Maybe so," He said, the cigarette perched perfectly in the corner of his mouth. He pulled out the splintered shards of glass like it didn't hurt, the blood didn't bother him. He raised his bloody hand and signaled for two drinks. "But it was fun."

"For you."

"Well maybe I'll have to work harder to impress you next time." He said.

"What makes you think there will be a next time, and why would you try?" You said, he smirked, didn't smile. His smirks were harmless, adorable, thoughtful. It's dangerous to know a God so closely. You would call it fate, but Anansi hated such words. After all he thought the only stories that were written in stone were penned by him.

"You're Mr. Nancy's girl, why not try?"

"And who is Mr. Nancy?" You asked, two drinks are placed between you both and then a small container of gauze. Anansi grabbed the gauze and one of the drinks, he poured the liquor over his wounded hand and allowed it to drip perfectly into the glass with the bloody shards. He doesn't wince, sigh or suck in deep breaths of air as the booze washes over his wounds.

"Someone important, snappy dresser, charming, and I hear that he might even be single."

"If I'm his girl how is he single?" You asked,he wrapped his hand with an ease that told he got into these types of scuffles often. Again, you learn Anansi doesn't take on any war that isn't already won, that includes your heart.

"Well that sounds like a proposal if I ever heard one." He said.

"You're Mr. Nancy?"

"My friends call me Mr. Nancy, but you, you can call me whatever you want."

"What's your name?" You asked. Another charming smirk, no madness in the eyes, he tapped the growing mountain of ash into the glass with the shards and the blood and tainted alcohol, he killed the light on the cigarette and topped .

"Have dinner with me and I will tell you." He said.

"You don't even know me, Mr. Nancy."

"Well, I want to get to know you, otherwise we wouldn't still be having this conversation." He said, "Do you want to get to know me?"

"I think so." You said, he held out his undamaged hand to you and you shook it.

"My name is Anansi, and it's wonderful to finally meet you." He said and bowed his head and kissed your hand, and when he asks your name you tell him. You don't know it then but you love him, someone so in love with who you are, starting with your name and every other story that you're apart of. You expected dinner much later, perhaps in a couple days but it didn't take much prodding to get you out. Randy's food at the divebar wasn't very good and you didn't feel like fiddling with the oven tonight.

----

You wished that you could properly explain to your son that his father was a God and that made him half and if he chose have kids that would make them a fraction and yet with all the potential of full Gods. There just never is enough time and never a correct way. Even you struggle at times, Anansi appears to just be a man, impeccably dressed, always on time, and two steps ahead at any given time. You had time to walk away, if anyone could imagine doing such a thing, but you knew something was diffferent, something was wrong. Anansi warned you that he got mixed up with some bad people, that bad times might be coming eventually, gave you time to leave, time to ask questions. Maybe you didn't want to know, perhaps you thought you already knew, you suspected he was a criminal but never a God.

Sometimes he's in two places at once, some times things fall to the floor, teleport across the room, but there are times when he is so far removed from you, nothing can bring him back from that place. You were tired of being ignored, once upon a time being Nancy's girl meant something but now it meant going to bed alone and waking up alone, sometimes with Anansi having not moved from his spot in a chair at all. You came in, surprised he wasn't in a haze, he seemed to be waiting on you.

"You're late." He said. An observation and an accusation. You weren't cheating on him, you could, there were so many who wanted you and yet here you were...alone in your own relationship. The perks of being Nancy's girl.

"So." You said, he went days at a time in the same household and yet not saying a word. How dare he get up for going one night without seeing you. You'd met up with co-worker, Higgler, went out for drinks. No harm in that.

"I waited."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"I must be confused," He said and stood up and walked into the the kitchen and came to stand beside you. "Is something wrong?"

"No, you tell me, Anansi."

"Are you drunk?" He asked, yes, you were but that wasn't why this was happening. This conversation was begging to be had for a while now.

"Does it matter? Would you even care?"

