#If it only sucked my blood that would be fine but I am physically unable to sleep with the noise it makes

[lottiebagley]

Space Girl- George Weasley

Space Girl, show me the stars You know the galaxies of my heart

George Weasley was not excited for his first astronomy lesson of the year. He'd agreed to do the class simply because he needed to fill his timetable and it seemed more enjoyable than history of magic.

That's what he had told Fred at least.

In reality he had opted for astronomy for one specific reason. Y/N Y/L/N. She was a shy Hufflepuff girl and although he had never spoken to her George was absolutely enamoured with her.

So, as he dreaded the lecture ahead he tried to remember that this cloud had a silver lining, and it was a silver lining that was absolutely worth it. This was all confirmed when he walked into the astronomy classroom and saw her.

She was sat at a desk at the back of the room. Her hair twirling round her finger as she studied the open text book in front of her, seemingly unaware of the chaos around her. George noted happily, that none of her friends seemed to be in the class and rather than asking to sit with Angelina and Katie like he had been planning he figured what the hell and went for it.

"Hey, is it alright if I sit here?" He questions, willing his cheeks to not flush red when he looks up at him

"Oh, of course you can George," she nods, moving her stuff to the left to make room for him. He feels his heart leap at her knowing that it was him and not Fred.

"How did you know?" He questions, head cocking to the side to look at her better. He smiles slightly at the bright red flush on her cheeks.

"You aren't that hard to tell apart," she shrugs

"Our own mother can't always do it," he pesters, he's genuinely intrigued how she seemed to know so easily.

"Uh, okay then. You're slightly taller so when you are together I could always work out who was who. From there I just kind of noticed little things, you have two freckles on your neck, Fred has a scar above his eyebrow. Your face is slightly longer, your nose is a little longer and has that cute little bump in it, your hair falls completely differently and your lip has a little curl in it. But the easiest way is that you have a different vibe about you," She rambles like it's the most obvious thing in the world and George himself wouldn't haven't been able to explain the physical differences so well.

He's pretty sure his heart melted on the spot.

"You should tell my mum all of this," he smiles gently, not knowing how to respond and explain that he's never felt more seen in his life.

"Sorry, I'm not a creep or anything I swear. Just observant,"

"It was quite sweet actually," George smiles, biting back a chuckle when her face blushes a bright red. "So, you any good at Astronomy?" He questions politely

"I'm okay. It's probably my best class. I've always known about it so," she shrugs, cutting herself off. She knew that George was a pure blood and probably wouldn't want anything to do with her if he knew she was a muggle born.

"You're a muggle born right?" He questions, she's surprised his tone doesn't sound angry or accusatory like was often the way with pure bloods, instead genuinely interested.

"Yeah," she confirms "my older sister is obsessed with astrology so I knew a lot about it before I got here. It's probably the only subject I didn't fail first term," she admits, George smiles softly. He can only imagine how hard it would be to come to the school with no magical knowledge.

"Look at you now, you're top of the year in almost everything," he points out

"Yeah, Ced helped me find my feet and after I settled in it all made sense," she explains. George knew that her and Cedric were best friends, he was a lot more outgoing and George had never quite understood how their friendship worked but it was no secret wherever one was the other wasn't far behind.

Girl, are you a cancer? 'Cause you make me cry When we kiss or dance in the sky We're dancing in the sky

"Hey space girl," George grinned brightly as he dropped into his seat

"If you've forgotten my name you can just ask you know," she blushes a little, not thinking that the boy she had fancied since second year could actually have given her a cute pet name.

No. The only logical explanation is that he had forgotten her name but after being sat next to her for two weeks now was much too polite to ask for it.

She had told Cedric this and he had laughed loudly, ruffling her hair and telling her that she would do well to remember how beautiful she was.

"I know you're name. Y/N Y/L/N. You're a Hufflepuff, obviously," he gestures to her tie before carrying on "Your best friend is Cedric Diggory and you two are always together. You tutor my little sister in potions. You help Professor sprout with the plants in the green house on a Sunday morning. You like to study in the library, specifically the second table from the back left corner. You never eat carrots but you love peas and you always buy two chocolate frogs at Honeydukes one for the walk back and one for a treat that night. I'm not a creep. I'm just observant," He finishes his ramble with a reference to when she had proved just how well she knew him a few weeks prior.

She sits, slightly astounded as he looks at her like his ability to list off so much information about her that she had never specifically told him shouldn't be a shock.

Her heart melts on the spot and she's pretty sure her crush just became real feelings.

"Why?" She questions quietly, not really meaning for him to hear

"You're beautiful and I like looking at you," he shrugs, turning to the text book in front of him. He notices her eyes still staring at him and turns to look at her "hey, you wouldn't want to study together one night this week would you?" He questions, smiling at the blush that overtakes her cheeks

"Yeah. I'd love that,"

"Amazing, does Wednesday work for you? I could meet you at the library after classes end,"

"Sure," she nods shyly, biting her lip to stop a smile and having no clue the very action makes George want to kiss her senseless.

"I know the table," he grins, chuckling when she blushes bright red before turning back to his book.

Space girl, I saw a lunar eclipse Looked like how I feel 'bout your lips Space girl, the only way that we'd end Was if you were sucked into a black hole

'You'll be fine. Just be your self and if he doesn't love you he is stupid,' Cedric's words ran around her head as she remembered sitting in his dorm whilst he calmed her down and Cho did her hair. She had protested to the couple that it wasn't a date but they had still insisted on helping her get ready during their free period after lunch.

Now, sat in the library she tried to remind herself that George was a lovely boy and wouldn't do anything to make her uncomfortable, he probably didn't even think of her like that.

"There's my space girl, you're looking particularly beautiful today," George is beaming as he approaches the table she's sat at, taking the seat next to her.

"Hey George, good day?"

"It's better now i'm here. Fred hasn't shut up about Millie all day, I mean I know he fancies her and all but seriously you'd think she hung the stars in the sky herself," He complains, not admitting even to himself that Fred would say he was just as smitten for his astronomy partner. "How was yours?" he asks, opening his bag to pull out his astronomy text book

"It was okay, Ced managed to blow up our potion so we have detention tomorrow night," She shrugs

"I'll see you there," He grins

"Why am I not surprised?" she deadpans and he allows his laugh to fill the air around them

"You know me to well," he blushes a little as he says it and forces himself to not stare at the way she bites her lip to stop from grinning. Half wanting her to stop so he could see that beautiful smile that seemed to be all he thought about and half wanting her to bite that lip every time he sees her because something about it was so attractive to him. "Do you mind explaining the constellation we learned about last lesson to me because I won't lie I was very distracted?" He doesn't feel like admitting that it was her that he found so distracting.

"Of course," She grins, unfolding her star map and pointing out the constellation Lyra "So Lyra is latin for Lyre, it is like a stringed instrument basically a harp, and it's associated with the myth of Orpheus," She begins to explain

"The musician guy?"

"Yeah," She confirms, watching as he takes notes of what she is saying "Orpheus was given the harp by Apollo, and it’s said that his music was more beautiful than that of any mortal man. His music could soothe anger and bring joy to weary hearts. Wandering the land in depression after his wife died, he was killed and his lyre  was thrown into a river. Zeus sent an eagle to retrieve the lyre, and it was then placed in the night sky and that's the story behind the constellation Lyra. It's best seen in August, and, it kind of looks like a lopsided square with a tail to Vega, it's brightest star," She recites, pointing towards the star on the constellation.

George tries hard to remember to focus on what she's saying, listening intently but he can't help his mind from wondering, instead scanning her face, every small detail, the way her eyes lit up as she talked, the way her lips curl in a small smile when she stops talking and notices him staring at her.

"Distracted again," he admits

"Clearly, you find astrology boring," she teases

"No, I just find you distracting," He admits, his heart melting as she is unable to stop the bright grin on her face. She doesn't say anything, simply grabs her notebook and opens it to the right page

"Copy my notes so you can at least teach yourself the content, the textbook is confusing," she instructs before turning back to her own work. They work silently for the next hour, dutifully copying notes and planning for their essay that's due in next week but routinely stealing glances at each other, blushing when one catches the other.

But I'd still spend my days dreamin' 'bout you Dreamin' 'bout you Tell me how to Stop dreamin' 'bout you

"Were you listening to anything I just said?" Fred questions, waving his hand in front of his brother's face

"Sorry, what was it?" George questions, pulling his eyes away from the Hufflepuff table. Fred sighs, turning to look at what George has been staring at and is not surprised in the slightest.

She is sat amongst her large friend group, despite being shy around people she didn't know she was chatting happily to the group. Cedric on her right, is laughing at the story she seems to be telling and Archie Young, who George hated simply for his obvious crush on her, is clinging onto every word.

"You are so whipped,"

"I know, it's embarrassing. I can't stop thinking about her and she probably only sees me as a friend,"

"Hey, don't say that. She would be stupid to not like you Georgie, besides, she stares at you just as much," Fred reassures his brother, usually he would tease him but he knows that this girl is different, it means something. "I still don't believe that she would never get us mixed up," Fred ponders, in reality he didn't doubt it, if George said she could tell them apart then why doubt him, but Fred wanted a moment alone with the girl.

"I swear to you that she wouldn't,"

"Lets test her," Fred exclaims, jumping up and tugging his twin out of the hall and to their dorm.

They spend an hour getting ready, stealing Ginny's eyeshadow to draw two fake freckles on Fred's neck, stying his hair attempting to fix every minor detail to make them utterly identical.

When they find her, she's hugging Cho Chang before turning around on her own and walking towards the Hufflepuff common room.

"Go hide," Fred instructs, shoving George towards an empty classroom he can watch from.

"Hey space girl!" She turns immediately at the name, mildly confused when the person approaching isn't George.

She had never spoken to Fred before and immediately feels herself becoming a little shy.

"Uh, hi Fred," she smiles as politely as possible. Fred stands with a smirk on his face.

"You fancy my brother," he states, she blushes a furious red that seems to be the final confirmation Fred needs, his moment alone with her providing the answer he had wanted.  

"I-uh-he-that-it-" she stutters out, Fred's smirk only grows as she turns impossibly more flustered before sighing  "How did you know?"

"Telling us apart is hard, especially when we try, you must really like him to know so quickly. Besides that reaction alone was enough to let me know I'm right,"

"Does he know?"

"He's blind," Fred shrugs, eyeing her as he decides he likes her, she clearly cares for George and that's all that matters to him.

"Right," she nods awkwardly

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," Fred grins before turning on his heel and heading back up the corridor to where an oblivious George is waiting.

Girl, are you a Cancer? 'Cause you make me cry When we kiss or dance in the sky We're dancing in the sky

George can't help the wide smile on his face when he sees her. She, like all the other 6th year astronomy students, is sat in her robes on the astronomy tower despite it being 11:45. He picks up the star map from a pile and heads towards her.

She is sat around a corner, almost out of eye line from the class completely and if he hadn't been looking for her he probably wouldn't have even seen her.  He sits down next to her, pressing his back against the cold stone wall just as she was doing.

The task was simple, to draw a diagram of the constellations they could see that night with the correct names onto an unlabelled star map and then from 6am tomorrow they had 48 hours to write an essay explaining each constellation they had found, it was their final assignment for the first term of school. George thought that was stupid, why would they do the task that involved sitting outside at night in December and the written exam in the summer when it would have been warmer.

"Hi," she speaks softly, the moonlight made her glow and George could have sworn she was an angel. Her own map was already a quarter full and wordlessly she arranges it so George can copy the notes she's already made.

"Hey, you okay?" he questions, noticing the way she curls into herself

"Just cold," she nods, he flashes her a smile, digging into his bag and pulling out a spare sweater and a blanket, both knitted by Mrs Weasley. He passes her the jumper

"Are you sure? you have it with you so that you won't freeze. I can't take it," she blushes

"No, I'm already wearing a jumper," he points out "I figured I'd bring a spare cause I knew you wouldn't think too," He adds with a smile, she blushes but accepts the jumper from his hands.

"thanks," she smiles, he nods. Watching as she pulls the jumper over her head. Her heart somersaults at the smell of George that envelopes her, his does the same at the sight of her in his jumper that looks baggy and too big, the sleeves like paws on her hands, and the large 'G' sewn into the front making him blush a little.

He wraps the blanket round one of his shoulders holding the other side out for her

"I don't bite," he speaks softly, it's like he can read her mind and knows she's thinking about how close they will be to sit under his blanket together. She blushes and giggles a little and George could die happy having heard that sound.

She shuffles closer, wrapping the blanket around her shoulder and begins to point out the constellations she's already mapped for him, cocooned next to him in the blanket.

They work together for the next twenty or so minutes as she stifles yawns, eventually allowing her head to droop onto George's shoulder when he teases her for stifling yet another yawn.

"This blanket smells like you," she mumbles, he blushes madly but can't help the smile

"Are you warm enough?"

"Bit cold, I'm fine though," she admits, he rolls his eyes at her as she shivers a little and wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to him

"Better?"

"Better," she confirms. She didn't mean to fall asleep but all cozy and warm being held by her crush it was impossible not to.

Not wanting to wake her, George finishes both his star map and hers before dozing off, his head resting on hers. He knew he should have woken her to go back to her dorm but spending the night sleeping with her in his arms was just too tempting.

She wakes up before him, having slept better than she ever had before and feeling utterly blissful in George's arms. That is until she realises she hadn't finished her work, she can't help the beam when she sees George has done it for her. She wants to stay wrapped in his arms but feels it better to leave now so it isn't awkward. In return for completing her work she takes her astronomy notebook that has all the answers to the essay written simply and leaves it on top of his star map, she knew the answers from memory anyway. Not even sparing the doodles and comments in it a thought.

She slips out of his hold, sneaking through the other students who fell asleep and heading back down the tower stairs to the main school, forgetting to take off his jumper.

George wakes up disappointed to not find her in his arms but smiles when he sees her notebook.

I hope you play this song some day And think of Earth Girl who loves Space Girl

George can't help the sigh as he explains to Fred where he had been all night.

"That all sounds pretty good to me Georgie," Fred comments, wondering why his brother seems down after his night with the girl.

"It was, I'd just hoped she'd be there when I woke up," he admits

"Well think about it like this, when have you ever had the opportunity to be disappointed that she wasn't there when you woke up before?" It's Hermione Granger who speaks up, she'd been listening to the twins talk on the sofa next to her and Harry's without really meaning too. It was just more interesting than Harry and Ron's discussion.

"you're right. It's better than nothing. Thanks Granger," he nods in agreement. He begins to flick through her notebook, not to study but simply enjoying the little doodles and her comments.

And then his world stops.

"How many people can you think of with the initials GW?" his questions is almost under his breath but Fred hears, perking up from the puking pastel plans he had been working on

"Just you and Gin, why?"

With no explanation George leaps up, jogging out of the room. Fred look mildly baffled until he sees her open notebook, and sure enough written on a corner amongst drawings of stars and planets is a little 'gw' with a heart next to it. Fred smirks and closes the book, turning back to his notes with a feeling of glee for his brother.

When George Weasley arrives outside the Hufflepuff common room he suddenly realises he has no clue how to actually get in, he stops, slightly out of breath from his sprint staring at the barrels.

"Hey George," her voice makes him jump as he turns to see her and Cedric approaching

"Hi," he smiles, suddenly not really sure what to say

"Well, now I've walked you back I'm going to go and find Cho," Cedric smiles politely at George, wiggling his eyebrows at the girl as she blushes.

"You looking for someone?" she asks politely

"You, actually,"

"Oh, what can I help you with?" she asks, he has no idea what to say "Oh! your jumper, it's in my room. You can come with," she smiles, reaching out and tapping at a barrel and then climbing into the passage that opens.

He follows wordlessly, glancing around the large circular room that is filled with yellows and blacks. She walks a little more confidently than he's seen before and smiles happily to the people who call out to her but doesn't stop to chat with them. He decides he likes it here, not only because it's so cosy but because he likes seeing her so at ease.

He follows her into her circular dorm room and towards a fourposter covered in pillows and blankets, his jumper sitting folded on top of the trunk at the end.

"I actually wanted to talk to you," he admits, it's now or never.

"Of course, what's up?" she questions, sitting comfortably on her bed and gesturing for him to sit down next to her

"I- well- how many people do you know with the initials GW?" he questions curiously, she looks at him, clearly mildly confused.

"Springing to mind just you and Ginny," She answers, not really sure what the point of his question is.

Without thinking for even a second he pulls her face to his and plants his lips on hers, kissing delicately before pulling away. She stares at him, utter shock in her eyes and mouth agape.

"I-I am so sorry. I just- well there were the initials GW in your notebook and a little heart and well I thought maybe you liked me back and then I heard you only knew me and Ginny and I assumed, which was wrong of me- and- merlin- I'm so sorry-" he's rambling anxiously and his hands wring through his hair

"Back?" her question is a whisper and he snaps his head up to look at her

"Yeah. I like you. Kind of thought that was obvious," he admits. His heart flips at the wide smile on her lips before her hands grab his neck and pull his head down so his lips meet hers. She kisses him with passion and hunger and he finally gets to bite down gently on that lip he's watched her bite a million times.

Her arms stay wrapped around his neck as she lies back on her pillows behind her, pulling him with her and not breaking the kiss for a second. They only pull apart when she needs to for air. But the beam on her face and her flushed cheeks make George want nothing more than to kiss her again.

"Wanna go do the essay together?" he questions

"We have 48 hours, we could stay here and cuddle," she suggests, a little timidly but her nerves leave when George grins brightly, kicking his shoes off and rearranging himself on her bed. She takes her own shoes off before climbing into his open arms, her head on his chest as she leans up to press another kiss to his lips.

"I'm keeping that jumper by the way," she informs

"Whatever you want space girl,"

I hope you play this song some day And think of Earth Girl who loves Space Girl I hope you play this song some day...

**

Masterlist

[toosicktoocare]

ya’ll ever dissect a brief two-second clip in a trailer for a season of a show that hasn’t come out yet and concoct a small story around it that turns into an almost 2k-word fic at almost 2 am in the morning? no? just me? 

anyway, i’m obviously hung up on that brief clip in the 911 season 5 trailer where Eddie falls. Is he panicking? Maybe, and that’s definitely what I wrote about. though, halfway through writing, when I was just watching a gif set for the clip, i had a thought that maybe he was poisoned instead. but, well, I was in too deep by that point. 

Trigger Warning for Panic Attacks. 

There’s panic, Eddie thinks, when he’s on the job. Panic that strikes a chord against the adrenaline thumping in his blood. Panic that drives his muscles and activates the sheer need to act and save in his mind.

This, Eddie thinks, is not that type of panic.

This is the panic that pools at the bottom of his stomach, always there and always waiting to accumulate, to feed on his fears, to expand upward. This is the panic that slides past his rib cage in the background until it’s snaking around his lungs, constricting slowly until he suddenly can’t suck in a deep breath and thus panics harder.

This is the panic that chips away at his brain, replacing the known with the biting edge of the unknown. Burning away the calm and revealing the trauma that’s been tucked away. This panic nips at his heart and eats at his nerves until he succumbs to it, the icy trace of its presence bringing with it a cold sweat that slips down Eddie’s temples.

He tugs at his collar, his pulse pounding hard against his neck, but it’s not enough. His breath is trapped, unable to sneak past the panic molding over his lungs. His hand falls to his side limply, and for a moment, he stares at the ground, his vision swimming, the faint background sounds becoming lost to the roar of his heart.

He doesn’t realize he’s falling until his back hits the ground, the air trapped in his lungs pushing out with a low wheeze. The pain that erupts along his back is numbed under the weight of bottled memories, of the gun shot that ripped through his arm, of the blood painting his world in a thick, deep red that drowns him.  

“Eddie? I heard something fall.”

He’s no longer on the floor, instead lost in a hazy limbo, what he fears most unfolding before him. He’s gone, and Christopher is grieving. His son is shutting everyone out, his voice muted under the pain. The 118, once a solid foundation, cracks, and Buck? Buck screams his voice raw. Buck punches at a brick wall, over and over until his knuckles tear and bleed. He swings when Bobby tries to stop him, and then he crumbles.

“Edmundo!”

As quickly as it comes, it’s gone, and Eddie gasps, the single breath a mountain to climb over. He’s at Ana’s. It’s their date night, and she was finding a pair of earrings she received as a birthday gift a few years back. They were set to leave for their dinner reservation in just a few minutes.

His shirt is damp against his skin, and he trembles the entire way to his feet, each muscle wobblier than the last.

“Edmundo, what happened? Are you ill?”

Ana’s frantic at his side, and she palms at his forehead, the worry across her face evident even through his fuzzy vision. He shakes his head, and she pulls her hand away, lips pointed downward.

“You’re ice cold,” she worries, one hand sliding down his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head again, unable to speak around what little breaths he’s able to take in. He’s on autopilot when he’s helped over to Ana’s couch, and he fades in and out of the present, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he struggles to recapture his breathing. His hands are fists at his knees, and he hunches over, curling in on himself, shielding himself.

He stays this way until a hand tugs lightly at his wrist and a voice calls out his name gently. He’s slow to lift his gaze, but when he does, Buck crowds his vision, blue eyes impossibly worried before him.

“Buck?” He croaks out, and Buck nods sharply, his fingers pressing to the inside of Eddie’s wrist.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures calmly. “I’m going to check your pulse, okay? Keep your eyes on mine.”

Eddie can only nod, the lump in his throat keeping his words from him. He trains his gaze to Buck’s. He knows Buck is counting silently to himself, and yet, Buck’s gaze doesn’t waver; his concentration doesn’t fold in the slightest. His eyes are sharp, focused, and after sixty seconds, his face relaxes a fraction, and Eddie’s lungs deflate with a low sigh.

“You’re okay,” Buck whispers, leaning forward until his forehead knocks lightly against Eddie’s, warm compared to his Eddie’s clammy one. His hand finds the side of Eddie’s neck, cups it gently, and Eddie holds the position, pulling all his focus toward the weight of Buck’s hand, the heat spreading across his forehead and down to his cheeks, his neck, stopping at his heart.

“I’m okay,” he finally repeats, voice low, cracking slightly, and only then does Buck pull away, frowning.

“Ana called.” Buck keeps his voice quiet, just a breath above a whisper. “She said she found you on the floor.” He opens his mouth, prepared to press further, but Eddie shakes his head sharply.

“Not here. Where’s Chris?”

“Kitchen with Ana.” Buck rises to his feet and steps away from Eddie’s view. “Sorry, I didn’t want to leave him—”

“—It’s fine,” Eddie mutters, his ears perking up to hear Christopher and Ana talking nearby. Christopher giggles quietly, and the furrow of Eddie’s brow smooths over slightly. “I need to postpone our date,” he adds, more to himself, and Buck extends a steady hand to help him off the couch.

“I’ll get Chris settled back in the jeep. Will you be okay to drive your truck back, or should I arrange to get it for you later?”

“I can drive,” Eddie mumbles weakly, and then Buck crowds his vision again, worry painted down every inch of his face.

“Try that again. If I still don’t believe it, I’m taking your keys.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath. His chest still hurts, the panic still a nagging sheet of ice burrowed deep in the base of his stomach, but he’s able to hold air in his lungs until he exhales slowly, the line of tension across his shoulders breaking.

“I can drive.” He repeats, stronger, and Buck nods, his own body relaxing.

“I’ll see you back at your house, then. Be careful.” Buck turns on his heel, a smile playing across his lips as he rounds into the kitchen with Eddie close behind him.

“Chris! Do you want to put the band-aid on your dad’s arm?” Buck turns to lean in close to Eddie, whispering, “I told him you fell and hurt your arm.”

Eddie mouths ‘thank you’ at the same time Christopher shouts, “Yeah!”

Eddie plants a smile across his lips, forced against the lingering, nagging edge of panic, and he rolls up a single jacket sleeve halfway up his arm. He crouches down, points to an unmarked spot on his arm, and Chris carefully, almost delicately, spreads a Superman band-aid across his arm.

“All better?” Chris asks, and Eddie nods as he gets to his feet. He ruffles Christopher’s hair, his own smile warming across his lips.

“All better,” he repeats. “Thanks, bud. You okay to go back to the house with Buck? I’ll meet you there?”

“Yep!”

Christopher offers multiple goodbyes before he and Buck slip out the door, leaving Eddie to work around just how exactly to explain to Ana that he’s not sure he can do this right now, that he’s succumbing to the issues he’s been too stubborn to recognize over the last couple of months. That he would be miserable company for he’s too wrapped up in a gut-wrenching fear that bears its fangs when he least expects it.

“It’s okay, Eddie.”

Her voice is impossibly soft beside him, soft but classically genuine, and he turns toward her, frowning.

“Ana, I’m so sorr—”

“—Don’t,” Ana interrupts, stepping toward him and brushing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her breath is warm against his skin, her voice delicate, her words knowing where to step and where to tread gently. When she pulls away, Eddie almost feels guilty at the relief, at the weight that drops from his shoulders.

“Talk soon?” He asks, and she nods, a small smile tight at her lips.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he tells her, and he means it. Every inch of him means it.

---

When Eddie pulls into his driveway, he turns off his truck, but he doesn’t rush to get out, instead sinking against the exhaustion that’s been creeping over him his entire drive home. He’s drained, emotionally and physically, and he tips his head back, his eyes fluttering shut. He doesn’t look when his car door opens at his side; he only sighs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

Buck’s being careful, Eddie thinks. He can tell by the way Buck’s tone almost tips up into a question, just not quite reaching that pitch. He’s leaving an opening for Eddie, and Eddie takes it. His eyes flutter open, and he rolls his head toward Buck.

“I’ve got some issues,” he says, and the laugh Buck lets out is nervous, worried.

“You don’t say.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Eddie admits, twisting around until his legs are hanging out of the door. “Tonight was a lot.” He can see Buck taking in his words, dissecting them in a way he does best.

“You look exhausted. Do you want me to go—”

“—No!”

Buck’s jaw snaps shut at the force of Eddie’s single shout, and Eddie slides out of the car, slumping forward, his forehead dropping against Buck’s shoulder. “Sorry. No, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone right now. My thoughts are—”

“—dark?” Buck finishes, his hand slipping to the small of Eddie’s back. “Not you,” he continues. “Scary?”

“All of the above,” Eddie mutters, and Buck’s hand presses against his back, pushing until Eddie’s flush against his chest. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s back, and Eddie returns the hug, melting against him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Buck whispers. “I’m going to be here, and I’m going to help you.”

Though Eddie knows Buck would quite literally bend over backwards for him, the ease of Buck’s tone, the determination laced within Buck’s words, cracks the icy panic that’s nestled in his stomach. It surprises Eddie still—just how much Buck is willing to be there for him no matter what.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and for the second time in a single night, every entire inch of his being means it.

[sweetea-rosey]

Ooo hi I saw you take requests? I have a writing request if you want to :))

So here is my idea:

Remus has a notebook given to him by the other sides to write his thoughts down in. See, Remus has clear impulse control problems so this notebook of for him to write his thoughts down instead of just doing and saying whatever comes to mind. It gives him a chance to think about it. Sometimes, maybe like once a week give or take a few days one of the other sides will sit down with him and read his thoughts with him just to make him feel validated and heard. Well this particular time one of the sides (of your choice) sat down with the notebook and found some rather interesting things.

Now, you can take this one of two ways (it’s really all up to you!)- You can make this something angsty (hurt comfort), or you can make it something shippy! It can be any Remus ship you want but I personally am more partial to intrulogical hehe 💙💚

Take your time and have fun with it!! Have a good day :)

Ah! Ty for the request! I started writing it on the day you submitted it, but Tumblr deleted it after a while of not saving :') so now my motivation to do this is deterred

Anyway, this'll be my first time not writing something Roman centric =w=""

Remus held the book in his hands. He remembered the day Roman gave it to him, when he risked traveling into the dark scape because he knew his brother needed this. Because he did, too.

An outlet.

A place for his monstrosities to be, other than inside his head, allowed to torture him to their best abilities. The illusions his mind creates are no longer just in his eyes. It's no longer insanity- it's creativity. The journal isn't the first one. But he and Roman make sure to keep eachother stocked up; they get filled rather quickly. The Imagination holds an entire library dedicated to their filled journals from over the years.

The journals have also become sort of diaries to them. So, imagine what were to happen if one of them got lost? The possibility of their secrets being seen by unbidden eyes.

Remus burst into Roman's room, "Ro!"

Roman jumped from his spot at his desk, "Jeez- ! What is it?"

Oddly, for Remus, he seemed almost anxious, "Have you seen my latest journal?"

Ah, that explains it. Roman understands the severity of losing something that holds your private thoughts. He stood up from his desk chair, turning to face Remus better, "No, I haven't. Is it missing?"

Remus nodded, unable to speak through the panic coursing through his veins, the hormone mixing with the feeling of the plasma we call blood rushing through veins and arteries, rest in his heart, which is thumping with vigor, the- Remus shook himself. The imagery coming on its own with nothing to do with it, "Thoughts, thoughts thoughts, thoughts, blood, where? Everywhere? It is me, I am thoughts and blood and gore and death and slime, and..."

Roman pulled his brother in, the physical touch of his second half grounding him, finally balanced out with his brother there to help him.

"Breathe, Ree...I get it...I'll help you look for it, okay? Do you have any spare journals?"

Remus shook his head. He had just started this one, he was too busy brainstorming on the pages to remember to restock.

"Okay, do you have the focus to conjur any, right now?"

Remus shook his head again. No no, of course not! He's too focused on the one that's missing!

"Alright, that's okay, Ree. I get it. Here, use this for now," As Roman spoke, he pressed a plain black book in the unstable man's hands, "Get some thoughts out on that, then we can start looking, okay?"

Instead of answering, he made the rest of the way into the prince's room and started letting the thoughts out.

.

.

.

"Feel better?"

Remus let out a breath and nodded, "A lot, thanks. Can we go look, now?"

"Of course, let's go."

It took hours. The sun was gone in Thomas' living room and they were still tearing the place apart, searching absolutely everywhere. Remus was tempted to just dismantle the mind palace and look through the stuff that gets left behind. The fear was boiling in his gut in the ocean of acid.

"What if we don't find it? My blood, sweat, and tears went into that book! Pieces of my heart are in there, I can't lose it, what if someone else finds it and reads it?"

Roman shuddered, because he didn't believe that Remus was being metaphorical, "I understand the severity of the situation, Ree. We should go look in the Lightside, now..."

Remus shrugged as much as his slumped posture will allow, "Sure..."

"We'll find it, Ree..."

"That's not what I'm worried about. If I lose it? Fine, I have others, I can start a new one. I'm scared of someone else finding it and reading it... there's things in there I don't want others seeing..."

"I get it, you know I do. We'll get it back before anyone else can even know it exists, alright?"

Remus just shrugged off his comforting hand, "Stupid prince, always making promises you don't even know if you can keep. Don't do that to yourself and don't do it to me. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that shit."

Roman recoiled, almost physically, "Sometime, people just need reassurance."

"And then, when you're wrong? I know you don't like breaking promises, Princey."

"...Then hopefully we'll figure it out."

"You're such a fucking optimist, it's gross."

Roman rolled his eyes, "I'm helping you look, be nice, you doofus."

"Oh wow, "doofus", I'm so offended," Remus said without much effort.

Roman ignored him.

.

.

.

"It's not HERE!" Remus screamed, a pot crashing through the wall.

Roman manged to muffle the noise and quickly put it back together, "We will, this was only the first room in the Lightside. You need to calm down."

"I can't! What if someone else already found it and read it? What if they hate me? What if they never wanna talk to me again because nothing in there makes sense, what-"

Roman caught his hands, "Woah! Woah...Remus, when did you start caring so much about what the others think of you?"

"I don't!"

"But...-"

"I don't care about what Logan and the other think of me."

"Of what...Logan and the...? Remus...is this about Logan?"

Remus hesitated just long enough.

"Oh great Aphrodite, it is..."

"Aphro-? NO! No, I don't!"

"Remus, is there something about Logan on that book?"

Remus said fuck it in his mind and sighed, "Yes... I...some fantasies...that he might not approve of..."

"Oh, Remus..."

"What if he finds out, and he...? He just doesn't...?"

Roman hit his brother on the head, "This is why you're a doofus. It doesn't matter if he finds it, you have nothing to worry about."

Remus rolled his eyes. Literally. He rolled them like dice and Roman had to look away, but got the message.

"How would you know?"

It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes (PROPERLY).

"I'm leaving you to figure that out. But, I do."

"Sure. Whatever. Asshole."

Roman moved on to look in the next room.

.

.

.

A flash of green leaped onto him and he was tumbling over, the item in his hands flying out.

"Remus!"

The man scrambled over and snatched the book up, "Did you read it?"

"I- no, Remus what is it?"

"It's mine. Roman, I found it!"

Roman? Since when do those two talk? But, as Remus said, Roman walked in.

"Oh, thank Hades."

"Logan had it."

Roman sucked in a breath, "Did he read it?"

Remus shook his head, relief is a weird expression on the man's face.

Logan wouldn't mind seeing it more.

"What is this about?"

Roman took the liberty of answering, "The book is Remus' and it's private. Reading it would be invasive."

"Oh, my apologies, then. But, I had just picked it up, it was left over from Remus' running through the room and into the Imagination, along with some other debris I cleaned up."

"It's alright, nerd."

Logan's gaze lingered on Remus a bit, before he bid his farewells, reminded Roman of some work he needs to do by Friday, then left.

"Y'know," Roman said as they turned to walk back, "You could tell him how you feel."

Remus scoffed, "I'm not self destructive, like you, RoRo."

Ignoring Remus' jabs is difficult for the prince, nevertheless, "And do, pray tell, how it's self destructive?"

"Because he'll say no and that will hurt. I don't like when things actually hurt. I'm not risking him hating me even more."

"Woah, woah, he doesn't hate you."

"Doesn't he? I'm chaotic, irrational, vile, ik everything he fights to keep under control."

Roman digested this and thought hard on how best to explain this, "But that's exactly why you two are perfect for each other. You help him let loose when he's being a stick in the mud and he helps you keep in control of yourself and stay organized.

"You're delusional. He doesn't like me, he can't Ro. It goes against our very beings! Go ahead and fool yourself, but you can't do that to me. That's just cruel." Remus disappeared and Roman sighed as he tried to brush off his brother's words.

As the embodiment of romance, he thinks he'd know when a couple will work out or not. How will he convince his brother and Logan of that? He supposes he can't blame them for that, who would listen to the love advice of someone who loves someone that loves someone else? Kinda hypocritical.

.

.

.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Remus! Would calm down? Just listen to me!"

"No! You're a liar and I hate you! Do you want me to get hurt? You're an asshole you good for nothing prince!" He screamed. Why won't his brother let this go? Doesn't he see that everyone is better this way?

"Fine! You're right! Is that what you want to hear? Call me an asshole, call me stupid, call me evil or whatever! But I'm not wrong! Why don't you believe me? Ha! Why am I trying to reason with the self proclaimed unreasonable?"

Remus looked down from his perch on the guillotine, "Wait, RoRo-!" But he was gone.

"Fuck."

He rushed out, hoping to Loki that he didn't do too much damage.

"Roman!"

But he found who he wants looking for.

"Why are you screaming in the middle of the common room?" Came that cool and sexy voice.

"Looking for my brother, duh."

"Funny, I just spoke to him."

"Where'd he go?"

"Not sure, but he told me to stop being a robotic fake and confess to you."

"He- ? ROMAN!" Remus summoned a hammer and maybe there's a new hole in the wall.

"He was right, surprisingly."

Remus was not expecting that, "Come again?"

"I have noticed, over the course of our interactions, that I have developed feelings that I didn't recognized until Roman brought them to my attention. Remus...I have romantic feelings for you."

And it was the last casual and calculated confession Remus ever heard. He imagined something with ropes. But it was the best thing he ever heard. He didn't expect to be crying.

"Remus?"

"I like you, too..."

Logan brightened and stood up, his heart beating unnaturally, yet pleasently, as he moved closer, "Then... perhaps we...?"

But before he could finish, Remus pulled him in and there was no need for words.

Part 2 with what happened with Roman afterwards?

Ty so much for the request and I apologies for the long wait.

@fireflyjunkie

[physicalturian]

[G] My Prince - Nikolai Lantsov x Fem!Reader

[Spoilers for : Shadow and Bone; Siege and Storm; Run and Rising] [No spoilers for : King of Scars ; Rule of Wolves; Six of Crows; Crooked Kingdom]

[She/her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] Words : 9569 Archive of our own

Tags : Flirting / War / Fluff / PTSD / Cuteness / Awkwardness / Soft / Love confession

Request stated : Hi ! Could you do a Nikolai Lantsov x reader request ? Where they are in love and have been together since she joined his crew after running away from the Little Palace but then everything happens and they break up because he has to marry Alina and then after he becomes human again and the Darkling is killed they get back together.

- - -

Everything happened so fast, the attack on the Little Palace by The Darkling, the explosions, the blinding light from the roof, all my fallen friends on the ground bathing in their own blood. Names were screamed in despair; we all retaliated the best we could, but we were outnumbered by far. I did not know what were those things that came flying straight for me, but I couldn’t move, I was paralyzed by fear. I tried to get out of the way, no matter how many times I told myself to dodge, I couldn’t. And yet, I saw the demon-like bird’s claws pass right next to me, only grazing my cheek as I was thrown out of its way.

“Now, I understand those creatures are fascinating, but they’re not exactly the friendliest,” I heard next to me, a hand gripping my arm tightly. I couldn’t move, but felt a gloved hand turned my face and look at me, “You!” “Your knight in shining armor, the honor was all mine,” The blond said with a smirk, but there was still urgency behind it.

 Looking around quickly, he told me to hide behind one of the trees and came back with a few other Grisha before hurrying us back to what looked like a flying ship. I wanted to stare at it a moment before the man lifted me off the ground, “I know it’s impressive, they all say that, but now’s not the time to look,” He said in a light, playful even, yet serious tone as he helped me on deck, he once more told me to stay, maybe even sit then left.

 This was my first encounter with Nikolai Lantsov, the bastard son, the witty only living heir to the throne of Ravka.

 I did not remember much of that night until I got on the ship, I know I was brought of change of clothes, my red kefta was a tone deeper, wetter than it used to be. When I placed my hand on the fabric, and looked at my palm, blood stared right at me. I did not know what to say, and only stared at it until a hand placed a wet washcloth on mine. “Unless the Little Palace hid blood-sucking people in their basement, which I wouldn’t be surprised of, and you’re hungry- then it’d be better to clean yourself up, dear.”

 “I’m not a vampire.” I uttered before grabbing the cloth from his hand and slowly getting the blood off myself, taking off the kefta, I still had clothes underneath, but I did feel the frilly temperature of the night. I throw a glance at the prince and found him looking anywhere but at me, “Why aren’t you looking?”

 He huffed, a smug smile adorning his features, “Is that a request? If so, I’ll gladly-“ “No, not a request. Just curious.” I replied with a huff. I couldn’t help the tired smile on my lips as I dipped the cloth back in the water to finish removing the blood before putting on the clean clothes I was offered. “I might be known as the bastard son, but I still have the education of a prince,” He paused. “But don’t worry, I’ll gladly look when you’ll ask for it-“

 “Gross, no thank you,” I glanced at him and nodded, “But thank you for the clothes. I should probably… do something-” Then I remembered, my eyes widened when the penny dropped, I quickly scrambled to my senses and got up, giving the best curtsy I could muster in this state, “Your highness, your highness, pardon my being improper I-“ He shook his head and stood up, laughing charmingly but also what seemed to be exhausted. “Don’t, right now call me Nikolai, some call me Too-Clever fox,” A smile made its way on his lips, “But you can also call me handsome, pretty face,”

 Laughing, I interrupted him, “I think Nikolai is a fine name, I’ll be sure not to remind you of your title, your high- Nikolai.” He looked at me for a moment, his mouth widening into a grin as he asked me my name. When I told him, he shook his head and held my hand gently, “I think ‘gorgeous’ suits you better,” he then pressed a kiss on my knuckles. I pulled my hand away, rolling my eyes.

 “Call me as you please, I do not really care,” When he was about to reply, Zoya called him, if not pressed him, to come, saying they had to talk. I was ready to leave, but he pulled my hand once again, “Ah, duty does not wait, but my heart does, hopefully you will?” I scoffed and swatted his hand away, “I’ll be going, no one makes Zoya Nazyalensky wait, you should hurry if you do not wish to be thrown overboard.” I said playfully before leaving.

 This was the extent of my first encounter with Nikolai Lantsov.

 We encountered one another a lot more, but those happened at night. I kept having dreams of the attack on the Little Palace. I would wake up in the middle of the night, breathless, sweating, and unable to go back to sleep. Not wanting to wake the people around me, I’d go back on deck, there would be squallers and inferni, making the ship work, while the prince would be sitting with plans in front of him. A thoughtful expression on his face. I blamed my tired state for the first time the thought crossed my mind, but under the moonlight, his expression determined and focused… He was almost handsome.

 I must have stared too long that time, he lifted his head from the plans and looked at me curiously before smiling and beckoning me to come closer. I turned around to leave but he called my name, I couldn’t ignore it, or perhaps was it because he was royalty and I felt like I couldn’t ignore him. So, I joined him, sat by his side and did not say anything. He was the one to start the conversation, “The dreams are the worst, but you get used to it, for what it’s worth. I have them every night, from the front.”

 “Is that why you are awake, my prince?” I did not realize I had used his title; I was overcome with exhaustion and couldn’t think straight. I heard him chuckled, “War does not wait, gorgeous. We need a plan of attack,” I looked at him a moment, then at his plans. “And where do you think we’ll find the resources to build this? Ravka is overcome with debts,”

 This is when he started ranting, with eagerness, about what he had planned. What was going to happen, the steps to follow, I listened intently, finding it almost endearing how passionate he was about it but forgot that thought as I fell back asleep.

 I did apologize when I woke, about falling asleep, telling him it wasn’t boring, but that I was exhausted. He tutted me and added, “Nonsense, I enjoyed watching you sleep, did you know you snor-“ “I do not snore. And it’s definitely creepy to watch someone sleep, my prince.”  He only laughed in response. Something in my stomach churned, I shouldn’t be friendly with him, but it felt easy to be as such with him.

 He had this easiness about him, this charm that one couldn’t help but let themselves be drawn to. It was a useful skill if he were to become King of Ravka, a skill that he had honed throughout years of… What had the young prince been doing these past few years? I never saw him inside the palace, as if he wasn’t even there. But he hadn’t been doing nothing, he seemed full of resources.

 While I pondered some more, I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up, Zoya gestured for me to get up and to look. As I did, I saw a gorgeous looking building made of glass, “What is that place? Did you know it existed?” I asked her in awe, she only shook her head before adding that the prince was full of surprises and for now it was useful, but she was keeping an eye on him.

 “I do like to keep a few tricks up my sleeve, it comes in handy when I want to see that look of surprise on the face of pretty women,” Two sighs followed his words, one from Zoya and another from me before we moved away from him and made our way to slightly unsteady lift that led us deeper inside what Nikolai introduced to us as the Spinning Wheel. I did not feel safe underground, and yet, when our feet met the ground, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest.