"I care. Of course I care." He said, then said your name softly and pulled you into his arms. You stay still for a moment but it's hard to resist him, always has been since the moment you met him.

"Why won't you just talk to me?" You asked softly into his chest.

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

"You've never struggled with being convincing before." You said and looked up at him. Then he smiled at you, looked through you and then pulled away.

"Take a seat."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm about to tell you who I am and you should probably sit down." He said, so you do and he does tell you. Your head doesn't split open and you don't die but initially you think he's lying. He can't be a God! He just can't be! It's your human nature to emphatically deny what you don't understand.

It takes more than him politely explaining who and what he was. He sighed heavily and walked away from you. He stood in the center of the kitchen and raised one hand and touched the ceiling and flattened it, then his other hand and used his weight to pivot and climb the ceiling. If that wasn't enough, his forehead was lined with eyes and large fangs extended from his mouth. A birth defect? A disability, possibly. He can see this is a lot and came to sit at his feet.

“This can be a lot for most people.” He said.

“I’m not most people.” You said.

“I know, that’s why I chose you.” You looked down at him and took the cigarette from his hand and he lit it for you.

“What type of God are you?” You ask after a long while, you go through two more cigarettes before you feel steady enough.

“Jack of all trades.” He said. “The people need to be safe and laugh.”

“You make them all laugh?”

“I can change the story but not completely remove it, important parts have to stick. Humans are sticky and linked to one another, I can only ease the journey.” He said. “Wisdom in the form of entertainment has been easiest, you know it’s hard to tell a stupid motherfucker they’re doing something wrong.”

“Are you apart of my story?”

‘Do you want me to be?” He asked, you stand up and he doesn’t look away. Perhaps, reflecting during these final moments you see what it is. Blind faith. He believed in you. Despite him hating fate, kismet, whatever you wanted to call it, he always knew you’d choose him. Like a good book, you’d always return, even if there was an entire ocean separating you. If you couldn’t then he’d come to you. He couldn’t unmake himself a God, much like your boy won’t be able to burn away that part that calls out and sings so sweetly. You held out your hands to him and he took them.

“How long can you stick to the roof?”

“It’s not a party trick.” He said and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and spinning around with you. When he placed you back down you were standing in the bedroom.

“Says who, spiderman?” You asked and you both laugh. It’s a period of adjustment like nearly everything in your life.

----

You ultmately wish for your boy to understand that everything has a sunrise and sunset. You loved Anansi inspite of every red flag you ever saw crop up, and there came a time where loving and being in love wasn't enough. He was your husband, your best friend and beacuse of that you came to a proper agreement. A moment would come when this world and this war was too dangerous. Your boy, charlie, loathed his father because they were too much alike, both parading around in facades, both busybodies in the worst ways, both too damned pigheaded to say what was on their mind truly at times.

"So you're going to leave?" He asked, it was one of the dumbest thing you'd heard him say. You were finally debased to obvious observations, he was always so well spoken and right now he was holding up a wall watching you in your living room. You'd moved from Chicago to Florida, created a life for one another, brought a child into the world, spoke truth into the world only to watch it crumble away partly due to an invisible war you never saw and the fact Anansi spent more times chasing stories than keeping you happy. Those stories always came in many faces, younger, healthier, livelier people who seemed so different from you.

"Bags are packed. This is where we should leave things."

"You're being very cordial about this."

"And you're smiling, are you happy about this too?" You said and pointed out, he ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to remove the smile but failed. He was angry, but so were you for so many reasons you'd never share. If he loved stories so much he could keep up with them without embarassing his son every forty five minutes and neglecting his wife, he'd always be a God and you'd always be a human who might have bit off more than she could chew. Charlie was a God too, no matter how shy and withdrawn he'd became.

"I know what you're thinking." He said and slid his hands into his pcokets.

"I assure you don't." You said, "Maybe in another time but I can't--"

"Can't what?"