 This place was foreign to me, I was used to the safety of the Little Palace’s walls, knowing all that was happening, when it’d happen. When the attack had happened, that routine had been disrupted and I knew it was never coming back. It was the beginning of something big, something I did not want to get used to. And yet, right now, between these gorgeous walls, with people running around, crates in hands, sweat dripping from their foreheads as if they had been working non-stop, and with few peoples I knew… I felt safer. Not entirely safe, but a step closer to feeling such.

 “You do like to daydream, I can’t blame you, I am quite the sight,” Said the blond prince as he joined my side, looking where I was looking. I felt his shoulder hit mine and shuffled away, still wanting to put some distance between a man I knew I should fear for he had power where I had not. “I got lost in thoughts. I’m still trying to take in what this all means,” I said softly, meeting the blonde’s joyous gaze, when he met mine, he seemed to be shaken only for a moment before fondness replaced the excitement.

 “It’s something big, bigger than all of us,” he started, making me sigh in loss of hope, as I mumbled, “What are we even doing if it’s impossible to win?” It made the prince laugh as he grinned at me. I did not like how lightly he was taking the situation and was about to give him a piece of my mind when he said, “When people say impossible, they mean improbable,” “We lost the only possible person who could take the Darkling, I don’t see Alina anywhere around,” I stated, my arms open wide as I turned around to emphasize her missing.

 “Being optimistic is sometimes very close to being delusional, my prince, I do not buy that bullshit attitude of yours-“ “Hope is what keeps us alive. Soldiers and Grisha alike, we’re all tired, exhausted even and even though you do not appreciate that bullshit attitude of mine, it is what we all need.” He said in a very political way, with that charming smile, “And even without the sun summoner, I’m pretty sure I can outwit that old geezer,” He said in full confidence, almost puffing his chest as he said so.

 “What we need is to be better prepared, they did not teach us how to fight at the Little Palace,” I paused and observed the young prince a moment, “When you become King, you should change that, because this is only the beginning, my prince,” Before I could leave to join Zoya that I could see at one of door, not only did she disappear out of sight, but I felt the King grab my wrist. Scowling, I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, “Grisha will be training with soldiers, you will not go unprepared,”

 His tone was serious, then a smug smile drew itself on his lips as he let go of my wrist, “But what did I tell you, gorgeous? Call me Nikolai, this situation does not call for formalities,” He was changing topic, perhaps he did not want to talk about such matters with me, or perhaps he wanted a change of air. I played along and gestured for him to walk with me, “Well, Nikolai, if you could show me to the Grisha quarters-“ “Oh it’s now mixed rooms, hope you do not mind,” He threw me a playful grin, “If you do, I shall let you know that I am the owner of a single room. Now, it’s close to the King and Queen’s room, but I’ll be sure to ask the fabrikators to help with the acoustic, the King does snore very loudly,”

 I rolled my eyes, hopefully hiding that I thought he meant something else with the acoustic. We didn’t talk more afterwards, for I did not ask him any other question and he seemed to understand I was not in the mood to talk. The situation we were in stressed me out and talking about it in details did not help. When he led me to my shared room, he slipped away to meet up with Zoya along other Grisha and soldiers.

 I never considered taking him up on his offer of the single room.

 While everyone trained during the day, and it was tiresome, so tiresome that I would pass out the moment my head would hit the pillow, I would still wake up during the night. My body almost shaking in fear. I could still see those screeching creatures coming for me, the dread I felt that night, bodies surrounding me. Blue, red or purple, it did not matter, every kefta had ended up tainted in blood. We were taught to use our power, promised safety but never taught to deal with such things.

 Running a hand on my face, I got out of bed without a sound and made my way out once more. If every night was going to end up like this, I might as well find a quiet spot to sleep and give my room to someone who could use it, I thought as I tightened my kefta around my form. I walked up the stairs to, hopefully, find peace and calm down by staring at the stars. I let out a sigh of relief when I found nobody there and sat against the wall to look up the stars.

 I do not know how long as stayed there, trying to steer my thoughts away from the depressing feelings I was feeling, and it was hard, I could barely manage it. When I remembered a good memory, I was reminded that the friend I shared it with was laying on the ground, dead. I tried not to cry, I promise, but failed. My peace was interrupted by someone clearing their throat nearby. I turned around and instinctively tightened my fist, slowing their heart before I could see who it was.

 I let go just as fast when I saw the blond prince in front of me, he breathed out heavily, “Usually, I’m the one who has the ladies say ‘my heart stopped’ but dare I say, you left me breathless,” he scoffed humorously. I rushed to his side, wiping my tears away, apologizing as I patted his chest, his arms, anything, I did not know what to do. “I’m fine, don’t you worry gorgeous. It takes a lot more than that to take me down, I’m quite resilient, something the King never quite liked.” I squinted my eyes, not knowing what it meant before stepping back.

 “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t the brain of the war be resting?” I asked with my arms crossed over my chest. It made Nikolai chuckle, “You flatter me, I am indeed smart and do require sleep,” He paused. “I should also let you know, I have people on watch who warn me of the whereabouts of everyone here. You can imagine my surprise to hear you sneaked out at this hour, gorgeous.”

 Sighing, I turned around and sat back where I was, “I feel like you’re not going to leave until I tell you,” I pondered out loud, nodding, Nikolai joined me saying I was very right then added, “But I’m fairly confident I can guess what’s bothering that pretty mind of yours,” I quirked a brow at the blond, wordlessly telling him to go ahead. “The nightmares are not going to leave just like that,” he snapped his fingers. “I know… I know… I’m just trying to clear my thoughts, I can’t fall back asleep when I wake up from that,”

 “You did not seem to have any trouble on deck,” He pondered out loud, his eyes observing all my moves. I looked straight ahead, not wanting to let him read me. I shrugged, brought my knees to my chest and rested my arms on it to lay my head on them. “I guess my focus was on you and not my thoughts, maybe that’s why… it doesn’t matter though,” Turning my head, I looked him up and down, and changed topic, “Sorry again for the,” I moved my hands vaguely, talking about moments ago when I slowed his heart, “Thing, you startled me,”

 He laughed and shoved his hand in the pocket of his coat, pulling out a notebook and a pen, “It’s all in the past, we can go back to you loving the sound of my voice so much you fall asleep to it,” “I did not say that,” Opening his notebook, he started doodling as he spoke, “No need to, I reckon it’ll be demonstrated when you’ll fall asleep once more as I start explaining this great idea I had with David earlier this afternoon, it’s underwater boats and…” If someone asked me, I’d say I was bothered by the prince’s presence.

 But no one asked. It was just me and my thoughts, and his presence was secretly welcomed. He was funny to be around, light-hearted. I know behind all of this, was a man riddled with responsibilities, problems and perhaps as much stress as I was. But maybe we both needed this, someone else to simply hang out with. Not talk about the civil war, simply enjoy one another’s presence. I do not know what I brought him, if anything I thought he’d want to leave.

 But he stayed. We met up like this almost every night, on this very spot.

 It became close to a habit, when I’d wake up during the night and sneak out of my room, I’d see the blond leaning against the door frame, a smile on his lips. He’d wave at me before following my steps. Sometimes he’d remark how I was earlier or late, I’d just laugh it off and gesture for him to just follow. One night he suggested we’d perhaps take blankets, adding that as much as he enjoyed those little escapades of ours, he would rather avoid losing his toes. Since that night, there was a crate outside with blankets.

 Tonight, I’d taken upon myself to bring a book too. I felt bad, falling asleep when Nikolai would enthusiastically rant, it did not stop him from talking though. He would often mumble to himself or ask me questions I couldn’t answer but I’d try nonetheless, making him think before his face would light up as if he had the greatest idea. He would resume his scribbling.

 Tonight, however, he went silent, when I looked his way, I saw he was reading over my shoulder, I quickly placed my hand on the pages and closed the book. He whined, going for the book, “Come on, it was getting to the best part,” When I felt his cold hand touch mine, I simply let him take the book and shrugged, my face warming up, I was not going to play tug war to keep my book. His face was startled for a moment, if not hurt.

 I felt bad. I did not mean it as anything bad, I simply got caught off guard. And I also knew the feelings that had started developing within me and knew I could not act on it nor let myself believe anything would happen. He was royalty, he was a war leader… he was funny, and brought warmth to my cold, cold, heart.

 So, I chuckled nervously, “Your hands are cold, my prince-“ “Nikolai, it’s Nikolai. I’d think you’d remember it by now considering the many nights we’ve spent together, most women would remember it by the end of the first night,” He said charmingly, as he opened the book on the right page on my lap and leaned back against the wall to face his notes.

 “Am I most women? I find myself to be quite different from others, the nightmares add to the charm do they not? I even thought we had something special,” I said in a jokingly dramatic manner as I turned a page and waited anxiously for his reply, inside I regretted saying anything. Why did I want him to tell me we had something? I was being delusional, this was but companionship, we both had trouble sleeping and found one another’s company enjoyable, that was all. Pure, platonic companionship.

 I heard him chuckle and dared look his way, I felt my face warm up when I saw him looking at me with a huge smile as he was leaning on his fist, his elbow resting on his knee. He looked slightly stupid in this position, but also cute. “I think I found the pattern; all things have a pattern. It’s only a matter of finding it to understand,” I quirked a brow at his words and closed the book on my lap, making sure to put the bookmark. “For example, I like my women strong and hard to get,” I felt my heart skip a beat but only rolled my eyes in response.

 “How charming, where are you getting at, my prince- Nikolai,” He made a victory sound, and leaned forward, pointing at me with his index as his grin widened. “This, exactly this, oh this is good,” He said excitedly. I couldn’t help the small smile on my lips. I was waiting for him to develop, “Tell me if I’m wrong, gorgeous, but I think you’ve fallen for my charms.”

I raised my brows in surprise and hid my embarrassment by simply questioning, “That’s quite the reach, I do wonder how you came to the conclusion,”

 That cocky smile never left his lips, he grabbed my book and set it down on the ground, then resting his hand next to it as he leaned in. I leaned back. “I’ll wait longer, I need to test that theory first, I’ll keep you up to date gorgeous,” He winked, brought my knuckle to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss on it before returning to his thinking.

 This time he talked loud enough for it to be thought a conversation, which ruined my reading plans. I rested my head on my knees and looked at him as he talked. It was a close call, maybe I should be more careful with what I do if he knew I liked him. I was not going to abandon our late-night talks, but maybe I should be more aware of what I do. I did not know what was my tell, but I was going to make sure to not let it slide anymore.

 I fell asleep soon after. I think I felt something cold touch my hand before passing out, but it was probably the ground.

 We never stopped the late-night conversations. Only, I felt like the young prince was more insistent with his flirtatious ways, and I couldn’t say I was immune to his charms. He would say the most ridiculous things, and yet I would laugh and feel weird in my stomach, like,

 “Focused and determined, if I did not know it was a romantic story, I’d think you were doing hard maths. One would wish you’d look at them as intensely as you stared at those pages, gorgeous.” He once said, I huffed a laugh, suddenly feeling self-conscious with his intense gaze, “Perhaps my prince wishes I’d look at him that way?” I said half-jokingly. “Oh, you already do, I can feel your stare when I’m talking about my inventions, it’s endearing to see you so enthralled when I talk,” He said with a smug smile.

 I looked away, focusing my gaze on the sky, “I’m not enthralled, I’m confused, go back to your notes,” I mumbled, opening my book again.

 Another time, we were talking heatedly about a topic we both had in common that I found the most interesting. At some point during the conversation, he would only pitch in from time to time, it took me some time to notice that I had been rambling. When I stopped and told him to go on, he shook his head, “Nonsense, I find there’s a certain glow to your pretty person as you talk about things you hold close to you heart. One’s mind tends to wonder if an expression as beautiful as yours could be brought at the mention of one’s name…” He trailed off with a slight smirk.

 “Nonsense” I imitated his tone playfully, “One could maybe talk as themselves if one feels there is something they’d like to share, wouldn’t you think my prince?” I asked rhetorically, my face was warming up. I hoped I read it right, I hoped he wasn’t just flirting for fun and hoped he felt the same way, but I was not going to take the first step. Would it not be considered arrogant of someone like me to think I had a chance with a prince?

 His laugh reached my ears, then an excited huff as he moved away from the wall and scooted closer to me, sitting perpendicular of me. “Are you curious of my theory, gorgeous?”

 I was, if he was asking, it meant I hadn’t been able to hide it as good as I thought I had been, “Not in the slightest, no,” I replied off-handedly. He turned me around, his hands gripping my shoulders as I faced him, “But you are, I can see it! You are curious, and a bad liar, but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me” He winked as he drew a cross over his heart. “See, this theory of mine,” He paused and pulled out his notebook, “Which has been proven, right here,” He showed me his notes, but I could barely read it.

 I knew he wrote well, but when it was more of a brainstorming, or rushed notes, he wrote like a pirate. I nodded for him to continue. “You like me, we’ve been over that-“ “I don’t think we have, you seem very confident though,”

He tutted me and continued, “You only call me ‘my prince’ when you’re flustered or embarrassed, as if you’re trying to distance yourself, am I wrong?” He asked with a breathtaking smile, he was overjoyed by this. As if he had solved the most difficult problem of his life, which I hardly think it was.

 “I don’t-“ “Did you notice, in casual conversations, you call me Nikolai, as you should. But the moment I flirt with you,” He changed his tone when he continued and imitated a sort of shyness, “my prince,” he said with a heartful laugh.

 I know he meant it as a joke, but I took it at heart and scoffed. I threw him a cautious glance, taking in how handsome he looked under the moonlight. How his hair was still a bit messy from waking up in the middle of the night, I never knew if he couldn’t sleep either or if he woke up for me, but I believe the former was more probable.

 There was moment of silence, which was rare with Nikolai Lantsov. As if he could not bear the silence, but he never said so, instead he did the conversation all by himself. He always knew what to say, no matter who he was talking to, maybe that’s what was going on here.

 Or perhaps he wanted me to tell him I liked him… “One tends to distance themselves when they know that liking a prince only ends up well in fairytales,” I mumbled, shrugging. I had to try hard to calm myself, even considering using my power to calm my fast-beating heart.

 “Are you saying liking me is only possible in a fairytale?” I took the bait, I had already started talking when I looked at him in panic and saw the smirk on his face, “No, I’m saying it’s not as simple as one would think to … get together with royalty,” Chuckling, he grabbed my hands in his and pulled me closer, our knees touching.

 “Let’s talk properly, shall we? I want you, and I am fairly certain you want me too-“ Nikolai started, I had to interrupt, “Pardon?” I uttered in shock; my eyes as wide as a diner plate. An unusual nervous sound left his lips, as the blond quirked a brow, “It’s hard to believe I read the room wrong, from what I gathered you do not look at anyone else the way you look at me. Though it is only fitting that I’d receive all the attention.”

 “I thought you were fake flirting Nikolai, I thought I was being delusional,” I let go of his hands and let myself fall back on the ground delicately, now staring at the starry sky, a chuckle of disbelief escaping my lips. I heard him shuffle closer as he laid down next to me. Heat was emanating from his body, making me want to scoot closer and hold him but I stood there.

 “I’ll admit I am of flirtatious nature, but you’re the only one who enjoys my talking, that is something I am grateful for,” He started, “You are also very smart, and beautiful. I wouldn’t say as beautiful as me, I am quite the charming lad,” we both chuckled, as I nudged his hand playfully. He stopped me by grabbing it and intertwining our fingers, my breath hitched, and I turned my head to face him, slowly. Nikolai was already staring at me with a lovely smile.

 I loved the idea of being with him, but I knew it wasn’t possible, “It would have been nice… to be with you that is…” I said with a sad smile, “But I don’t think the King and Queen would appreciate it, for Ravka’s sake-“ “There, already thinking like a true Queen,” He said half-jokingly, I don’t know what he was doing. He was supposed to tell me I was right, it wouldn’t work, he was supposed to cut everything off. Instead, he was entertaining the thought.

 “Dear, let’s not think of what’s to come and enjoy our time while we can, shall we?” “You say that as if we were going to die, that’s not the optimistic Prince I know.” I said humorously, not enjoying the dark turn the conversation was taking.

 “You are very right, gorgeous. You are correct that the King and Queen won’t like it, not one bit. They’re quite set on marrying me off to some wealthy princess, but I do love a challenge, let’s first win this war. Anything can happen, and until then, I would gladly have you by my side.” There was some uncertainty in his tone when he continued, almost timid. Uncharacteristic of him, but I found myself relax slightly knowing he was not always brash and charming. As if we had a common ground here in both being new to this. “If you desire to not go forth with this, I’ll respect your wish, gorgeous.”

 “I want you too Nikolai,” I heard a short sigh of relief, “And my wish is for you to kiss me, can you respect that-“ I was interrupted by a breathless laugh as two hands cradled my face gently and pulled me closer, his lips pressed against mine, I could feel the smile on his lips and could only oblige in returning it. “Good, do you want to keep this secret or-“ “I think keeping it between our closest friends would be better, not that I’m ashamed. I’d flaunt you in a heartbeat, not that people would care, but…” “-But let’s not have the court talking just yet, I’m sure women will be jealous. Who wouldn’t be with such a handsome man by your side, after all? I’m quite the catch,” He paused.

 “And maybe let’s avoid the wrath of the King and Queen’s for now,”

 “Well… I never went fishing, but I’d say you’re an OK fish,” I told him teasingly, jumping back on his saying of being a good catch. He huffed in faux-shock, “An ok fish? I’ll have you known I am more of a very handsome fox, have you seen my lush hair?”

 This was the night I find out Nikolai felt the same way I did about him. From that day, I did start considering his offer of the single room but was afraid of people finding out.

 Meeting in his bedroom would be more comfortable, in a way we wouldn’t be sitting on the floor and freezing ourselves to death. But I love the blanket of the wide-open night, the darkness of it, the secrecy it brought us, something I doubt a room next to the King and Queen’s room could bring.

 We’d play the game well. The one where we weren’t supposed to be close, it was hard to keep it up with Nikolai’s subtle flirts when we’d cross paths. During the day he’d be running around, getting things done, with other people around him and would still dare to look my way while I’d be training, and wink at me. When I’d receive a hit from losing focus and look back at him frustrated, he’d grin and mouth “careful”.

 The soldier I was training with was starting to catch on, I thought she had found out when she chuckled. “Has the little Grisha taken a liking to the young prince?” I scoffed in response, playing it off and retaliating her previous attack. “I’d be a fool if I did, let’s resume,” I was indeed a fool and there was no helping it. I was falling more and more in love with the witty prince the more I spent time with him.

 He grew bolder in his moves, making me look at him exasperated the day he asked the person I was training with, if he could practice a bit. Thinking he meant for me to leave, I stepped aside but he laughed, “You can go Zeke, I’m a bit rusty but I want to see how our little Grisha is fending for herself,”

 I looked him dead in the eyes, without showing my true feelings. I threw a glance at Zeke, hoping they wouldn’t try to read the room, instead they left a bit confused.

 We stepped closer to one another, reading our weapon, “Nikolai, what are you doing,” he grinned, oh so charmingly, “Making sure my training programs is working, of course!” He exclaimed as we started fencing. I had a hard time getting a hit on him, I tried to argue that he had been doing this since he was a child, probably. Adding to that his great side life as privateer, he must have been in many fights, but then I remember he would mostly fight with pistols.

 When he was about to hit me another time, I used my power to make him feel dizzy. I fell back, avoiding his sword, he only lost a bit of his balance and stood standing right there. “I believe that’s cheating gorgeous,” He whispered, extending his hand to me to help me up. I didn’t take it and stood up on my own, leaning in and gritting through my teeth, “I can’t concentrate when you’re looking at me like that,” His grin only widened at that, “With burning passion and awe? You truly are stunning when you’re fighting, dear,”

 I gave him a deadly glare once again, unable to hide my blush, “Nikolai, no!”

“Nikolai, yes, I believe I won. See you tonight?” He looked around mischievously before placing a delicate kiss on my cheek and slipping away without an ounce of regret in his strut. I stood there in shock until Zeke returned and we resumed our training. No one had seen a thing.

 Later, the return of the Sun Summoner happened. The worry I felt upon being discovered with the prince grew in a different direction. Upon her return, a lot went down, one being the making of Nikolai a King. His father had abdicated, both him and the Queen were to stay away from Ravka. Talks about an alliance between him and Sankta Alina was going around, meaning, a marriage. I ignored it the best I could.

 One time we almost got caught when I was told the King had asked for a meeting with me, I held back a groan at how this lacked discretion. I made my way to the room dedicated for the war meetings with the most important people, and saw Nikolai looking at the map on the table in the middle of the room. He signaled for the person who accompanied me to leave, that this was important and needed all his focus. They nodded and closed the door behind. His diplomatic attitude fell to the ground like a cape being removed off his beautiful person.

 “Your majesty, you’re growing careless,” I was afraid someone was listening on the other side of the door and kept some distance between us, something he did not seem to be in the mood for. Instead, he grabbed both my hands and pulled me deeper into the room, whispering, “I wanted to see you and as your King you cannot refuse me,” He said playfully, “Nikolai, do you not care what people might think of this?” I asked, exhausted.

 “The people think there is something between Zoya and I,” I felt my heart clench, sighing heavily as I rested my chin on his chest, looking at him from a weird angle. “Which… there is not, right?” I felt his arms tighten around my waist, it felt comforting to be in his embrace like this, I felt untouchable. He looked at me with a big smile, “Is my darling jealous?” I rolled my eyes and looked off to the side. “I love you Nikolai, Saints do I love you…” I paused. “But there is talk about getting married to the Sun Summoner, the people need a Queen they can look up to, and I think you should make that alliance…”

 He sighed and played with my hair as he spoke, “I’ll only accept one Queen by my side, I do not wish to marry Alina,”

“What you want is different from what Ravka needs, Nikolai. You and I both know that. We both knew from the moment we started this that, things will change, and I hardly think I would be fit for the throne. A Saint is what the country needs-“ “Funds is what Ravka needs, I am already considered a bastard, I have been called many names at the court but I meet their insults with laughter, I can add fool to the many titles I have been given it means I can marry the one I truly love,”

 I took a deep breath as I cradled his face in my hands, “Funds is what the country will need once we won… But hope is what keeps us alive, is it not? The people need hope right now, hope from a Saint ruling over them, I will stay by your side always, but you need this alliance with the Sun Summoner Nikolai,” We were interrupted by heavy knocks on the door before Zoya came rushing in, a scowl on her face. I had had time to step away from Nikolai and slump quickly on one of the seats to make it look like it was just a conversation.

 His mask came back the moment the door open, we did not talk more about it.

 I later heard he did propose with a big ring to Alina, Zoya informed me. But she had turned him down. I had to tell him to try harder, giving him tips of what I think could make her swoon. But deep down, I felt offended for his sake, why would she refuse him? He was handsome, smart, kind, gentle, funny- I stopped my thoughts for a moment, realizing how much I loved him and how much my heart ached for him. This situation was affecting me more than I thought it would, I knew he did not love her, and I also knew it from the start that it’d come down to that, but it still hurt.

 That same day, in the evening, I left my room late but did not find him following me. There was a pinch in my heart as I climbed up to reach the outside. When I arrived there, I saw Nikolai sitting on the railing with Alina a bit further away from him. My heart shattered but I kept my composure, Alina stepped away from the railing and met my eyes with surprise. I was the first one to speak, “My apologies, your majesty, Sankta Alina, I will leave you be,” with a curtesy I moved to leave but heard Nikolai call my name.

 Turning around, I held his gaze. I clenched my jaw, feeling jealousy build inside me. It was unlike me, but I couldn’t help it. I bowed once more, “Does your majesty require-“ “Gorgeous, I told you to call me Nikolai,” Many thoughts crossed my mind, but mostly, what is he doing? I heard him a lot closer this time, his hand reached for my cheek as he lifted my chin. I uttered his name in a warning tone, barely above a breath. “Oh, don’t worry, he told me about both of you. I wouldn’t have guessed; I mean sure I could see you clearly had a crush on the Too-Clever fox here.”

 “Alina, who wouldn’t? No one can resist my charms, I make women swoon with just a wink,” “And make them leave the moment you open your mouth, a shame you cannot for the life of you shut up Nikolai,” She replied playfully, making him fake gasp.

 I watched the interaction in shock, stepping back from the King, still not sure I could display anything else but curtesy to the King of Ravka and his little Saint. Daring to speak, I looked at the Sun Summoner, “I like listening to him talk, it’s interesting, don’t you think Sankta Alina?” She stared at me, before looking at Nikolai then back at me, “You managed to him blush!” “I do not blush; the air is frisky here. Let’s go back inside,” He ushered us both towards the door, only to have Alina stop us. “I’ll go back inside, but you,” She pointed at me, “Call me Alina, I am no Saint, and you,” she pointed at Nikolai, then at the ring on her finger, “I’ll only keep it until we win, but we are not getting married,” Then she left.

 Nikolai’s hand reached for mine and pulled me to our usual spot, pulling out a blanket and wrapping us in it quickly before talking, “As you can see, it’s unfortunate but the Saint does not wish to marry me, there is nothing I can do to force her,” He said a bit too happily. His hands both held mine, warming them up. The night was warmer the previous one, but it was still too chilly for any of us to stay outside without the proper blankets. “If the court does not call you a fool, I will. You have to be more persuasive with her, I know full well you could persuade a rock to move with just your charms,” I said with a light tone, but I was being serious.

 He brought my hands to his shoulders before helping me sit on his lap, it felt strange to be this close, but I did not say anything. “Would my charms work on you if I asked you to marry me?” I huffed a laugh; He was joking at the worst moments. “Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Grand Duke of Udova, King of Ravka, the man who proposed to two women in one night. You’re-“ I scoffed, pausing as I rested my forehead against his, a small smile on my lips, “Don’t joke like that, I know if you ask again I’ll say yes, and it’s not… not until we won,”

 “Then how about a promise? I want you, no, need you by my side, I’ll wait until we won,” He paused, smirking. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and observed a moment, “Since the big ring is in Alina’s possession, no one will notice if…” He dug inside the pocket of his coat and turned my head just slightly; His hand grazed the shell of my ear as he spoke so close to me that I felt his breath hit my skin. “Sturmhond is a very fashionable man, I’m sure you’d like him, very charming too,” I made a confused face, moments after, he let go and gestured for me to touch.

 I felt a metallic thing on the shell of my ear, “Is that an ear cuff?” “Absolutely, I might be very eager to show you off, but I am not an idiot, and if any of us wore a ring, it’d be a bit obvious. Don’t you think?” He did not wait for an answer, “We’ll both know what it means. I will definitely buy you a gorgeous ring once this is over, but let’s settle for this little trinket for now-“ I cut him off by kissing him deeply, earning a surprised sound from him before he returned the kiss.

 I looked at him with a huge grin, he seemed embarrassed but recovered quickly, “I’ll take that as a yes,” “You are very thoughtful, thank you. I like it, I don’t have anything for you, not that you could wear anything without everyone being suspicious.” I chuckled.

“Oh my heart, I have plenty. Know that you are in my thoughts always,” “I think that’s my cue to leave, I have had my quota of…” I gestured at him playfully. The blond man pulled me closer, “Affection? Well, I have not, and as your King, I demand you stay until I am fully satiated.” And I did. We stayed there all night, until we fell asleep. It was good.

 This happiness did not last long. Some way, The Darkling found the Spinning Wheel. Everything went south from there, people dying, running around. I saw the woman who had taught me to control my power, jump into the void, I saw my lover getting snatched from in front of me, his screams reaching my ears. I called out for him but tried to hide my sadness, my heartbreak, behind fear. I failed. I yelled his name in despair, he fell back on the ground but was in searing pain. I approached him but saw his form change, it had taken the shape of something close to a volcra. “Nikolai!” I reached out for him, he stopped midair.

 His hand reached out for mine, for a single moment. I was not paying attention to what The Darkling was saying but was solely focused on the King that had transformed into a demon. I tried to pull him towards me, his claws dug inside my arm, but I didn’t let go. He pulled back, leaving red marks on my arms as I fell to my knees.

 This was what this man left behind, this bastard. The man I believed a mentor. He took everything for himself, he did not care. He claimed it was for the greater good but was a selfish- “Piece of shit!” I continued insulting him, but he only laughed, mocking me, saying I looked a poor little puppy in love.

 Soon enough, he disappeared. I do not know what happened next, I was out of it.

 I was later asked to join the Saint’s team in the search for amplifiers that I believed were legends, myths. Until it was not, I did not talk much during the trip. No matter what happened, I kept my composure. Or did I? I would play with the ear cuff Nikolai offered me, thinking back on our moments together. Zoya would sometimes try to have me talking, we would talk a few until none of us found the strength to keep up this charade. We were both exhausted, unable to fake being anything but terrified, lost, confused.

 During the trip, Alina disappeared and came back out of breath telling us she saw Nikolai, adding he was still himself, she knew. I did not want to believe her. I knew her to be way too optimistic, maybe more realistic, but I did not wish to believe her. I did not wish to have false hopes, believing Nikolai was lost seemed easier than spending my energy on hoping.

 Hope is what keeps us alive, I heard him say in my head. And I knew, Saints did I know that hope kept us alive… And part of me was still hopeful. I would later be glad this part hung on until the end.

 As much as I’d deny it, Alina’s news of having seen Nikolai, even in his demon form, and telling us he was still in there… it kept me going. Even in the hard times, even as we entered the fold, I was still thinking, maybe he’ll come out of the sky, grinning as usual, explaining us how he oh so easily escaped the hands of darkness. How he was back and ready to outwit that geezer of Darkling.

 It was anything but. The attack in the fold went awry at some point, I did not know when, I knew I got shot but kept going by stopping the bleeding. We couldn’t see anything anymore, I had gotten separated from the squad, and was now cornered. I tried to fight off the Volcra the best I could, but there were no inferni around, no Sun Summoner. I was going to die, but hopefully it wouldn’t have been in vain and in the end, Alina will have killed The Darkling.

 Death did not happen. Instead, an ear-piercing screech did. I felt talons grip my shoulders, it hurt but they did not dug fully into my skin, I tried to fight off the Volcra that had grabbed me. Fear coursing through my body, but as I did, I realize it was bringing me closer to the limit of the Fold.

 Then, a blinding light.

 Alina’s power. She was using it, she was helping us, she was winning. Darkness was going away, everything was clearing up, the Volcra- I was now falling. The Volcra that was carrying me had let go, I looked where it would have been standing and saw a blond mop of hair. Nikolai? I thought, before I could see who it was, I hit the ground hard and lost consciousness.

 I mustn’t have passed out long, since when I opened my eyes, the brightness was only dispersing. I stood up quickly, and looked around me, a naked body on the ground next to me. Turning their head, I gasped and tried to get them to wake up, “Nikolai! Nikolai, please wake up, for the love of Saints, wake up!” I took off my kefta and covered him the best I could, repeating his name over and over again. I knew he was still alive, I could feel it, but I was afraid to use my power in this state.

 The adrenaline coursing through my vein would make me fuck up, which I did not want. After a few moments, I heard groans and the man in front of me sat up, I moved the kefta to cover him properly. When I met his gaze, my heart stopped.

 He was exhausted. Covered in bruises, his hair messy, his gaze confused. “You’re back…” I whispered, reaching out for him, he took my hand in his and brought it to his chest, “Did you ever doubt it? I am well-versed in achieving the improbable.” He said with a grin, I stared at him in awe, feeling the tears welling up. I wiped them away before they could even roll down my cheeks, “I’ll admit I did, but I am relieved you’re alive,”

 He brought me in a tight hug, which I broke quickly as I leaned back and quirked a brow, looking at him insistently. He looked down at himself then back at me, “I do hope you are enjoying the view, gorgeous, it’s a sample of what you’ll get once we-“ “Your majesty! Are you alright?”

 And here, our moment got ruined. I stood up and was about to explain hat had happened, when Nikolai spoke, “The Volcra did not seem to enjoy my fashion sense, they ripped it to shreds. You have spare uniforms laying around, yes?” The soldiers nodded and led him to the tents set nearby.

 I waited until everyone left what remained of the Fold. The survivors returned to the camp, we counted our wounded, healers did their work. I saw Alina bring in a wounded man and noticed by the look in her eyes this was the person that mattered to her. She seemed different than before, she also kept her head low, as if she was hiding. So, I did not say anything.

 Nikolai had her brought in, they talked a long while, whilst my wounds were getting tended to.

 Part of me hoped they weren’t arranging a real marriage. I knew it was stupid, but I still thought it could still happen. My daydream was interrupted when the healer went for the gloves around my hands, I stopped him, “No need, there’s nothing-“ “I must check, I’ve taken care of everything but I have to be sure,” I did not want them to see, I tried to snatch my hand away and heard a throat clearing by the entrance.

 “The lady said no, out you go, I would like to have a word with her. No one is allowed, this is important matter,” Just like that, Nikolai had kicked the healer out of his own tent. I told him off, telling him he was making a scene and yet let him hold my hands gently as he looked at me without a word. The prettiest smile adorned his features, even as I berated him. When I was done, he smiled wider, “You are so beautiful when you’re passionately yelling at me,” “Nikolai,”

 “What’s with the gloves, dove?” he asked in all seriousness, his fingers grazing the edge of he long gloves. “I…” “May I?” He asked. I nodded. He pulled them off and saw the dark lines on my left arm, “It’s healed up, there’s just nothing they could do about that. I don’t know… I-“ “How did this happen? Tell me,”

 I paused then pulled him closer, “You did, but it’s alright, I forgive you- It wasn’t done out of malice or anything of that sort, I had tried to keep you closer but the-“ he ran his hands through his hair and apologized. He seemed to be truly regretting it, even though he was probably unaware of his own actions.

 “Nikolai, please, it’s nothing. It’s over,” I grabbed his hand and only now noticed he had the same marks as I did. His hands were covered in black threads almost. He looked at our intertwined hands a moment, “What if it’s not over?” Vulnerability, something the King rarely showed. “Then I’ll be here every step of the way,” He pulled me into a hug and stood there a moment.

 I broke the silence, adding, “It has some charms, don’t you think? It’s almost matching tattoos,” I said jokingly. The blond man laughed wholeheartedly as he leaned back, “I say it’d look even better with,” he grabbed my hand a slid a golden ring on my ring finger, “this, don’t you think it complements it?” I looked at it in bewilderment, gazing up at Nikolai. My hand went to the ear cuff he had offered me, he stopped me, “Keep it, I think Sturmhond would agree it suits you better than him,”

 I laughed. “I suppose we did win… I am still not fit to be Queen, and I am still very set on you being a complete fool for doing this,” I said calmly, but inside my heart was soaring. “It’s a lot of words to say yes, don’t you think?” He said teasingly, his hands cradling my face, “Let me try again,”

 He kissed my lips tenderly, “Will you marry me, gorgeous?”

 I nodded and pecked his lips softly, “Yes, my prince,”

 “I am actually a King now,” “Please Nikolai, just this once, shut up,”

 He leaned in, “Gladly,” and kissed me once more.

[whump-town]

In With The New, Out With The Old

Hotch packing Jack up for college

None of it feels real.

For two years after he and Haley divorced he lived in an apartment of boxes. It was some sort of punishment he created for himself while also creating a dissonance he could be lost in -- that he didn’t need to unpack just in case. He had his suits in the closet, his work would not take the fall for his personal life’s failings. The coffee maker sat on the counter, one of the only appliances hooked into a light socket. The necessities followed -- two mugs for coffee, a glass tumbler for the whiskey sitting on the counter, and one plate for when he ordered take-out he couldn’t just eat out of the box.

It had taken him months to buy a mattress, he was perfectly miserable sleeping on the couch. He had only taken Jack to the apartment once, needing to switch into more park-appropriate clothing. Between them, he and Haley agreed that the best thing for Jack was consistency so he would spend all day with Hotch but he would always go home to Haley. He knew this could be used against him in court, Haley could take Jack from his so easily it terrified him but he also knew he’d let her. He was more powerful, he had more strings to pull and more people on his side but the thought of getting on the stand and having his friends call her a bad mother made him feel even worse. So he knew that if it came down to it, he would let Haley have Jack rather put either of them that sort of grueling case.

This was a shared thought between them. Both are aware of the other’s power over the other. Neither will act on their own.

He had only bought a mattress because of New York. Limping home he’d sunk down into his old faithful couch only to wake up the next morning with achingly stiff sutures in his leg and his face stuck to a throw pillow, the blood drying like glue. He had to call Emily and Derek that afternoon. Unable to drive himself with his concussion and consequential blurred vision Emily had come over to pick him up, never said a word about what he’d been sleeping on in the months before. Neither did Derek when Hotch got too dizzy coming up the stairs, the stitches in his leg bleeding through his jeans and so pale Emily had to hold him upright to get him to the bench in the lobby. He was left there, listening to Derek and Emily bicker their way into forcing the mattress into the apartment through the pounding sound of blood rushing in his ears.

That was years ago and yet they’ve created its mirror image once again in his living room.

All of Jack’s belongings in boxes spread out in every room of the house. Packing up to leave.

“Art?” Emily mumbles disapprovingly. She’s knelt down in front of Jack’s bookshelf, dismantling the organized shelves to pack them into boxes. It’s a different method than the one that Hotch uses. Jack has them categorized by author and general theme and as Emily takes down all the books she’s gotten him about cults and psychology and crime she can’t help but feel a little cheated. Jack knows all about crime. He’s had Macdonald’s Triad memorized since he was five -- could give that method of thought its critical analysis as not a precursor to antisocial or serial killer behavior but more as a demonstration of a child’s poor coping skills or as the indicator of a dysfunctional home environment. He’s a well of information about cults, knows the “B.I.T.E.” system.

And he’s throwing all that away because Hotch took him to too many museums as a child?

Jack doesn’t say anything when he hears her grumble about art again, he’s had this conversation so many times. He knows she’s not really mad and she’s not even that irked but she needs to do something with the feelings she has about him leaving and this is just the best way she’s come up with. Better than crying -- which she’s also done far too much of.

“I think art is a great idea, kid.” Derek teases his hair as he passes, sweaty and hot from dragging Jack’s belongings around the place.

Hotch works slowly where he’s been assigned. They all work around him. He’s more freelance than the others. His job is to do what he can and leave the rest for someone else. Today his physical capabilities are not in the way. Derek does all the heavy lifting that Hotch knows is supposed to be assigned to him, it’s his duty as the father of the freshman moving away. He finds himself in the living room, one of Haley’s old photo albums on his lap. Thumbing pictures he can remember going with Haley to print. Pictures he can remember being in. Ones that he took.

He’s crying again.

Emily comes out with a box of books on her hip, having figured out the perfect ratio of books to box to prevent them from falling out the bottom. She sees Hotch wiping his face with a tissue, hiding away but unable to fully pull away right now. The hurt raw. The fear is too much.

The second that Hotch got the chance he left home and never came back. Over the years he returned to his hometown only when he had to -- when Haley’s parents couldn’t be convinced to come to see them. It didn’t matter how down bad he was, Hotch did it on his own. When his mother died when he was thirty he’d talked to her only once since moving out. Then it had only been for the benefit of Sean, who he had driven all the back to Virginia to collect and drove to college.

He fears Jack will do the same and it terrifies him in so many ways.

His own death will come quickly, he knows he’s only made it this long because he’s not alone. Without Jack, there’s no reason to keep going on, not with the way his body aches from years of abuse and neglect. More than that, he knows what growing up that fast did to him. As a child, the things that happen to you are out of your control. Children are sponges, not yet able to take control and mold themselves. So their reactions to abuse and neglect and even just trivial everyday things are but a reaction they are taught to form or never corrected on. But Hotch never corrected his behaviors as a young adult. He couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone, not at twenty, or thirty, and still at forty.

He spent his twentieth birthday on the side of the highway in a broken down car freezing his ass off with negative twenty-three cents in his bank account. No one to call because he couldn’t bring himself to believe anyone would come -- but Haley would have, or Jessica, or the sociology professor who gave him his number for emergencies or “just anything you can think of, just in case you need me”.

He doesn’t wish anything like that on Jack.

The cycle of self-destruction and fear and loathing.

But Jack knows how to form healthy relationships with people. He’s more worried about Hotch.

The car ride is nearly silent.

Jack cranks his window down and lays his head on the seal, lets the wind blow his hair back from his skin, and closes his eyes. There’s no air conditioning but it’s not that bad. The air has cooled off, the thunderstorms taking over the area sucking the humidity from the air as the wind picks up. It’ll get bad again in a day or so but today is nice and Jack wants to enjoy it. To sit contently with his dad and just try to soak it in before he’s thrown into the world of college.

Emily had promised him several times she’d make sure that Hotch didn’t turn himself into a hermit. Jack has grown up watching those two spar off so he knows she’s perfectly capable of getting Hotch out of the house. More than that, Jack knows he’s just going to miss his dad.

“Please--” Jack’s in the middle of trying to reorganize his stuff when he sees Hotch come in with one of the big boxes, one of the heavy ones. “Dad!” Jack takes it from him, not listening to Hotch’s complaint about being able to carry a few boxes. That he won’t break that easily. “Please, just leave the heavy stuff to Emily and Derek. Help me put my clothes away? Please?”

He nearly cries again folding Jack’s t-shirts away. Once upon a time, Jack’s shirts were about the size of his hand. Tiny delicate little things about the size of rags. Now he’s wearing the same size as Hotch, a grown man standing there racing to beat Emily to the heavy stuff because he doesn’t want her lifting it all either.

“Well,” Derek announces, setting the minifridge down, “that’s the last of it.”

Emily offers Hotch her hand and he takes it, grunting as he moves his body back upright.

“Well,” he declares, looking around the room. “We’ll leave you to it. Let you get everything sorted out how you like.” Hotch smiles and Emily and Derek step in to take their hugs, imparting half-wise ideas and a no-questions-asked ride home from anywhere.

“I love you,” Hotch says, he’s quick because he knows he can’t keep his composure if he stays here for too much longer. “I’ll send you care packages, you’ll just have to text me if you think of something I don’t send.”

Jack nods, pretending to make himself busy putting away the rest of his clothes. Trying to downplay his own feelings.

“Ok.”

Hotch nods and they leave, he doesn’t want to make a scene. They’ve hugged and Jack needs to unpack. He’s done. He’s only two doors away when he hears Jack’s door gets thrown open.

“Dad!” Hotch turns and stumbles, an armful of the little boy who was once the size of his forearm. He squeezes Jack tight, laughing through his tears when Jack holds on. “I love you too.”

Hotch holds him for a solid minute, just balanced there with his hand on the back of Jack’s head. “Alright,” he whispers. He sniffles a little, smiling as he cups Jack’s cheek wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m just a phone call away, okay? Any time of the night, you know where I am. You’ll be fine. You’re going to make mistakes and you’re going to fail tests and cry over boys and drink too much but you’ll be okay. And-- And if you’re not…”

Jack nods, smiling as he says, “I’ll call Emily.”

Hotch smirks, “well.. After a certain hour, yeah I suppose you’ll have to but yeah. Just call, okay?”

“I’ll call.”

Hotch nods and he has to force himself to let go and walk away. To let Jack do this.

They’re halfway down the hall, far enough away now that Jack won’t see or hear when Hotch starts to cry. He forces himself to keep going. Not to look back. Emily takes his hand, squeezes his fingers and he looks over at her tears in his eyes, and tries to smile.

Emily drives his truck home, she plans on feeding him chocolate and ice cream, and wine this afternoon to improve his mood. He gets a text and he smirks, he actually laughs.

“Let me know when you get home, old man. Tell Emily not to keep you out too late.”