"Can't play second fiddle forever to whatever story you're chasing." You said, "Not for you or for any man."

"Maybe not a man, but a God?" He asked. He pushed off the wall and walked over to you. After years together charm wears off, the butterflies die but familiarity never changes. Falling into step has become second nature, you are so far from the young woman impressed by the cool headed man with brute strength who won every battle before he ever picked an arena. "I know you think you're making the right choice."

"And what do you think?" You asked, "And I want you to really tell me, no cheating, no looking into the future."

"I think that no matter where you go, all you have to do is call and I'll come."

"You'll have three more people moved in before the end of the week." You said, you need to say it so that you know this is really over.

"Doesn't make it any less true." He said and you hold out your hand to him.

"When I'm gone, promise you'll be here for him, he'll need you." You said, he took your hand and dropped down onto one knee and kissed the back of it.

"I'll do my best."

"That's all I can ask for." You said and placed your hand on the top of his head and then pulled away and lifted up your last bag and started towards the door. "If I ever call...it will be to say goodbye."

"So this isn't goodbye." He said and teleported beside the door.

"No, this is just farewell for now." You said and walked out. You don't look back, you don't need to, you don't know exactly what binds him here but hopes he finds something to free himself.

----

You hope one day he understands that his father is not a man and will never behave like one. He doesn't have to, he's not even bound to this planet let alone it's rules, but you hope one day that Fat Charlie realizes he is so much more than just a man and to live the life he really wants to. You can feel when the life starts to leave you and you want all your affairs in order. You move across the country and then out of the country and Charlie followed. He grew bitter and irritated with his father seeing his flambouyant and exuberant personality as a flaw instead of something to carve out in himself. You don't expect cancer to take you, but you've lived a full life and hope Charlie does the same.

You don't expect Anansi to actually show, you don't expect the band, or the kiss that would knock you off your feet if you weren't already in bed plugged up to machines. The nurses enjoy the change in pace and so does Christine, your roommate. Anansi is lively and brings a bottle to celebrate your new change in life, or so he calls it that.

"I'm sick." You said, "I'm dying."

"You're all dying, but it's not a bad thing, and I'm right here, like I promised."

"Still a man of your word down to the parade." You said, you thought the times you got drunk and waxed poetic he hadn't paid attention. You were glad some things hadn't slipped through the cracks. "Talk to Charlie?"

"No, no, you know how he is. Always on about something."

"He's your son and when I'm gone he's all the family you got left."

"You consider yourself family?"

"You wouldn't cross an ocean for no reason." You said. He slid his chair closer, placing his hand over yours.

"You look good." He said, he's older now, or that's what he wants you to think. A little sag here, a bit more hunched over. You've watched him shift his entire body to fit his agenda, this is no different.

"I'm old and bald, Mr. Nancy." You said,

"Call me Anansi."

"Or whatever I want, right?"

"Right." He said and laughed. "But you look good regardless of what you've got. If you could do anything, what would you do?"

"Besides live?"

"Yes, besides that." He said and held your hand in his. His hands have grown harder, rougher. Less story telling, more fighting, much more hard work than he ever should've been used to.

"I want to travel, really see the world, you know I always talk about it but things got in the way, and then Charlie came and I couldn't just take off."

"Yeah, I think I'd lead that boy to an early grave." He said and you both laugh together. A hearty laugh that you didn't know you needed. "Well let me get some things in order first and you'll have it."

"Look, Anansi--"

"You're Nancy's girl, right? You'll have what you need." He said, and you believe him. A spinner of tales he might be but never a liar, at least when it came to you. "Say it."

"I'm too old for this shit."

"No, I'm too old for this. You're exactly where you're supposed to be." He said and you smile, it's been so long since you've done that, you've done more smiling now than you have in the last couple of years. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"You're Nancy's girl."

"I'm your girl." You said and smile again, you mean it, after all these damn years away from him, only an hour together and you've fell back into patterns.

"Kiss on it?" He asked, ever the slick and sly trickster. It has been many years since you've kissed him, it's not just flesh to flesh, he can pour something into you that you didn't know you needed.

"If that's why you came then sure."

"No not the only reason but you know you got what'll make a man sell his soul to the devil and cross the sea." He said, he stood up and leaned over you, not making you work too hard. He leaned on the button helping you lean back and pressed his lips to yours, tilting your head up. You feel it, a tingle, something that starts to brighten and jump to life inside you. You are not a spring chicken anymore, but he makes parts of you spring to life as if you were in the first bloom of your life. "Damn, girl."

"What are you on about?" You asked.

"Nothing, you called, I came, like I told you I would. I've got to get back before anyone knows I'm missing."

"Don't forget to say goodbye to your son."

"Oh, I won't." He said and raised your hand up one final time and kissed the back of it. You watch him go and know you'll see him again but you won't be among the living, this is your last time. You are unsurprised when your tests come back negative and you're discharged. The cancer is gone, dead within seconds, and when you return home you find plane tickets waiting on your counter. Anansi is more than a man and that's okay, you hope Fat Charlie sees that.

-----

You are dead. You know that. You hope Charlie can learn to forgive his father for being so boisterous, larger than life and embarassing, but he is his father's child and it is hard for them to see eye to eye on any damn thing. You rise from the hotel bed and walk over to the balcony and you wait for him because you know he's going to come, or you're going to find him. The land of the dead is silent, there are others, you can see them walking about, playing in the park, running with their dogs, kissing and holding hands, going on strolls. For a moment you think you won't see him, you leave, no need to gather your things, you won't need them.

Anansi once told you about the after life, about what may or may not await you depending on which road you walked. You knew he said he'd never be far behind and you believe that, you believe in him. You step out of the hotel, turn right and walk, going purely on intuition, the hotels and beach towns wash away, through the forests you continue, climb the necessary hills. As you come upon a different world you note your knees don't hurt, your feet don't ache and neither does your back. At the top of a hill is a cave, you pass through the mouth of it and felt something shake and shimmer over you as you enter the room.

It is a large single room, a grate pit in the center of the room surrounded by cushions. There are portraits on the orange walls and shadows dance about the room, you're sure exactly from where. He is laying back on the cushions, his head is pillowed on his arm and staring up at you. He is different, more himself, his true self. His hair is longer, and he has many eyes that line his forehead, and many arms that line his torso. He has a book hand, is weaving with another and waving from a completely different hand.

"You found me." He said.

"For now, I don't think I can stay here, can I?" You asked.

"Not the end of your journey, I'm afraid. Soul like yours comes around once in every few flashes."

"Flashes?"

"It's complicated. You'll learn. All afterlifes are the same in one way or another."

"How much time do we?"

"Oh, as much as you want." He said and dug between the cushions and held a bag of sand. "Sand of times, snatched it off some kid on the way home. Felt like we'd need some time together."

"For what?"

"Whatever you want."

"And Charlie?"

"He'll be fine, smart kid with a good head on his shoulders." He said, he pushed himself up and kept tossing the bag up in the air.

"Tell me what you did when I left." She said.

"Now that is a story..." He said, you walked over to him and the things he semed to be doing to keep himself busy disappeared. He welcomed you with open arms, when you wrap your arms around him the room changes with a snap. You are back in the bar you met in, you pull away and look up. Yes. This is Randy's. Same dumpy dive bar where he inserted himself in your life and you let him. He walked away and over to the bar and picked up the glass of bloodied glass shards, tainted alcohol and ash from his cigarette.

"WHat's is this about?" You asked. He picked up the second glass and poured it into the concoction.

"Drink it."

"You think I'm crazy?"

"You trust me, right?" He said and held it out to you, "Besides, you're already dead."

"There's so much worse you can do."

"Says who?"

"Says whoever you snatched that sand from." You said.