[justsomeoneunordinary]

Dark Fic Recs

@rhodee asked me for some dark fic recs and since this is one of my favorite tropes, I know quite some. I wanna make clear from the beginning that those are dark fics. Means stories with fucked up/morally dubious/voilent content. And not salty “Team Cap was mean to me, so I become evil now” kind of fics. If you’re interested in the latter, I am the wrong person to ask.

Some of them are much darker than the others, but you should read for each one carefully the tags and/or the Author’s Note, since some have special twists in the end that aren’t mentioned in the tags.

Basically: know your limits.

Dark!Tony fics (my personal preference)

Faster, Colder, Sharper by Penned (WinterIron)

Tony is kidnapped by Hydra. When the team gets him back, he has changed far more than they suspect. More than even the surface shows.

Bucky though, he notices it all.  

A de-aged Tony fic with Bucky as a caretaker... of sorts.

Radioactive by Valmasy (WinterIron, Series)

The pain is all-encompassing. It’s all he can think about. It’s all he feels. It’s all he breathes. It’s all he lives. Like a barbed net, its sharpness swallows him whole, over and over and over. Tony’s mind tries to hide, tries to save itself, but the pain finds him even then. It burns away at his resistance until all he is crumbles, until he’s nothing but ash and dust.

Attack dog by salytierra (Stony)

Steve doesn't swim in self-delusion. He knows that he is sick and that his owner is even worse. He is aware of it every time he rips some nameless guy’s throat out and feels the crunch of bones under his fingers. He is aware of it every time the rush of adrenaline at seeing life slip away from a stranger’s eyes hits him and gets him bothered and panting in ways that have nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

But it  feels so good…

His owner’s approach is less personal. His shots fall clean and take out several foes at a time, his figure elegant and so graceful he looks like a god among savages. He is power incarnated, cold and burning like a sun at the same time… and Steve tries not to focus on him when they are fighting together, least his knees go weak and his technique falters. It’s fine though. They will go home afterwards and his owner will fuck him on the hard floor, with most of their gear still on and a vicious grip in his hair.

Anatomy of a Moral Man by ShyOwl (Stony, WIP)

At a young age Tony understood he was not meant to be a hero and the world, he believes, is far better for it. With his rule now set in stone, his life is finally settling down. That is until something was found buried underneath the ice.

Tony may not be a hero but that did not stop him from falling in love with one.

In Restless Dreams by charocalwinter (WinterIron, WIP)

When he discovers what he believes to be the truth about his parents’ recent deaths, a powerful and morally ambiguous Tony Stark sets out to get his revenge on Steve Rogers. How does Bucky Barnes fit into this feud and why isn't anybody giving him a pair of socks?

“It isn’t often that Tony Stark finds himself unsure of anything, but this situation has him doubting his every thought, his every move … with Rogers comes James, and that boy is muddling Tony’s mind.” ~ interrupted excerpt from ch 4.

A Pound of Flesh by jellybeanforest (Stony)

To save Bucky, Steve volunteers to work off his debt to the Carbonell crime family. Unfortunately, he is unsuited for the role of enforcer, unable to beat and murder those in the same position as Bucky. He is brought before the mob boss, Tony Stark, who demands his pound of flesh in the wake of Steve’s failure. But upon seeing the attractive blond, Tony proposes alternative employment, one that won’t require him to harm others: Becoming his kept man.

“This isn’t an offer I make often, so you should be flattered – count yourself lucky, even – that I am extending you this rare opportunity.”

“To be raped repeatedly?”

“To have a second chance to work off your debts after you failed so spectacularly the first time. But I don’t have to. I could just use these knives I’ve brought along, carve up that pretty face of yours like a Thankgiving turkey, which would be a shame, really. Then I suppose I’d have to pay a visit to your little friend. This entire exercise has been a waste of my valuable time… perhaps I’ll take an arm for my trouble,” he muses. “So, tell me, Rogers, is Barnes right- or left-handed?”

It’s an offer Steve can’t refuse.

Take Away (everything I am) by salytierra (WinterIron)

“Everyone I kill deserves to die.”

“True. But try to explain that to Captain Justice and Faith.” He takes a gulp of the scotch right out of the bottle and flops down on Tony’s lap, straddling his hips. “He cares too much. You and I? – We do what needs to be done.”

Tony circles his waist with both arms and pulls him closer, opening his mouth when Barnes offers him the bottle and swallowing the bitter liquid dry.

“Nobody ever believed I was able to care. So why should I?”

“Coming from somebody who is expected and probably should care more but doesn’t really give a fuck? – I’ll drink to that.”

Operant Conditioning by dracusfyre (WinterIron, Series)

In which Tony is HYDRA and Bucky’s handler.

in another country (people die) by pprfaith (FrostIron)

“The world is not your playground, Stark!” Fury yells at him one time, after he maybe brings down a building or two and Tony just laughs because, seriously, yes it is. 

on the bleeding edge by esama (Pepperony, WIP, abandoned (still good tho))

Tony Stark goes back in time and becomes a super villain. 

Almost Perfect by One and Five Nines (Obani) (Stony, Comic)

A powerful enemy invades from an alternate reality, but the only thing he really seems interested in is Steve Rogers

Eventually by One and Five Nines (Obani) (Stony, Comic, WIP)

Tony is godking of the wasteland. Steve is not.

Victim!Tony fics

Deliver Us by romanoff (FrostIron)

Loki comes back for revenge. Tony Stark is his captive.

“Why,” he tries, voice failing “do you want me.” He coughs into the ash.

“A king needs an advisor. A king needs concubines. A conquering king must learn the ways of the natives or risk expulsion,” he wipes blood from the sceptre with the end of his coat “and I’m rather fond of you, I think. Even in the face of death you use your wit, you charm with your tongue. It reminds me of myself, maybe, one or two millennia ago.”

Terms & Conditions by Penned (WinterIron)

Tony Stark is desperate and trusts too easily. Bucky Barnes takes advantage of that.

A mob AU with no powers, featuring a very dark, very off-kilter Bucky.

(reverse) Kidnapping by AngeNoir (WinterIron)

Tony Stark is wallowing. He has a right to - he's just finished the funeral preparations for his parents in New York. He didn't expect them to live forever, but still...

And then he falls asleep from his bender.

And wakes up in a nightmare.

(Is it a nightmare?)

Anything (and Everything) - remix by Penned (WinterIron)

The Soldier will do anything to make Tony happy, with or without his explicit consent.

Heavily inspired by Shi_Toyu's  IronWinter Holiday Exchange fic "Anything." This is a much darker version of that story.

like flowers soaked in monochrome by deathsweetqueen (Stony)

Steve Rogers woke up to a world where everyone he loved and knew had forged on without him. But this world, it's nothing like he's used. It wants something brutal from him, something unforgiving. There are so many compromises to make. There are too many monsters behind kind smiles.

But if it means keeping Tony safe, if it means protecting him, he's willing to do whatever it takes.

He can't be soft.

After all, the weak are meat; the strong do eat.

Sins of Omission by Kiyaar (Stony, WIP (tbh I still haven’t started reading this story, but the tags and summary sound perfect!))

A Post-Civil War, Pre-Secret Invasion AU where Steve is dead, Tony's a mess, and everything sucks.

In which Tony deals poorly with Steve's death, falls off the wagon, sees ghosts, and misses a lot.

Oh, and the Skrulls are about to invade.

That’s it. Read all warnings carefully and enjoy!

[northcarolinanative]

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝟷𝟶)

Chapter 10: Pogue

A/N: Hey guys!! Thank you for all the feedback on the last part!! It means the world to me!! I hope you like part 10!! It is so crazy that I have written 10 parts of this story, and hopefully more haha! As always my message and inbox are open for requests or just to talk!! Also a TW: Physical Assault and Violence, cursing, depictions of harm, Rafe being an asshole per usual.  

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. She and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up? Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch.6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8  / Ch.9 

I was frozen in my spot. My blood went cold, I didn’t know what to do. He killed the sheriff and ran my brother away from the island and into the sea because he couldn’t stand up and own up to his actions. He had the guts to pull the trigger, but not to own up to it. I tried to move my feet but they were frozen in place. I felt the goosebumps begin to raise on my arms as he took a few steps toward me. I had never really been a fighter. There wasn’t much need on the mainland, and here I was always surrounded by JJ and John B, who fought for me, even if I didn’t agree with it. At this moment I was scared and really wishing I had taken them up on that offer. 

He didn’t speak until he was steps away from me. His glance was harsh, and his eyes were dark. They were sunken into his face, and his cheekbones more prominent. He looked terrible, but he deserved to be eaten up from the inside out. “You have a lot of nerves coming in here,” he said. His walk almost like a stalk, slow and predatory. I just looked at him, I tried to put on my most confident facade, but I was shaken inside. I never liked Rafe, but now I'm scared of him, he killed someone, then went about his life. “You’re brother killed the Sheriff and you’re here, for what, to beg for our money?” He scoffed at me moving faster. 

“Do I look stupid? You killed Peterk–” I was cut off but Rafe pushed me against the wall with his hand around my throat. “Don’t you ever say those words again” he tightened his grip on my throat. I felt his fingers dig into my skin. “You fucking pogue” He gave me the last push before releasing me. 

I sucked in a breath. I was seething, I could practically feel the anger running through my veins. I walked toward him, I didn’t want to show fear. “What makes it okay for you to be walking around here after what you did? Huh? You’re a kook, right?” I put my finger in his chest. “That’s why my brother is missing at sea and you aren’t rotting in a jail cell right now.” My words came out through clenched teeth. 

Rafe was quick to grab my wrist and twist it harshly away from me. I kicked back into his knee trying to get free. He backed me up against the wall again, using his height and power against me, his arm under my chin pressing my chest hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spat his words at me. 

“What is it a secret?”  I squinted with sarcasm dripping from my voice. “What? That you Rafe Cameron are a manipulative murd--” I was cut off with a hit to the left side of my face. I didn’t have time to brace for the impact and fell to the ground. By now we had drawn the attention of the other club members. 

Rafe kneeled down next to me. “Next time you’ll keep your mouth shut bitch.” He stood up beginning to walk away. 

“What is going on out here?” Mr. Jones walked out looking between me, on the ground holding my hand over my now swelling cheekbone, and Rafe. 

“You see Y/N Routledge here, was trying to follow after her brother, coming after me,”  Rafe said before turning the corner, back to the parking lot. 

“No. He was tormenting me, Mr. Jones! You know me!” I started to beg. “I wouldn–” 

“You’re Routledge’s kid?” He asked me. I just nodded my head looking down at the ground, unable to look at his face. I knew what was coming. It was inevitable. “I don’t think that it would be good for you to work here this summer. With everything that happened with the other Routledge kid…” He paused putting his hand on my shoulder. “It has nothing to do with you, but I don’t want people to mess with you like what just happened out there. I’m sorry Y/N” 

I nodded a quick, “I understand.” I walked out keeping my head down again. I pushed open the large stained glass doors. Instantly missing the cool air-conditioning of the country club. I pulled my hair back to stop it from sticking to the back of my neck. 

“Y/N” I flinched away from the voice. “Y/N is that you.” I turned, recognizing the voice. I saw Pope jogging toward me, his hands full of groceries. “What are you doing at the country club?” He asked. 

“I could ask you the same thing?” I said, forcing a smile, only for a pain to shoot through the side of my face. 

“Wait what happened to you?” Pope said, dropping the grocery bags and touching my cheek. “You’re bleeding.” He took his hand down to show me the red blood that was on his thumb. I looked shocked, I guess the adrenaline was still kicked in. “I’m going to run the last of the deliveries to The Wreck, let's go there and get you cleaned up?” 

“Oh no. I really don’t think I should be around Kiara right now.” I said shaking my head and heading off toward my car. 

“Y/N. don’t be stubborn, you need to take care of that, you’re covered in bruises and you know that there isn’t great equipment at the Chateau right?” Pope had picked up his bags matching pace with mine. “Plus Kie feels really bad about what she said. She’s dealing with this a lot differently than you and JJ.” 

I opened the back of the car, helping him put the remaining groceries in the back of the car, giving in. I knew that I would need to work things out with them eventually. “I hope she shares with me what you said. I’m not gonna let what she said go easily, it hurt Pope.” I finished, raising my eyebrows in his direction before closing the hatch rather harshly. 

We settled into the car, each of us putting our seatbelts on. “Are you okay to drive? You don’t have a concussion do you?” He said putting his hand on the gearshift before I moved to drive away. 

“I’m fine, no head injuries. I promise.” I held up my pinky finger. I felt like we were kids again, it was something that we all used to do. Kie and I started it of course, but somehow drug the boys into joining us. 

Pope shook his head, but smiled and linked his finger with mine. “I just texted Kie to tell her we are on the way.” Pope’s eyes scanned over my face and neck “Your neck is turning purple. Seriously Y/N what happened back there?” 

I just shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it okay?” I looked over at the phone in his hands. “Do you think you text JJ? Tell him I’ll be at the Wreck?” 

“Yea,” Pope said. I heard the question in his voice as he stared down at his phone. 

“I told him I was going to find a job, don’t want him to come looking for me ya know?” I said forcing a smile. “So, I know how the rest of us are doing, but how are you doing with all of this?” I asked. No one had seemed to ask Pope's opinion in the midst of the argument the other day. 

“Oh,” He paused before I heard him take in a deep breath. I turned the car back onto the main road toward The Wreck. “I don’t know. I just miss his, like we’ve all seen each other every day since I can remember, and now he’s like not here anymore. Part of me wants to believe he’s out there.” 

I thought about telling him what JJ and I had found, but I felt like it was too soon. I didn’t want to give him the same hope, then have to crush it if it wasn’t going to. It might have also been me being selfish because of what happened the other day, but I wanted to wait to tell them. 

“I get it, I was expecting to see John B walk through that door when I got back, but instead I got JJ,” I said with a giggle. This comment seemed to lighten the mood of the car as it sent Pope into a fit of laughter. 

JJ. He wasn’t going to let this go, he wouldn’t take me not wanting to talk about it for an answer. I didn’t want him anywhere near Rafe. If I was being completely honest with myself, Rafe scared the hell out of me. He was a murder, and the way he treated me, with no caution to try and silence me, showed that he had no remorse. 

I pulled myself from my thoughts as we pulled into the parking lot at the Wreck. I helped Pope with the grocery bags. I ignore the pain in my wrist as I load groceries into my arms. 

“Ah, Pope!! Always right on time with the groceries, just when I need them” Mr. C said as He walked into the room, Kie close behind. Mr.C took groceries from my arms before turning back to the kitchen. She was notably shocked to see me standing there with groceries. As she looked over my face her eyes grew wide. “Y/N What the hell?”

“I was hoping you could help her get cleaned up?” Pope asked following Mr. C into the kitchen. Kie nodded her head. 

I could see the look of worry on her face. “Follow me,” She said. We slide around workers through the kitchen and into the back office. “Sit here, okay?” she sent a slight smile my way, patting the edge of the empty desk. She reached into a drawer pulling out a first aid kit. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic Kie, it's a few bruises,” I said laughing with her. 

“John B would kill me if I didn’t take care of you, you know?” She smiled and started to unwrap the alcohol wipes. I felt the sting of the disinfectant, flinching away when she first started to clean the split on my face. “Look I am really sorry about what I said yesterday Y/N. It was totally uncalled for what I said. I know that it doesn’t excuse my actions, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up, because it would only hurt that much worse in the long run if it turns out to be true.” He started to rub cooling cream over the bruising around the cut. 

“Kie it’s okay” I breathed. I was glad I didn’t tell Pope about the discovery that JJ and I found. “I understand that. We’re all coping in different ways. I shouldn’t have jumped onto you as I did either. We all process differently.” I sent her a small smile. While I forgave her, I found it harder to want to open up to her. In the past, I might have come to her with boy issues or even the encounter with Rafe right away. 

“Y/N is this a handprint around your throat,” Kie said, staring deep into my eyes. I felt tears start to fill in my eyes. The pain in my cheek started to finally hurt, I could feel it throbbing. I quickly looked down. Kie moved my head looking up so that she could apply the same cream to the red mark on my neck. I heard a commotion outside the door, quickly moving to look at the door. “Probably just someone dropping something in the kitchen.” She smiled softly at me. I looked down at the floor as she capped the cream on the floor. “So are you gonna tell me what happened, who beat you up like this?” Kie asked, her voice dripping with worry. 

“You know, I’d really like to know who I have to kill?” JJ said entering the room. He took a quick glance over me. He practically pushed Kie out of the way to wrap his arms around me. I hooked my chin over his shoulder to see Pope in the doorway to the office. I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hug was tight and protective. “JJ. Thank you, but if you don’t let go so I can breathe you might kill me.” I laughed at my joke. 

“How are you joking right now?” He pulled back and put his hands on either of my shoulders. 

“I’m fine J. Really. See?” I moved my legs on either side of him and wiggled my arms. 

He scrunched his eyebrows looking at me. I could see the hurt in his eyes and I smiled, feeling the tears coming back to the forefront of my eyes. JJ moved his thumb to carefully trace the cut in my cheek with his thumb, letting his finger trace down my jaw to the darkening handprint on my throat. I heard him take in a deep breath as he saw it. “Y/N Cut the shit. Who did this?” He asked. I could see the anger growing behind his words. Kie came up beside me with Pope following behind her. 

“Seriously, you can tell us?” She said. I could see the pity in her eyes. That is what I didn’t want, pity from any of them. 

I looked back at JJ. and hung my head low. “I went to the country club, that’s where Pope found me, to try and get my job back. I worked there every summer, and I know I would need the money.” I started, JJ’s eyes met mine. He was focused on everything that I was saying. “And Mr. Jones had me step out and wait while he scanned in paperwork or whatever. And I ran into someone there, who wasn’t happy that I was back.” 

“Obviously. Who was it Y/N?” JJ asked. He wasn’t being pushy, he just wanted to help. 

“It was Rafe,” I said, swallowing after the name left my mouth. 

JJ turned away from me. He ran his hands through his hair, I heard his breathing pick up. I saw Kie and Pope’s faces look just the same. “I am gonna kill him. What can’t he get away with?” JJ was seething. 

“No, I provoked him. He came up to me and started talking about how JB killed Peterkin, and I snapped. I told him I knew that he did it, he killed her. He tried to shut me up, obviously, until Mr. Jones came out and he left. I didn’t get my job back, but are we surprised?” I let out a cynical laugh.  

“Hey hey” JJ walked back up to me. I could feel the anger radiating off of him, but his composure seemed calmer. He was so close. He was standing between my legs. My thoughts going back to the conversation we had last night. He put his hand on my chin forcing me to look up at him. “You did not provoke him, Y/N. He’s a murder, who’s walking free. You did the right thing calling him out. Don’t think for a second that this was your fault, alright?” 

“Alright.”  

--

Masterlist

--

Taglist: @nikki082489 @lovelymaybankk @dolanfivsosxox @alexa-playafricabytoto @downbytheouterbanks @heyhargrove @heywards​ @kayln021 @readysteadygo23​ @im-a-stranger-thing​ @thatsonobx​ @dumbxgurl​ @ameeraaa21@zehnuhrfunf​ @imagines-and-preferences1216​ @mileven-reddie​ @sw-eat-ing​

If you wanna be added to a tag list please send me an ask, it makes it easier to keep up with:) if your user is crossed out it wouldn’t let me tag you?

[brandstifter-sys]

Molting

Word Count: 2479           (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: Virgil, Remus, all other sides as of PoF mentioned

Pairing: Dukexiety (platonic but could be not platonic if you want)

Warnings: Body Horror, Spider!Virgil, knife, sex mention, grossness, Gore, swearing, physical strain, exhaustion

Virgil is a spider boy, and spiders need to molt. It’s not a pretty sight and it’s an ordeal Virgil hates. Lucky him, he has a best friend who is willing and able to help, even if it drives him nuts.

-----

"Hey Princey, where's Virge?—Whoa are you okay, you look like you need to sit down, kiddo!"

"Patton, Virgil won't be joining us for a few days, surely his eating habits and sudden baldness have been a sign of the time of year for him." Logan commented from his seat on the couch. Roman was curled up and shaking, pallid and horrified.

"You mean?" Patton squeaked and shuddered. 

"Yes. I will be joining Janus and Remus during the clean up. I suggest you try to avoid his room for the next few days. Molting is a delicate process." 

-------

Virgil felt like jello, trapped in a hard shell. He was on his back spread and nude, unable to move without the sickening feeling that came with it. His chelicerae and extra limbs were out and just as rigid, making his position more awkward. He couldn’t breathe and he desperately tried to force his gelatinous form to shift and expand where his head was. He was dizzy, just trying to crack the eggshell-thin casing like a chick about to hatch, only without anything solid to chip at the barrier.

Pop!

The casing around his head split in half, with a sickening crack, leaving him gasping for air. Oh that sweet, sweet oxygen was tainted by the taste of his own skin-flavored goo falling into his open mouth. His eyes were sealed shut, but not out of fear for what he would see, since they didn't do a great job at blocking the light. No they were closed until he was sure none of his shell got in his eyes, trapped in the gelatinous muck that would cause his eyelids to tear if he dared open them.

"I thought I might have to cut you out of there if you took much longer," someone, Janus he assumed based on the tone, hummed softly nearby, "Time to cut off the area around your shoulders. Do try and wiggle out of it once it's done. And yes, you have to get yourself out." 

Virgil tried to calm his breathing, waiting for one of the worst parts. He was too fragile and squishy to be nicked by a blade, let alone a full cut. But he trusted Janus more than the others, except maybe Remus, especially with his mouth wide open.

Virgil could feel the vibrations through the floor. The steady gait and heavier footfalls were different from what he expected, but he could chalk it up to Janus being tired, he and Remus did carry him here and set up when his outer layer went rigid and his bones melted into this disgusting jelly.