"Touche." He said, but you drink it anyway. A drink. A potion. Whatever it is it makes your head spin, you feel whatever entity you are shift and turn inside out and the sound from Randys came back but it was different. Not a dusty dive bar but the scent of it is still the same and so is the chipped bar. You and Anansi stood at the back of the crowded bar, someone at the front was tearing it up on a saxophone.

"I made arrangements." Anansi said.

"For?"

"Our boy." He said, and yes, why it is Charlie but he's different. Alive in a way you could never put your finger on as his mother. But you see it, at his core, what makes him a God and a man and they're not at war with one another.

"True to your word, why does that make me feel like we're coming to the end of our journey?"

"We'll meet again, a soul like yours, shines too bright." He said. You nod your head in agreement, you sip the drink again and feel yourself start to break and shift. Charlie climbs down from the makeshift stage and tries to part the crowd, but you are dust in the wind.

Blood.

Glass.

Liquor.

Ash.

----

You are flesh, bone and free will, but you do not have direction. Perhaps that's why you hover here at Mausoleum of the fallen. The entities that are sculpted here are beautiful some made of marble, others onyx, you walk by and sense that you are not alone. You know you are a flash, a shift in the cosmic energy and a rarity, you will continue to hide amongst of the morals, walk between the worlds of Gods and mortals....and then there they are far in the back of the Mausoleum.

"What are you?" You asked.

"Choice." They said, the God walked out, impeccably dressed, "Always on time, I see."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

"Gods have never come to meet me before."

"This is different and I'm not just any God," He said.

"How many flashes have we suffered one another?" You asked, you're not sure but instinct in not something you need to find. This multi-eyed creatures stares at you with fondness.

"Seventeen."

"That is not chance, that is planned." You said.

"Yes."

"Why is this different?" You asked, They held up a tumbler of alcohol with ash and glass shards floating in it. You look away back to the statues, there are handfuls of Gods that are necessary, some haven't been seen in eons, they play it fast and loose and are wild cards. You wonder which one he'll be.

"Just is." He said, you have no reason not to trust him despite being gifted with these instincts. You reach for the tumbler but he pulled it back away from you. "The past couple times I meddled but now you have a chance, a real chance."

"You don't think I'll choose you." You said and tilted your head to the side to study them. "Even though you chose me all these cycles."

"The last cycle was different, you walked away, for good, only called when you were about to die."

"And so you wanted to know that now I'd choose you."

"Yes."

"Fascinating."

"How so?" He sked.

"Even Gods, in all your wisdom and knowledge, have your insecurities."

"We invented them, mortals just inherit them."

"Now what will we do afterward?" You asked, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag full of sand.

"We have time to figure that out." He said and this time when you reach for the glass he allows you to take it. You drink it down down, swallowing the glass and ash and tainted alcohol, with each swallow you remember a different life, a different flash, eons of you doing this dance with him, each time you're different, the circumstances are different but the last time is by far the most daunting. Charlie. Oh, how many years has it been? Did your baby boy live well? "How do you feel?"

"Cold." You said and looked down and noticed you were naked. "I bet you think this is funny."

"Only in a cosmic way."

"Is Charlie--"

"He's fine, he's fine. Two wives, three kids, a bar. Living the dream." He said and shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulder. "We have time to catch up on him later, I've missed you."

"What do you want to do?"

"Lets go to a club, I need to stretch my legs."

"Which ones?" You said and then scoffed as you followed him out of the afterlife. You weren't sure where you were going but you trusted him enough, had trusted him after thousands of rebirths, what was so different this time? For so long you two had been together, maybe now you could stay together without the cruel hand of fate intervening. As you reached the portal you thought of one last thing. "Whatever happened to that war?"

"Oh. I ate the people that were pissing me off.. " He said.

"You're kidding."

"Only a little." He said. "No worries, no war this time, just you and me."

"The way it's supposed to be."

"The way it's always been."