He heard the blade gliding over his shell just above his shoulders with such a slight amount of pressure. It was far too smooth to be Janus's work, and Remus wasn't there, so it had to be Janus, but something about the stiff meticulous nature was throwing him off. 

"Now you have to go up towards the ears on both sides and then to the crown. Once that's done you can carefully lift those pieces away." Janus said to the person cutting his head free. Virgil's heart pounded in his ears, at least his soft organs were still intact, as intact as the situation allowed. He struggled to keep his breathing even, unsure where the blade was. 

"Would it be more efficient to cut along the fault?" That was Logan. That was okay, he was not easily disturbed. His suggestion, however, was not okay.

"Do you want to risk slitting his throat?" Janus asked with an edge to his voice, "He is vulnerable and having that scalpel near his throat will make his anxiety worse."

"I understand. In that case—" Logan trailed off and continued his task. Janus hissed under his breath, in a way that only Virgil would understand, but he didn’t, which was concerning. For the smart side, Logan had his stupid moments and this Janus was regretting bringing him in so soon.

"And to be clear, I am not supposed to peel the exoskeleton." 

"Correct. And once you remove the upper half, will you have a suitable specimen?" this Janus responded curtly. He was done sharing this vulnerable moment with the nerd. 

"Yes," Logan said as the tips of his fingers brush Virgil's new skin, making him wince, "Remus has already called 'dib'—is that the correct phrase?" 

"Yes." 

"He has already called dib on the lower half."

Virgil winced as cool air hit his tender form. He could feel the slime stretching and pulling away from him with a soft, sickening snap, with the tendrils falling back into the near liquid of his body. Logan was quick to set that piece aside and remove the other with as much dexterity and grace as before. 

"Shall I tell Remus his presence is requested at this time?" Logan asked as he gathered his samples.

"No. I suggest you sink out to your room before he bursts in like the unhinged maniac he becomes when told to sit still and wait." this Janus droned. Logan nodded and sank out. And not a moment too soon. But it felt like the other presence changed rapidly.

"Virgil, I’m the only one here with you. I'm going to clear your nose before I wipe your eyes," Remus hummed, after dropping his disguise, and knelt down beside him on the old sheet he was laying on. The bulb syringe entering his nostril was a strange sensation when his nose was basically formless, as was the goo exiting his nose, but it was a relief. 

"Stay focused on breathing, Virgil, 3/4 time—that's it. One more time." 

The second his nose was cleared, Virgil closed his mouth. Remus giggled and conjured a clean rag. 

"Whatsamatter, Soft-skull? Don't like the taste of your own mucus? It's like a giant loogie!" Remus cackled and carefully wiped down his face. 

"I thought you said you weren't gonna pull that stunt," Virgil wheezed. 

"Nerd wanted samples more than I want my dick sucked. I had to pretend to be Jan to keep things calm in here—you think the nerd would listen to me? Besides, Janus isn't good at anything but the first cuts. He thinks it's nasty!" Remus laughed, "It is but that's not the real issue—it's the mess that you leave behind that's the problem!"

Virgil rolled his eyes and focused on wiggling out of his shell instead of the duke's rant. It was the same one every season. Whether it was Janus's scales or the molting, Remus would bitch about the mess.

"... and I know what you're thinking—what everyone thinks! 'Why are you so bent out of shape? You like grossness and garbage and mess!'" Remus rambled, "There's a difference between a messy aesthetic and a mess! Organized chaos, Harlot's Web, I know exactly where everything is and where it's supposed to be even if it looks like shit! It's mine to manipulate! Your body cast is not in the design plan!" 

"Talk cryptids, dammit!" Virgil hissed as he tried to squeeze his way out of his exoskeleton, weakly curling his toes, or attempting to, "I hate this shit too!" 

"Cryptids and cursed objects?" Remus cooed. 

"Fine!" Virgil grunted, feeling the goo on his skin shifting and stretching with the slightest movement, peeling him away from his old skin slowly. He was going to take hours to get out.

"Okay so I know you don't usually watch the videos of Dybbuk box openings and you should, gets the blood pumping, but you know those are fake, right? They're all a sham!" Remus started ranting. His rage was actually quite helpful as a motivator to move. 

"...and don't get me started on the bullshit wax! It's so hard to clean! You know I have a design aesthetic and wax is not a part of it! Especially when there's no restless spook involved! It's a lot of crap with no real payout! If I wanted to have a creepy old box covered in wax I could make one myself!" 

“Fill it with spider exoskeleton,” Virgil huffed and wheezed at the exertion, “It’ll make a good snack!”

“Just like you!” Remus giggled, “But seriously, those things don’t hold any angry ghosties, and they seem problematic in other ways too, which usually isn’t a problem for me, but no spooks? That’s crossing a line! I could create better cursed objects!” Remus paused as a wicked grin split his face. Oh no.

“Get me out of here and you can see something really cursed!” Virgil spat, venom shooting from his mouth, literally, and landing on the sheet under him. He broke into a fit of coughing, his form sloshing and molding in the shape of his exoskeleton. 

"Easy there, Swamp Thing!" Remus jeered, "If no one helps Bolt, Nimby, Cirrus, Cyoomy, Hansel, or Gretel when they molt, you don't get much more help either." 

"Swamp Thing? More like the Blob!" Virgil retorted bitterly. Remus clapped his hands and grinned.

"You are so right!" he cheered, "That's a better nickname when you're like this! Like an alien creeping out of a meteor all gelatinous and prone to leaving slime trails! Emo Jello! How you still have lungs is a mystery to me! You don't even have a digestive tract!" 

"Great reminder, jackass!" 

"It is! All your fluids and organs are blended up—except for your heart, blood, brain, and lungs!"

Virgil tried to ignore the glee in his voice and focused on moving. He didn't feel like telling him that his blood was traveling through his body through osmosis, always finding a way back to the heart and lungs, he would see it eventually. The rubbery slick kept him stuck to his exoskeleton, bending and stretching, but always pulling him back. 

"You look like a jaundiced Hellboy cosplayer in a deflated Paleman blow-up suit who's gonna eat a crap ton when he gets back to normal! And then there's the whole hair growth thing! Like throwing straw on a potato sack filled with rotten meat! Do you even have eyelashes now?"

"You. Tell. Me." Virgil grunted and grit his teeth, which were far too soft to actually bite anything or grind. Remus squatted next to him and leaned in close. 

"They're coming in!" Remus grinned and stood up. Virgil groaned and flexed his chelicerae. Some movement was better than none. He was trapped, like swimming in tar, and he had to fight to escape his full-body restraint. 

"Do you want some music? I can do a striptease!" Remus asked and wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Does this get you hot and bothered, sicko?" Virgil scoffed and tried to focus on curling his fingers with what energy and strength he had. Remus pouted and wiggled his mustache in thought. 

"No, not really. But just standing here is boring! Besides, it's just incentive for you to burst out of your shell!" 

"Not. Interested." 

"You and I both know you would do anything to stop me from getting naked for no reason!" Remus teased. He was right of course, but it was still irksome.

"Shut up," Virgil hissed, still not getting anywhere, "Put on some music and keep your fucking pants on!" 

"Fine!" Remus groaned and rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers, filling the room with some sick emo jams. At least they made Virgil more at ease! 

Two Days Later…

"Remus, c'mon!" Virgil panted as he fruitlessly clawed at the soft carpet trying to remove himself from his exoskeleton, smearing goo all over. He was weak and exhausted from the endless strain. His body was still akin to a gummy bear with a dark cherry filling, but at least his bangs were back. 

"Nope! I already cut out your—" 

"Please! I'm not even stuck!" Virgil cried, "Pull me out of here!" He was so close to bursting into tears. Two days straight of wiggling just to get back to normal took its toll on him. Two days straight of moving two inches forward and one inch back with no food or water left him weak. There was no time for sleep and no time to rest. Remus didn't sleep the entire time either and it showed. 

"I could tear you in half, and then your guts'll spill all over the floor and there'd be a huge stain and you'd be pissed off while you bleed out!" he said with a bright grin that bordered on maniacal.

"It's just my legs! Please!" he begged, "I don't have the strength!" He was actually crying at that point. Remus ceded and carefully looped his arms under Virgil's. The goo stuck to his shirt as he carefully pulled the emo from his old skin and scooped him up into his arms. 

"Easy there, Raggedy Anx, you're free to crawl on the ceiling and scare those losers like some fleshy horror movie creature bent on devouring them, starting with the eyes," Remus said and stood up. He could have easily snapped Virgil's spine over his knee, watched him writhe in agony and scream until he couldn't manage it anymore. He could watch his fluids pool under his translucent skin and ooze out of the puncture wound from the snapped vertebrae. 

He did the smart thing and placed the fragile blob of emo on the bed and stepped back. Molting meant growing and that meant he needed space as everything took shape again. Remus could already see what changes happened under that shell as Virge gasped, forcing air in to help his expansion. 

"Stress workouts?" Remus asked and stretched his arms above his head. 

"Mostly." 

"You fixed your—" 

"Yeah and that was your fault!" 

"No no no, I didn't mess up the piercing—you let it get infected and tried to rip it off!" 

"I'll rip yours off if you don't shut up!"

"I can regrow it, without going all rigor mortis alien!" Remus laughed, "But I can't make it any bigger, so you have me beat!" 

"Go to bed," Virgil huffed, "You're losing it." He kept up his hyperventilating style of breathing and closed his eyes. Just a few more hours of this and he could finally get some rest. 

"But you're not sleeping!" Remus argued, "And I vowed to watch over you while you're weak and nasty!" 

"You sound like Roman," Virgil scoffed. 

"You take that back!" 

"'I vowed' c'mon that's a Princey line!" Virgil huffed, “You need to get out of this room. Come after you get some rest and food. You did your part.” Remus pouted and snapped his fingers. The exoskeleton and sheet on the floor vanished. That was the last thing he had to do before Janus could take over. 

“Fine, but I’ll be back and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” Remus laughed and sank out. Virgil rolled his eyes, like he could ever stop Remus from doing anything! This time he didn’t want to.

Reblogs > Likes

[streets-in-paradise]

Battle Scars

Troy 2004 fanfiction

Characters: Hector, sister oc ( it can also be read as a reader insert since i haven’t named her yet and there are no mayor descriptions) 

Word Count:  2101

Genre: Angst Comfort - Fluff

Relationships : Platonic - Family. 

Summary: Paris is determined to fight Menelaus. His siblings are concerned with the high chances of his death and his younger sister wants to take his place. Hector comforts her and warns her about some less discussed consecuences of battle. ( I suck at writing summaries.)

Triggers: Mentions of war and typical war involved violence. (not much. Don’t worry because it is not gory) 

Disclaimers: This is my first attempt of writing fanfict to post. English is not my native language, i translated it to english with the help of an online translator. 

Tags: @hrisity12​ (tag you because i think you will want to see this)

I hope you enjoy this and thanks for reading 

The night after the start of the war had already fallen. The palace was quiet, a silent atmosphere that was nothing more than the mix of grief and exhaustion surrounded the entire place. Pacing around the hallways, Hector seemed to be the only person around, unable to allow himself to have some rest. He was looking for Paris, after the scandal created by his proposition of fighting against Menelaus and the lethal risks involved for him in that reckless idea he felt the need of having a serious conversation with him. 

Unfortunately, his brother was not the only one who needed his words and company that time. In his way he crossed ways first with Helen, stopping a grief induced attempt of scaping in a desperate try to stop the war. After comforting his sister in law, he was approached by his younger sister. The young lady was rageful and worried in the same amount. Without hesitation, she let go all the thoughts that were troubling her and vented to her brother. 

“Paris is the worst swordsman I have ever seen. How can you allow this? He can’t do that, i will not allow it. Why can’t I fight in his place?” she snapped.

 Seeing her state, Hector decided to stop his search for Paris and have a talk with her. The last time they had a few words was that morning in the armory when she begged him to let her fight and stumbled across his refusal. He thought that,after that short altercate in which no one had the time to explain themselves and with the news about Paris worrying both to the core, they needed some time alone. 

“You know you can’t do that. It would hurt his honour. He can’t let his sister fight his own battles “  he tried to explain. 

“Do you really think Paris cares for his honour? He is doing it out of guilt. I can’t let him die.“ she asserted 

“ It is his choice”  he stated. 

“ What about my choice of fighting this morning? I am the little girl so it is correct to take away my will to choose? “  she replied, her tone getting progressively more enraged.” Helen is a trojan princess now, let a trojan woman defend her freedom to choose her own fate. She is not a fighter but she has a sister willing to do it for her. I will be defending her freedom, not Paris’s right to possess her.” 

“ I will not let you get involved in actual combat for the first time against the King of Sparta. That man fought all his life.” 

“ But it is fine to send Paris to his death? It would be his first combat as well but with half of my training as backup. He never cared for this sort of thing, the only weapon he handles with a considerable talent is the bow. He can’t show up to a single combat with bow and arrows and he is terrible with swords.”  

“Don’t put me in the situation of being the one who has to choose between you two which one of my siblings will be sacrificed.”

“ Of course, because you already decided it.”

That thoughtless reply was more of what the man could handle. Abandoning his conciliatory tone, Hector allowed himself to let his own concernings go and said exactly what was going through his mind. 

“Do you think i want to burn our brother’s body?? I love him as much as i love you. I can’t allow you to fight, it is not your right to die in his place.”

“ How can you be so sure i’m going to die? Is your trust in me so small and weak?”she asked, confused by the switch in her brother’s approach.

“Real life is not like training in the safe space provided by the security of our walls. Battle is screams, blood,sweat, excrements and desperation. Nothing more. Your skills are worthy of trust but you are still very young and naive. You think you will go out there and end up crowned as trojan champion after doing some heroic act. That sort of attitude can get you killed.”  he explained in the most honest and realistic way he could use without upsetting her more. 

“Menelaus is a slow old beast. I’m young, fast and flexible. I’m a better choice than Paris for that combat and you know it.” she insisted. 

“I may be aware of it but i don’t care. “ Hector replied. The only way to go with this sort of conversation, especially considering the stubbornness of his sister on the topic, was through full honesty. 

He decided he was going to give her a complete explanation of his reasons on that choice. 

“Since the first time you picked a sword i told myself i would let you have your fun but i would also protect you from what would be waiting outside if you actually tried to pursue that path.”

The princess listened carefully and, imagining the route the conversation was heading, spoke her mind. 

“Death? That 's all? Your greatest fear is for me to end up dead in the battlefield? I am not afraid of it. I will die with glory if it saves our brother. Stories of my sacrifice will be tell all around our country and i will live in them. “ 

Hector was visibly angry this time. He wasn’t able to let himself believe what he was hearing. 

 “That is nonsense. Stories? You are asking me to let you die with stories as consolation? The songs of the bards are party entertainment, they aren’t worth your life “

“Even with the result of my death the outcome is good. If i leave my mark in history men will notice they need to change their ways. My death will save Paris and inspire more shieldmaidens.” she explained

“Had you realized who you are sounding like? That is exactly the sort of pointless nonsense i heard from Achilles. It is not what i taught you.”  he warned her 

“You taught me about sacrifice for my family and my country. That is your moral code, and it is the exact thing you don’t let me practice.” she complained, hurt by feelings of injustice. 

 Becoming desperate witnessing how nothing seemed to make her understand, he tried to show her understandment of her point of view and spoke from his own feelings and fears.

“I don’t want to lose you! I’m not even talking about death when i say it. That is indeed a big fear of mine regarding you but it is not the only one. I will not be talking about death now.” he said, lowering his tone trying to sound more calm to show her that his anger was not related to a misunderstandment of her point. “ Real combat, a battle in the middle of a war unleashed at our gates ... It is a terrible event to witness. I would not wish that to my worst enemy. It changes you, leaves scars on you that you would have to carry your whole life. Not just the physical ones, in your inside. Your mind and your heart are not the same after you survive your first battle. I hate to fight, it consumes you. Why would i want you to go through my same suffering? I don’t  forbid you to fight because you are a girl and i am some traditionalist who can’t come across to understand your will to challenge our ways. You know i am not like that, i wouldn’t had let you get involved in combat training sessions in the first place.”

The girl seemed less upset in her approach after hearing him. 

“You said it was a good way to wake some sort of interest in Paris and it was part of his formal education. We were very hard to separate back then.”

“And you still are. Menelaus would find you both sticked to each other in combat if i wouldn’t interfere in your choices.” he teased . She smiled briefly while hearing him. 

“ Combat has a terrible effect on people.I don’t wish such a terrible fate for you.” Hector stated, going back to his point. “As long as i live i will protect you from it. I love your sweet enthusiasm, your kindness and concern for our people. I already know you sneaked out to help in the expedition I sent to look for people in the camps. I should be mad about it but i am not because in that action you showed who you are. You are caring, you are full of hope and life. I love you as you are, Troy loves you as you are. Don’t ask me to take that away from you.” 

The words of her brother had a clear effect, she was on the edge of tears. 

“ But i want to help you!! I want to share the weight of the war with you.”  she yelled. “It is not fair for you to carry it all on your own and you know well Paris will not help” 

“He is trying”  he said, trying to comfort her

“He will kill himself!!” she shouted while tears started falling through her cheeks 

“ I promise i will help him as much as i can.” he reassured her 

 “It is not enough, i want to help you” 

“Your cheerful welcomes after every battle are more helpful to me than the strength of your arm.” 

With her feelings overwhelming her, the young lady hugged her brother tightly

“I want to fight for you and for our people. I love you so much, it hurts me to see how you work so hard on your own for all of us.”

Hector caressed her cheeks to clean her tears. 

“Do you want to know why it’s said that Achilles is a better warrior than me?” he asked in a trivial tone 

“ Because it is said that he is the son of a sea goddess?”  she answered in a slightly doubtful way. 

“ That is what people who have never stepped into combat believe. What i saw in him today, he is so good because he doesn’t care about anything. It’s clear that the scars war left on him took over and at some point he stopped caring. He has no mercy, no respect. He talks of war like it’s a game. When he is fighting he stops existing as a man and becomes only the tool war requires him to be. He became desensitized to all the death surrounding him. His only concern is to win glory because, once this lifestyle takes everything from you, that’s all what’s left for you to collect. He is a broken man, an extreme example of what war makes on soldiers.” he explained

“ You are my moral guide, my example of behaviour. I would never allow myself to get lost like that because i have you.” 

“ And i am not the almighty hero you see in me. I am another man changed by war. I fight hard to stay in my path, to remain as myself. I don’t want to look at you one day and see just a shade of the kind, lifeful girl you are now.”  he confessed. 

“ I have to assume you are protecting me from myself then?” she asked, without the connotations of assertiveness in her ways previously displayed. She felt regret for the rude ways in which her anger made her judge him 

“I am, even when you don’t notice it.” 

“ I don’t want our countrymen to die protecting my spirits.”

“I love you and i can’t allow it. Call me selfish if you want but even i have the right to a bit of selfishness on occasions.”  

After hearing her usually selfless brother admitting he was incapable of an impartial view of the issue when she was involved she was done with the talking. There was nothing more left to say that could mean as much as that. Hector’s life was full of sacrifices, she felt unable to question him. She wasn’t going to complain about the first time she ever heard him thinking of himself to make a choice. 

Instead, she thanked him for his concern and told him once more about how much she loved him. Hector kissed her forehead, wished her goodnight, and went to see their brother. He had brief thoughts about the very little time of sleep that was left for him but it didn’t matter. His siblings needed him that night and, as always, he was going to be there for them. 

[such-a-random-rambler]

High - Part 9

This may be done, I’m not sure, there may be one more chapter but I haven’t decided yet.

and @janetm74 do you remember ages ago when you asked

9. Which idea came to you first 

it was this bit!

John was wrung out. The last thirty hours had been, not to put too fine a point on it, a waking hell.

Virgil had sorted the nausea, which was just as well as unrelenting thirst hit soon afterwards and it would have been torture to be unable to drink for fear of throwing it back up. Those few hours had almost earned him another bag of fluids anyway. Then came the muscle cramps, crunching through his arms, legs, hands and feet, leaving him writhing and trying not to scream.

He did scream at the hallucinations – The Hood lunged out at him from the shadows, sucking all the air from the room, leaving him clutching at his throat. An earthquake hit, the room collapsing around him, sea rushing in to drown them all in salty torrents. Half formed tentacley things crept up from the floor and wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles, holding him still for the needles to stab him, and the leering monstrous shapes to yell at and taunt him.  

When they faded his blood turned to ice, body temperature dropping no matter how many blankets were stacked around him eventually shivering himself into an exhausted sleep.

Now he was awake, eating, drinking and with the energy to sit up Virgil said he was on the mend, but John felt more out of sorts than he ever had.

John’s life was all about control; procedures and protocol.  He wasn’t an emotionless robot, as much as Gordon liked to joke about it, but there was a time and a place for them. John wrapped self-discipline around himself like a safety blanket because it was a safety blanket – he lived on a knife edge where an uncontrolled outburst could cause disaster and  death.

Sitting in the medbay – the rest of the family sleeping or eating, giving him some much needed privacy – John wrestled with the flood of emotions that assailed him. He flickered between fear, anger, desperation, hate, apathy.

The moment he got a handle on one of them, something else rose up to engulf him, tossing him between tears and paranoia and shaking with rage within minutes. He was unused to such extremes of feeling, and unused to not being able to reign them in when he needed to.

His mind felt fractured, his sense of self washed away and that oh so important self-control practically non existent. He couldn’t dispatch like this! They relied upon him to be calm when they called. He was no use to anyone if he couldn't get a grip, and there wouldn’t be a place for him anymore if he wasn’t useful and he wouldn’t have a home and he’d lose everything and...

His thoughts were spiraling into despair. He couldn’t take it any more.

“Gordon Tracy, John may need assistance and you are closest. Please report the medbay.” The ever-calm and even tones of EOS chimed in his ear.

“What’s the problem?” Gordon hurried his steps along the corridor, flooded with urgency.

“He appears to be in distress.”

“Medically?”

“His heart rate and blood pressure are raised but not dangerously so.”

Unsure of what he was walking into Gordon opened the door to the med room slowly, just in time to see something go slamming into wall beside his head, shards tinkling to the ground.

“Heeey, what’s this.” He said, taking in the floor covered with the remains of several other glasses.  

John picked up another tumbler and it followed the last, splintering into crackling shards.

“I think we’re going to want those.” Was all he could think of to say, and not sure that John had noticed him come in, his eyes were so unfocused.

A third, and they were all gone. Except John’s rage wasn’t and with nothing else to throw balled up a fist to swing at the wall. Some of these walls were plasterboard, some were dry wall. Some were the solid rock that the hangers had been carved out of and would definitely break a hand. It was impossible to tell which that particular section of wall was, and it wasn’t worth taking any risks.

Gordon moved fast, stepping in front of John’s fist, pulling it down between them both. The momentum of it allowed him to twist John round and secure his hand behind his back, in a move  perfected by hours of training with Kayo.

“No need for that. You don’t need a broken hand on top of everything else.”

“Let me go Gordon.” John twitched, grumbling low, but at least aware enough to know who was in the room with him.

“Not likely.”

“Gordon, please. I....”

“I am not letting you go until you calm down.” John wasn’t a weakling by any stretch of the imagination but this last week had really taken it’s toll and Gordon had no problem holding on.

“Gordon I need... I need....”

“What do you need?”

The strength seemed to leach out of John, and he sunk to the kneel on the floor. Gordon followed him down: ending up curled up over John’s back. He could feel John trembling, heart thundering.  

“Talk to me, please.” Gordon whispered.  

“There’s fire in my brain” John practically sobbed, and Gordon’s heart broke for him.  “And ants crawling under my skin.”

“It’s going to be ok.”

“How do you know?”

A long time ago Gordon was in a bad place, hadn’t been feeling himself for a long time. He’d thought the whole world had changed and would never be the same. But it had only been temporary. He had healed and grown and those nightmares were in the distant past.  John was going through something very different, but maybe Gordon could still help.  

“This is just another side effect. You’ve had all the physical ones and now you have this. It will pass.”

The remaining fight went out of John and Gordon released his wrist. With a little bit of shuffling Gordon got in front of him, and settled so that John’s head was resting over his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his big brother in a firm hug and felt John do the same, hands fisting into Gordon’s shirt.

“Did you know that a hug can actually lower your blood pressure? Scientifically proven, that.” Gordon said, squeezing tight.

“Hmmmm.”  

“You’ve been stuck in this room for far too long, you need a change of scenery.” Gordon said, thinking about the weeks he had spent looking at the same four walls and how it had bored him to tears, the sameness of it all. John lived in the ever-changing vastness of space, being confined to this room must be doing the same.

“I... I don’t know. I can’t think...”

“Then leave the thinking to me. I’m better at it anyway.”

John snorted.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s move.”

Gordon had to drag John up, but once there he could stand on his own. Sort of. Gordon needed to give him the occasional poke for balance, and pull for direction, but John did most of the work himself. Scott put down the book he was reading as they passed through the living room on the way outside, but didn’t say anything, just watched. Gordon loved it when Scott trusted him.

They made their way slowly down to the chairs by the pool, to the one that was right by the forest line and always in shade. Gordon pushed John down, and lifted his legs onto the lounger. John looked calm again, but a blank, empty, exhausted kind of calm.  

“Just lay back and concentrate on the wind on the trees. That also helps with high blood pressure.”

“It still hurts.” John sighed with a slow blink.

“I know. I’m going to get you a drink of water.”

When Gordon got back with the water – and a blanket and a snack bar, just in case – John was fast asleep.  

[kinglazrus]

Suspended Animation

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @ectopal: Sam finally asks Danny what he's going to do with himself after noticing that he as a halfa is not actually aging with his friends and family.

Warnings: swearing and mild panic attack. But there's also fluff.

Summary: It's been two years since Danny's accident and he hasn't aged a day. Sam wants to know what he's going to do about his future.

Word count: 2661

Danny was late. Which wasn't so surprising, but he was supposed to meet Sam at the park an hour ago and she hadn't even gotten a single text from him. She wondered what, or who, was holding him up. The Box Ghost? Skulker? Johnny and Kitty? Maybe Ember started an impromptu concert on the other side of town.

The idea made her shake her head and scoff. Yeah, right, as if any of those guys could keep Danny occupied for a whole hour nowadays. Maybe Johnny and Kitty could, but only because they had fallen into the habit of using Danny like a marriage counsellor, and that was just too damn funny.

For Danny to be this late, he was either caught up in something really dangerous or really stupid. Since the city wasn't exploding, or being sucked into the Ghost Zone—for the sixth time—it was probably the latter.

"Sorry I'm late, Sam. Johnny–"

Definitely the latter.

"It's fine," Sam said, cutting Danny off as he swooped into the clearing. Getting caught up dealing with the ghostly couple's relationship issues was better than being shot at by them, or anyone else.

"Still, sorry." Danny settled onto the grass next to her, crossing his legs. He quickly scanned the area, making sure they were alone. Sam had chosen a secluded spot, hidden by a copse of trees on one side and a low stone wall on the other. There were lots of little spots like this hidden all throughout the park, but this one was the best because it rested on top of a small hill. On the other side of the wall sat a pond, so no one could sneak up on them from behind.

Satisfied with the level of privacy, Danny transformed from Phantom back into Fenton. The temperature dropped for a moment as the transformation rings washed over him. Sam was forced to close her eyes against the bright light, blinking away spots when she opened them again.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" he said. "And why out here?"

Sam looked up at the open sky. Once the sun finished setting, they would have a great view of the stars. Danny always said he felt more relaxed when the stars were out.

"No reason," she said.

Danny shrugged. "Okay. You sounded kind of serious in your text, though."

A stoic "We need to talk," probably wasn't Sam's best choice of words, but it was serious. Worrying her lip, she nodded and turned away from Danny. She reached into her backpack, discarded on the grass next to her, and pulled out a photo album. She had a lot of photo albums dedicated to a lot of different things: family, nature, animals, friends. This album was special. It's purple cover was decorated in glow-in-the-dark ghost stickers. Silly phrases like "Beware!" and "Ghost Zone's Greatest" were written across it.

This album was for Danny's, Sam's, and Tucker's eyes only, and it chronicled their ghost hunting adventures.

"Whoa, I remember making that," Danny said with a grin. He eagerly snatched the album from Sam's hands and flipped the cover open. The very first picture was of all three of them in the Fenton's lab. Sam, being the tallest at the time, held the camera out, Danny in the middle, Tucker squeezing in at the edge of the photo.

"Do you miss being the tallest?" Danny asked teasingly. He flipped through the album to the more recent photos and picked out one of Sam and Tucker lounging on a bench, picking dried ectoplasm out of their hair. Even while sitting, Tucker had a good few inches on Sam. If they had been standing, that gap would have been even bigger.

Sam slapped Danny's hand away and teased right back, "at least I'm not the shortest." She pointed to the next photo over

Another one with all of them together, lying down on the roof of Fenton. None of them were looking at the camera. Jazz had taken the photo without them knowing, peering down at them from the Emergency Ops-Centre.

Tucker, on the right, was focused entirely on his phone, holding it so close that the screen's soft glow lit up his face. Sam lay on her side in the middle, chin propped on her fist, reading a book. On the left, Danny had his arms folded behind his head as a pillow and was just staring up at the sky.

Their heads were all level, but looking at their feet showed they were arranged from tallest, to shorter, to shortest.

Sam remembered that moment. They had been hunting for a ghost that could bypass Danny's ghost sense. Using the advanced sensors in the Ops-Centre, they were waiting to get a ping back that the ghost had been located. It took almost an hour, but the wait wasn't so bad. They needed a nice, calm moment every now and again, when they could just be together in silence.

Two years ago, they probably would have wasted a whole afternoon looking for the ghost themselves. A lot had changed since then. In the grand scheme of things, two years wasn't much, but it was a long time for teenagers. Both Sam and Tucker had grown, shooting up a few inches. Sam's hair was longer. Tucker had a bit of stubble on his chin. Their faces were more defined. Their arms were visibly muscled.

But Danny hadn't changed at all. He was half a foot shorter than Sam. His cheeks still carried a bit of youthful roundness. Despite being the most physically active of all three of them, his arms and legs were the same thin twigs from when he was fourteen years old.

"Hey, have you seen how tall my dad is? I bet I'm gonna have a foot on both of you," Danny said, holding up his hand to show how tall he would be. "Just look at Jazz. She's taller than our mom now! And Mom's not exactly short, either."

"Danny," Sam said softly.

"Don't even get me started on Aunt Alicia."

"Danny!"

He stopped talking. His hand dropped into his lap, fingers curling into a tight fist, and he ducked his head. "Please tell me I at least fooled you a little," he said.

Sam reached over and took the photo album back from him. Removing the picture of them on the roof, she flipped back to the front of the book, holding the photo up against the first one of them all together. Danny looked exactly the same in both.

"Not even a little," she said.

"Damn."

Sam closed the album and set it aside. Scooting closer to Danny, she bumped their knees together, making him look up through his hair. Even that hadn't changed. Sam couldn't remember him getting a single haircut since his accident.

"Danny... what are you going to do?" she asked.

His hopeless expression broke her heart. "I don't know, Sam," he said. He ran his fingers through his hair, hands shaking. He was looking straight ahead, eyes wide and unfocused. "I don't know. I'm not– I haven't changed at all. What does that even mean? Am I not aging? Am I fourteen forever?"

Folding his hands over his head, he hunched forward, fingers digging into the back of his neck. "I don't know."

Sam reached out and touched his hand, trying to comfort him. But the moment she made contact, Danny flinched away, lurching to his feet. The sudden move startled Sam. She stared as Danny paced across the clearing, still holding his head.

"I'm just, I'm stuck, Sam! Everyone's leaving me behind! How can I graduate like this? Or go to college? Or do anything? You're all just going to keep going growing up and I'm going to stay here like, like this!" He gestured to his body. "But you want to know the worst of it? If this is my life now, then... one day, you're all really going to leave me behind."

The implications of what Danny said had the blood draining from Sam's face. She knew it was a possibility, but she hadn't seriously considered. Her, Tucker, Jazz, Danny's parents. Everyone. They were all going to keep aging, and getting older, and one day they would die. One by one, Danny would lose everyone he loves, and he would be left alone.

When Sam asked him here today, she just wanted to ask what his plans were for after high school. How would he deal with college, if he could even go? What would he do about work? What would he do about his parents?

But now he was spiralling into a panic and Sam didn't know what to do. The conversation went wrong so fast it gave her whiplash. She had to get things back under control.

"Danny, hold on," she said, rising to her feet.

He wasn't listening. He just kept pacing and panting.

"You need to take deep breaths, you're going to pass out."

"Don't you get it, Sam? I don't need to fucking breath! It's just a goddamn reflex at this point! Look, watch, see?" Danny pressed his hands against his chest, and he stopped breathing. Thirty seconds passed. Forty. One minute. Two.

They stood there, facing each other, neither one saying anything. Sam kept waiting for Danny's face to turn red. For him to suddenly gasp and suck in a big breath of air, like she did after holding her breath for too long, but he didn't even twitch.

"Danny," Sam said.

"What?" he snapped harshly. He started moving again, chest heaving, hands shaking.

Sam asked the only thing she could think of that would calm him down. "Where's Orion's Belt?"

Danny blinked at her, hands dropping, and repeated, "What?" It was less bitter this time.

"Orion's Belt." She gestured to the stars, which were now out on full display. "Where is it?"

"Um..." Danny's voice was shaky, but when he turned his head to look at the stars, his eyes looked less wild. "It's just above the trees."

He pointed. "There. The, the three stars."

Sam followed his hand, gaze searching the dark sky, and nodded when she found them.

"You can't see his knees right now. But, um, if you look up, just a little. His shoulder is– his shoulders are right there. And you can see the lion he's holding." As soon as Danny moved on to the other stars, Sam was lost, unable to see what he saw. But he kept talking, and she wasn't about to stop him. "Um. Jazz. Jazz told me it was a bow, when I was little, because she didn't know the story. Some people think it's a shield. It could be any of them, I guess. But. I like the lion."

He looked calmer. Still far from relaxed, but less like he was about to collapse. Sam approached him slowly, in case he wanted some space, watching for any sign that she should stop. When she saw none, she reached out and pulled Danny into a hug, pressing his head into her shoulder.

"Sam, have I always been dead?" he asked. His voice was steady, and he didn't sob, but Sam could feel his tears staining her shirt.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. Danny still bled, and he healed, and he ate, and he slept. "I don't think that's something we can know until..."

Until everyone else grew old and died and Danny didn't.

They held the embrace until Danny stopped shaking. He sniffed, rubbed his eyes, and pulled back, chuckling when he saw the dark spot on Sam's shirt.

"I swear, if you got snot on this, I'm gonna take the most embarrassing photo I have of you and plaster it all over the school tomorrow," Sam said. She almost meant it, too. This shirt, a dark grey t-shirt covered in bat-shaped lace, was one of her favourites.

The threat managed to pull a stronger laugh out of Danny. It was watery, but bright, and his lips twitched into a smile as he rubbed his eyes again.

"Are you.... are you okay?" Sam asked.

"No," Danny said. "But, I'm not bad either."

They sat back down, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder, and looked up at the stars together. Sam squinted, trying to pick out more constellations, but she didn't have Danny's skill for it. Even after him pointing them out to her time and again, she always forgot where they were. Already, she had lost track of Orion's belt. But that was okay. She liked it better when Danny showed them to her.

"Oh, damn," Sam said, suddenly remembering something from freshman year.

"What?"

"I just realized. It's a good thing I don't have a crush on you anymore, you're way too young for me."

"You had a crush on me?" Danny asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips.

Sam blushed. "Oh, shut up. You're my best friend, okay? I thought I like liked you."

Danny tipped his head back and laughed. "Would you believe it if I said I had a crush on you to?"

"No way." Sam gaped at him. "Seriously? Tucker and I always joked that you were clueless because you couldn't tell I like you. Was I clueless too?"

"Tucker knew?" Danny's voice rose to a shriek.

Sam burst out laughing. "Oh my god! That was adorable!" She clutched her stomach and fell over onto her side, shoulders shaking. "I can't­– oh my god– please."

Danny scowled down at her, crossing his arms and pouting. It sent her into a whole new fit of laughter, until her lungs ached, and her flushed cheeks felt too hot. Fanning her face, she pushed herself back up and struggled to get her breathing under control.

"Okay. Okay, I'm done. I swear," she said. A final giggle slipped out.

"Asshole," Danny muttered.

"Asshole that you had a crush on," Sam said. "I can't believe I missed my chance to date the Danny Phantom."

"Damn, and I could have dated Casper High's queen goth. Too bad I don't date older women."

Sam snorted. She looked back up to the stars, feeling a sharp pang in her chest. "Sorry you can't be an astronaut, though."

"Hey, maybe they need a scrawny teenager out in space, you never know," Danny said, grinning wryly. He picked at the grass, sprinkling it over Sam's leggings, just like they used to do when they were kids. With Danny's baby face, he still looked like a kid, but Sam knew he had been through so much more than anyone they ever know.

"But I think... I think I'm okay with that," Danny continued after a moment. "I can fly, and I've even been to space before. Without a helmet! How many people can do that? Besides, I'm years ahead of NASA?"

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Sam asked, brushing the grass off her knee.

"I've already perfected suspended animation," Danny answered. He wiggled his eyebrows and knocked his foot against hers.

It took Sam a couple seconds to get what he meant, but when she did, she groaned. "That was so bad."

"It was comedy gold."

"I'm ending this friendship."

"You wish. You're stuck with my forever. Everybody is, apparently."

Sam's expression turned somber. "Danny, I hope you know, we'll always be here for you. Even when we're gone. We might not become ghosts, but we love you. We're with you."

Danny looked away. For a second, Sam thought he was going to have another panic attack. But when he looked back at her, he was smiling. It was soft, and sad. If Sam could only use one word to describe it, it would be resigned. It was the smile of someone who knew what the future held for them and would face it head on, even if they weren't ready for it.

"I know," he said.

Danny was right before, Sam thought. It wasn't okay, but it wasn't bad, either.

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 16: Trip - The Green Sun Project Chap.9: Zone Bound Like A Ghostly Basset Hound

Danny needs to get a little more connected with his Zone.

The next thing Danny does is look around. Actually going into the Zone wasn’t really something people did. Considering the very air and literally all surfaces were pure ectoplasm, it wasn’t exactly safe for human travel.

Glancing around, not surprised at all the green just everywhere. ‘Huh, very green’, patting his chest, ‘thanks a shit ton for that save by the way. We should, uh, not stay in one place though. And this place is super not human safe, so if my body starts doing not fun stuff, you need to get me outta here’.

Getting a loud whine, ‘deadly?’ and soft accepting hum in response.

Danny nods his head and starts looking around for a landmass. Keeping the invisibility up and floating slowly once he spots one. ‘For a normal human, yeah. But if my idea that you can make me able to handle ectoplasm is right, then I should be totally fine. The Zone, here, is pure ectoplasm. Not as strong as what’s in ghosts or what you’re made outta, but still’. Swallowing and whispering, “normally any humans who come here wear full-body anti-ecto hazmat suits. Like what my parents’ wear all the time”, lifting up and glancing at a bare-skinned hand, “I should really be in a ton of pain right now. Like what I got from your green tendrils. Well, little less immediate than that”. His Core giving a worried whine; Danny just pats his chest comfortingly.

It doesn’t take long to make it to the little island, Danny poking the ground cautiously with his shoe before shrugging and landing on it. ‘If my folks ever find out about this, they’re gonna make me burn my clothing. What with how insanely contaminated they are by now’. Earning some bubbling from his Core.

It also doesn’t take much wandering to figure out that the island is not only small but most likely uninhabited. Meaning probably safe to crash on for a bit. Also noticing in this time, that his body feels kinda good, which is weird. It was kinda like he was getting a very faint full body massage with nice oils or something. Feeling it even on and in his bones, muscles, and Core. Though he’s not surprised by the constant slight tingle of sensing all the ectoplasmic energy around. Vaguely noting how it was stronger near things that logically had more ectoplasm.

Sighing and sitting to lean against a tree, decidedly one that felt lower in ectoplasm, grumbling a little, “Sam and Tuck are probably worried by now”, and flipping out his phone. Groaning at it, “no bars or internet, figures”. ‘Any clue what’s up with my body feeling nice? Is it just cause this place is technically part of you?’.

‘Only change absorbing ectoplasm’

‘Heh, must be on a pretty massive level then. Still weird’. Leaning his head back against the bark and closing his eyes. Guess he shouldn’t be surprised that his body liked absorbing ectoplasm, probably feeding his Core in a way. Yawning a little. ‘Hey, I think I’m gonna sleep for a bit. Make sure to wake me and feel free to yank me around if a ghost approaches us, okay?’. Grinning to himself over the soft hum.  

-

Danny’s not even slightly surprised to get awoken very suddenly. He somehow doubts those ghosts would just give up. Would make his life easier though.

‘COMING. Eye child’

‘Alright. Okay. Not good’. Turning to fly off he’s also not surprised to nearly crash right into the scythe-wielding ghost that just appeared out of nowhere; who also looks to have a stick now, with something that looks like a ‘CW’ and a tiny clock on it. Not even getting a chance to back off as his body just freezes in the air.

“I’m afraid the Observants believe you a threat to the Realms, Daniel. And the future seen hardly disagrees”. A mirror shaped something forming next to the ghost and flashing through scenes of destruction.

‘I- what?- that won’t?’. His Core just making some strange warbling static thing that he can’t make sense of. The ghost doesn’t hesitate or explain further before ramming the scythe through his back, it feels like all his veins are immediately on fire and he can both see and feel green electricity arching over his skin. Watching his Core get physically shoved out of his chest, blue and white tendrils tense and clearly trying to hold on to him before fizzing and snapping off.

A verifiable horde of Observants appears, one moving to slide the Core off the top on the scythe and cup it, while Danny collapses onto the small island; wheezing and a pool of blood forming around his chest from the hole speared through it. ‘Ah shit... this is so.. not how I saw this coming’. Sure he never expected to live very long but graduating would have been nice. Though he can appreciate the comedic value of being offed by a scythe of all things. Wielded by a ghost. That’s got to count for some kind of jokester prestige. Right? And hey, he will probably be the first human to actually die here. Oh he’s so totally going to wind up a ghost.  

Man, Sam and Tuck are going to be pissed.

-

The scythe-wielding ghost quirks an eyebrow and gives an almost inaudible pleased hum while the Observants back off as the Zone Core immediately starts vibrating wildly, making horribly unpleasant static and growling sounds; as if an entire pack of hellhounds were nipping at their heels over the backdrop of a static tv screen turned well past a-hundred. All of them covering their ears and hunching over, the Observants pupils widening when the Zone Core discharges massive amounts of green electricity in every direction.

“WHAT!”, none getting to say more than that as they all start getting speared and shocked, causing massive amounts of damage. The scythe-wielding ghost the only one successfully avoiding it, though the ectoplasmic air everywhere is becoming charged itself and is something utterly unavoidable.

“Well, this changes things”. They poof and appear looming over Danny, who’s still alive enough to glance at them, “it seems you are quite the unusual one. You’ve taken a path with less than one percent possibility of happening. The Observants, they believe only they, beings inherently incapable of biases, can control the Core without becoming a danger to the Realms. Without becoming power-hungry. The logical would find that quite a narrow-minded view to hold. Would it not be preferred to have one who cares? One who protects, guides, and teaches. Over ones who only watch?”, the ghost grins as some rocks get blown apart by a zap of lightning, “I think we may be of use to each other. To answer some of your questions, I, am ClockWork”, and poofs away, reappearing by the Zone Core; while Danny’s barely consciously widens his eyes. ‘A myth...’. Then passes out, his chest falling and not rising back up.

Many of the Observants glance at each other as the fabric of the Zone begins to shake. Glancing and seeming to squint at ClockWork’s sudden movement. One speaking up, “what are you doing. You’ve fulfilled your duties, now leave”, their voice sounding full of power and command.

“I’m afraid that is not what this one wants”, and raises their scythe over their head, the blade pointed away from the Zone Core.

“ClockWork!-”, the Observants get cut off by loud static drowning everything out and ClockWork slamming the side of the scythe on the Zone Core, sending It shooting down back towards Danny. It immediately ceasing the lightning and static, exploding with tendrils that squirm over the entire island trilling loudly all the while. ClockWork floating to be between them and the horde of Observants, a slight smirk across their face.

The Observants look from the Zone Core to ClockWork, one holding up a finger, “this is your fault now. What happens, you are responsible for it. And you will take the fall for it”.

“Yes. And you will merely observe. Nothing more. As you were meant to. Pariah is gone, and you are hardly replacements”.

“You plan to-”, the Observant not getting to finish as chunks of the island seemingly get pelted at them. Effectively forcing them to flee; unable to tolerate any more damage. As while they were something of a force to be reckoned with as a group, individually they were far less durable than ones like ClockWork.

-

Danny hacks and coughs, jerking to curl up in on himself and feeling like his ribs were being squeezed by a very aggressive anaconda. Groaning over the other feeling like lead was attempting to move through his veins. There’s no way he could even lift up his arm right now and he’s got no clue what the vaguely squirming blanket thing over him is. Blinking, he can barely even attempt at actually thinking words. Mostly it was just ‘ow’ and ‘ah’ and ‘fuck’.

Sucking in a breath as that almost gnawing emptiness in his chest gets practically slammed with weight and fullness and energy and power. It’s so much that he almost passes out again from it.

“You need to calm down, you’re overwhelming the poor boy”. Danny blinks over the vaguely familiar voice, though he can’t even begin to place it at the moment. But the squirming does slow down a little and the pressure in him feels less all-consuming. Wheezing a bit and actually managing to push himself up with his one arm after a bit, blinking at the purple cloaked smirking ghost before cringing and glancing to his chest. ‘Right. Core. Little...Star?’.

Flinching a little at the very loud, ‘HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME’ that’s so intense it’s almost gibberish to him.

The cloaked ghost hums, “the Zone Core has never been exposed properly to the Zone. As such It seems quite inexperienced in how to manage so much raw energy without the body of a mortal to filter it. And It expelled a very large amount of Its latent energy attacking us”, the ghost grins, “now I could take you two somewhere to expel the raw It doesn’t yet know to handle and gather ecto-energy that is more... suitable for your living body”.

Danny wheezes a little, muscles spasming, and feeling the vibration of invisibility coming and going; pretty sure neither him nor his Core is really in control of that. “So... you’re, not going, to off, me?”. The ghost -ClockWork, right? And wasn’t that a mind fuck they were supposed to be some kind of ghost god myth- nods before changing to look like a toddler and floating close to his face, “far be it for me to deny the Zone Core Its cores desires. To see It doing as It was, It would have depleted Itself for the one It cares for. Risk everything for the one It calls home. And I find it unlikely that you would do any differently. So, do you not deserve a chance?”.

Danny just blinks, this was probably the most positive interaction with a ghost he could imagine. A bunch of ghosts just had a spat over him. Oddly, he wonders what his parents would say. How they would try to explain this. Regardless he nods gently, fighting against the stiff tautness in his neck. The now adult ghost picking him up and practically cradling him. ‘No one is ever going to believe this. Ever. Ever. Literally the only ghost I could run into more extreme than this is freaking Pariah or a ViralHelm. But... I’d be super super dead’.

‘No. Never. STAY’

‘Little guy, I have zero intention of being around either of them. Or dying honestly. Ow’.

ClockWork chuckles very faintly, Danny decides against asking. The fact that every inch of him still feels like hot garbage only encourages that. Though he can’t help but whisper in awe, “woah”, when he sees where they’re going. A massive flowering plain covered in flowers of all different kinds and shapes, with glows that somehow shimmered, a red aroma wafting off the place and smelling like sweet succulent heaven. Him sniffing and leaning forward out of ClockWork’s arms, though wincing a bit at his Core vibrating and seemingly trying to pull him forward. Everything around It felt so raw. It honestly probably was raw. ‘Please stop pulling. You’re hurting me’

‘Want. HUNGRY’

‘I know. But I feel, like you’re gonna pull, yourself out of me’. That seemed to be enough to get the little guy to calm down some. Probably really heavily against the idea of being separated at the moment. Though to be fair, he was too. He still leans forward a bit more though, pointedly ignoring the tendrils hanging out over his skin; at least it didn’t hurt. He’s just going to assume they weren’t sinking in because of the full of raw ecto thing. Did his Core just not know how to process the Zones energy yet? Or was it because of him?

He mentally cuts himself off as ClockWork sets him down on the ground, kneeling and hands moving practically not of their own accord and jerky to cup one of the little flowers. ClockWork speaking as he shoves the flower in his mouth, it exploding like a fruit gusher and making him outright moan from the sweet thick white chocolate flavour and texture. “This is the Defted Plains. The epicentre of the Zone, if any place is the true point of origin for the Zone Core it is here, and the ectoplasm here is ultimately what the purified Zone core ectoplasm was pulled from to make the Zone Core”. Danny’s barely paying any attention as he rips up more of the flowers, stuffing them into his mouth more than a little eagerly. Though noting the tendrils around him are lifted off him a bit and stabbing into the ground; more flowers growing, uncurling, and popping open around them. And the pulsing going on in his chest is more than a little weird.

Side-eyeing ClockWork as they shift to a child and move to sit on his shoulder, obviously uncaring about him practically tearing up the ground and flowers like a starved animal, “while this may be replenishing the Zone Core, it is doing little for your own healing. The Zone Core will have to do that for you Itself. And I’m afraid there are certain complications that Maddie and Jack failed to grasp”, Danny can feel the back of that scythe pressing up against his back, “that a Core needs to be connected to provide support”, then pushing him at the ground; him immediately slipping through the ground like it was butter.

Danny can’t see anything other than himself and he appears to be glowing, and the tendrils, he can’t so much as twitch a finger but watching the tendrils shoot off him and seem to connect to something somewhere and becoming taut sticking out of him from his chest. ‘Alright. Okay, somethings going on here and I have no idea what. But... are you okay?’, feeling like all of his insides are squishing themselves or something, ‘oh Zone I’m hungry’, he’d really like to be able to swallow or anything right now, ‘this is your hunger I’m feeling right?’.

‘Some much-everything-is. Home fine. Here happy-mine’. Danny’s skin twitching violently is the closest he can get to shuddering from the harsh vibrations and nuzzling; hearing deep humming bordering on a purr that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere.

Danny doesn’t even get a chance to try responding to that, he’s pretty sure his Core is having a fair few issues ‘thinking’, as he feels like a video game cartridge that just got clicked into place and eyes mentally widening at the blackness being overtaken by being able to just see everything seemingly expanding out from him. He can see the edges of the Zone like he’s there but also not? It makes zero sense, but whatever that’s just his life, existence, whatever, now.

Then nearly vomiting from everything just seemingly snapping back inside him and rolling over on the little flowering plain area. The Defted Plains ClockWork called it? Grinning slightly more than a little aware of the thick heavy wetness in his limbs again. He’d gotten used to it but still, blinking at still being able to see, like, everything but it was like colourful static spiky wavy energy and was really in the background to what he’s actually seeing around him. ‘Mind trip holy shit. A druggie would be jealous of this, damn. At least I can tell what’s actually in front of me’ closing his eyes, he could still see the static energy stuff behind his eyelids, ‘fuck. This is a lot’. Sighing a little at the soft apologetic sounding whine. ‘It’s fine it’s fine. Just gotta give me a bit to deal’, swallowing, ‘so this is you huh? All of you? The Zone?’

‘Mine. Yes. Part of. Home more mine. Part home too’.

‘Alright cool. Guess the Zone’s part of me more than just having its Core. I can just feel the existential crisis coming’. That gets him some bubbling laughter, which makes him smile even if he still feels tired and so doesn’t want to get up.

Danny twitches a jerk at the sound of ClockWork’s voice startling him, “I would encourage you to head home. Before any curious ghosts come to check you out. You, or more so the Zone Core, is quite a big deal after all”.

Danny sighs and slowly pushes himself up, that action alone making him feel exhausted, “ghosts coming after me is going to be common bullshit for me now, isn’t it? And do I seriously seem like I’ve got the energy to be going anywhere?”, oh he can feel the sarcasm dripping off that.

ClockWork smirks, “that would be telling, wouldn’t it”, floating closer and jabbing his chest with their staff, “you may find yourself tired but the Zone Core hardly is, Daniel. Or should I call you Phantom?”, grinning, “no I think I won’t”.

Danny actually chuckles over that, he thinks he kinda likes this ghost. Looking down to his chest, “well? Feel like doing the portal shit again? You’re gonna have to puppet me around though, ‘cause my muscles feel like rubber”. He thinks ClockWork grins a little at that but when he looks they’re gone. His Core does bubble and crackle a little though, even if there’s a slight whine. Obviously little guy felt bad for all this, which yeah, he fucking died for a while there he’s pretty sure. Regardless he doesn’t fall over when his arms jerk out and the taut threads stabbing his bones feeling starts up, a portal swirling open; his body seemingly flinging itself through it. Landing on the sidewalk in front of his house, just outside of the shield around FentonWorks. Which he absolutely groans over. It’s also dark out. Which, fuck him, everyone was probably freaking out about his sudden MIA status.

Hence why he’s totally unsurprised when his parents and friends all run out to him. ‘Ah they probably thought my parents did some experiment thing on me or that I maybe got abducted by the G.I.W.. Nice to know they’d come running to my defence without hesitation’. His Core softly humming a happy agreement.

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [14]

Masterlist

A/N: I just wanted to say another quick thank you to everyone reading along. You guys have honeslty made my week so mych easier and to say that I’ve been waking up early (something my lazy ass never does) just to read all of your comments because I get that excited is just crazy. I love you guys so very much, enjoy the chapter!

~^*^~

You froze up. Your mother was looking right at you, asking once more quietly if you wanted a little more milk in your tea. You couldn’t really hear her properly. There was a rush of blood to your ears and your head began to swirl. The phone that you had been holding up to your ear clattered to the ground. Never in your life had such a heavy guilt consumed you and never had such a strong feeling overcome you so quickly.

The words just spoke to you echoed in your ears.

‘She’s gone...’ his voice had been a broken whisper. It was hoarse and accusingly wrapping around your head.

You had done this. This was your doing.

Lucy Westenra’s death was on you.

“[First]? Are you alright?” Your mother bent before you, plucking up the phone. She inspected it. Luckily, no harm. She noticed that the phone call was still on and placed the phone to her ear, “good morning, Jack, she’ll have to call you back.” She explained softly and hung up.

Your mouth opened and shut once more. Speechless. Utterly speechless.

And without thinking about anything else, you turned and ran. You ran as hard as your feet would carry you, not worrying about your unbrushed hair, or your bare face with tears streaming. Your mother called your name but you flew out of the house without another care. All you cared about was where you needed to go, and that meant sprinting as fast and as much as your body would physically allow.

You forced your way past people, earning some cusses and angry stares. You didn’t care. When you burst through the doors of the place of solace, you finally slowed down, doubling over and resting your hands on your knees. Your body shook with sobs. A pain rippled throughout you.

You rose, standing again and wiped your tears roughly with your sleeve. Then, you made your way through the next door.

This time, she looked even worse. You wondered if she had been sleeping at all. Her eyes opened slowly and she tried her hardest to smile. It fell immediately when she took in your state. You staggered towards her in your guilt and your grief. You slumped down into the chair beside her, beginning to sob once more.

“[First]?” She croaked.

“It was me...” you whispered through choked sobs, “I killed Lucy...”

“She... finally succumbed to him...?”

“I... I killed her...”

“What... happened...?” Her voice was so much slower and so much weaker.

“I sent him to her... in exchange for my life... I sent Dracula to kill her... Jack will never forgive me...”

“...[First]...” she began slowly, “Dracula... would have found her even if... you didn’t lead him there...”

Her words were of no consolation to you. Lucy was dead and it was your fault. You had lead Dracula to her so that you could live for just a few more months. Now that he didn’t have her to feed on, you knew it was your turn. You had prolonged your life by only a few months.

“Jack will never forgive me for this.” You sighed through your tears. How, just how would you be able to look at him again, knowing full well that you had caused the death of his most beloved person?

“He will... he’ll have to...” Zoe spoke.

“Can you believe I was that stupid?”

“Yes...” she deadpanned, and then weakly laughed before she began to cough, “but Dracula... fooled us all...”

“Zoe, what do I do...? He’ll find me again...” you had managed to compose yourself a little.

“Flee. You’ll just keep moving... and pray you don’t end up in the same place. Take Jack,” she pushed herself up so that she was sitting a little higher up, “you are the only ones who will know the danger...”

“Yeah, I’ve just killed his best friend, he’s definitely going to want to tag along in my race around the world for the rest of our lives to not get killed by a vampire.” You retorted, sarcasm dripping from your tongue.

“If anyone can, it’s you two... my best students.”

She extended her hand a little. You looked at it. You took it into your own. It was so cold. Not in the same way Dracula was cold. No, this was a tragic coolness. A deathly chill cursing her once floushied body. You hung onto her. She looked half-dead already. Her face had sunken in a little and her hair had thinned considerably. Her wrists had lost their plumpness and her fingers were bony.

This was what cancer did to the body. It plagued it. The strongest of them wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You truly were the best...” she smiled, closing her eyes.

“I do love you, Zoe.” You whispered.

“I know.”

~^*^~

The pew that you stood in was quite far back. Jack was in front of you by a few rows. He hadn’t looked at you once. You eyed the other people. Lots of friends, even more family members. Opposite you, on the left and just a row in front was a man you didn’t recognise. There was a green duffle bag on the ground beside him with a tag. He must be leaving after the service. That would make him Quincey, Lucy’s fiancé.

The service continued and at the front, Lucy’s mother, held back by her sister, sobbed uncontrollably. As the casket lowered down, you could hear her wailing “no” over and over. It broke your heart and the guilt washed over you once more. It was like there was a tiny voice in your head repeatedly screaming “you did this”.

Your selfishness, your desperation to survive had lead to this.

The church began to filter out, starting from the front and working it way backwards. Jack strode past you. His eyes were bloodshot and he had been biting his lip. He didn’t acknowledge you. Quincey wasn’t too far after. He was hard faced and clearly wasn’t as upset as Jack. Dear god, Lucy really had let him get away and she hadn’t even realised it.

Finally, your legs carried you out and you looked around. Jack was standing a few metres away, looking out towards the many graves. He hadn’t spoken to you in over two weeks and it was killing you. You had tried to get into contact with him, and when he had been to visit Zoe, she had demanded that he talk to you. She told you she had used the words “dying wish” to try and convince him, however he saw through her bluff and wasn’t planning on talking to you anytime soon. You sucked in another breath. You needed to talk to him. He was the only other person bar Zoe and Dracula who knew what had truly happened to Lucy. He needed your support as he grieved.

Your shoes clicked as you neared him and you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned away from you as soon as he realised who was trying to grab his attention. You sighed.

“Jack,” you whispered, “please talk to me.” He continued to look away.

“I have nothing to say to you.” He snapped and then sniffled a little. Ouch.

“Please, we need to talk about this. I’m the only other person who knows-“ you cut yourself off, not wanting to make a scene in exploiting your intimate knowledge on her death.

In your bag, your phone was buzzing erratically. You had no intention of picking up, as it had been for two weeks. Luckily, you had not disclosed your whereabouts and so for now, connection was cut.

Jack finally turned to you.

“Fine, let’s talk.” A tear was running down his cheek as his nostrils flared.

He grasped your wrist and began to tug you away from the crowd of people that had collected outside. Further and further, he lead you through the made of graves, coming to stop under an oranged tree whos leaves were delicately slipping away one by one. He let go of you, crossing his arms before sighing deeply.

“Jack,” you whispered, “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am...”

“She’s gone, [First]. She’s gone and it’s because of you. Because of that monster. Apologies won’t bring her back.”

“I know...” you blinked back your own tears.

“Did you truly hate her that much?”

Did you? Hate Lucy? God, yes. Anyone who knew your history with her knew that you had a justifiable hate towards her. But hate her enough to send her to her doom? You didn’t think so. Maybe leading Dracula to her was a rash decision, in your exhaustion just to save your own neck. Offering up the girl whom you had once loved so dearly as a simple happy meal for a true monster.

No, you didn’t. That was the short answer. Though, it was easy to assess that you did, however untrue it was.

“No, I didn’t hate her that much.” You confessed, “I... don’t really know why I did it... how could I have wished something like that upon her?”

“You tell me. You did it.” He challenged, sneering slightly.

“Trust me, I will carry my guilt with me for the rest of my life. Forever. And it will always hurt me. So please, please don’t cut me out again. I don’t know how long Zoe has and- and-...” the flurry of emotions watered your eyes heavily and you became unable to handle your tears, “you’re the only person who knows what Dracula is... you’re the only person who understands. I’m scared, Jack. It’s going to be me next.”

“[First],” he sighed. He knew that Lucy’s death could have been avoided had she denied Dracula her attention. Deep down, he knew that you had sent him on a whim to protect yourself. Of course he knew that you would never intend to harm somebody like that. But he needed to take his anger out on someone or else the cracking of his heart might hurt too much, “it won’t be you next.” He pulled you into him. It felt nice to have some physical comfort after locking himself away for two weeks.

Your phone began to buzz once again in your bag. You continued to ignore it.

“Are you going to answer that?”

“No...”

“It kept ringing all through the service. Who is it?”

You didn’t answer and almost immediately, he knew. He pulled away from you and before you had any time to protest, he had torn open your bag and took your phone. He answered.

“Ah, finally, you answer. I knew my persistence would win you over-“ Dracula’s smug voice rang through Jack’s ear and the urge to throw your phone as far and as hard as he could washed over him. Had it been his own phone, he would have obliterated it.

“It hasn’t.” Jack cut him off firmly.

“Oh, my, this is a surprise. Hello Mr. Seward. May I inquire as to why you have [First]’s phone?”

“Yeah, you can,” you watched Jack’s face twist in anger, “to tell you to fuck off. Oh, and don’t call her again. She won’t answer.”

Your mouth dropped. You gawked at Jack as he neatly replaced your phone back in your bag. Had he seriously just told the most dangerous creature to ‘fuck off’? You were in disbelief. And in that disbelief, in the entanglement of all of your emotions, you began to laugh. Hard.

“You didn’t seriously just-“ you doubled over and you could hear Jack begin to laugh along with you.

“That felt good.” He breathed through his laughs.

“Well, at least you took it out on someone.”

“Yeah, I suppose...” he looked at you. It had been way too long since he had spent some real time with you to just destress, “should we go get a drink?”

~^*^~

Jack awoke with a start. His room was illuminated and it took him a moment to register that it was his phone dining that had brought him from his sleep. He answered. It was Zoe.

“I’m checking myself out.”

The next hour went by like a blur. He needed to pick Zoe up from the hospital, which meant having to argue with two nurses who insisted on her staying. After literally screaming in one of their faces that he was taking Zoe, they were speeding off. She gave him directions, with a quiet and hoarse voice. She was clearly slipping away.

“Should I call [First]?” He asked, looking at her momentarily.

“...no... she shouldn’t come... because... well... she shouldn’t.”

The feeling that settled in his gut was bad. Really, really bad. Something was seriously wrong, but he knew not to press. Zoe would only give him an answer when she was ready. Until then, he’d just have to stay in the unknown.

On the other side of London, in a terraced house, keeping the living room lit was you. You had awoken early with a strange feeling in your stomach and had decided to come downstairs. Old American comedies were on reruns and you quietly laughed along at the jokes. Oh, if only you knew.

Dracula pulled open the door, and looked at the two.

“You don’t look very surprised.” He smirked at her remark.

“You don’t look very dead.”

“I’m getting there.” He nodded, and looked at the male standing behind her. Jack glared at him, and Dracula’s smirk fell from his face.

So, this was it.

He pushed the door more open to let them in and Zoe began to remark about how easy it was for them to find him. Dracula moved towards his chair and sunk down, not really paying her any mind. He pulled out his phone, tapping a string of words before slipping it back into his jacket pocket. Well, the quicker it was over, the better.

Your phone buzzed and you sighed. Reaching over, you grasped the cool device and your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the screen.

[DraccyBoi: I love you]

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan @newheart97 @middlespellman @bratty-sweetheart @dipsylou @lilmou5ie @the-fangirl-life10 @enchantersnight @imthedoctorlove @haleyea @hoefordarkness @divinemoonsters @dragosdaughter @certthekilljoy

[kareofbears]

blinding lights, chapter 4/4

Their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let Akechi keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality."

---

Akechi and Sumire have to traverse through the events of the third semester without Akira (or rather, against him).

read on ao3 or under the cut :)

No matter how long fate will allow him to live, Akira would never forget Ryuji’s awakening.

Blood splattering on the carpet as he rips the mask carved into his face, the explosion that erupts from his very core like an airstrike, the scream so raw and guttural and unleashed, as if a part of Ryuji that’s always been strapped down and chained has been freed after years of confinement.

But it was the look on his face, the manic grin that emerged from the pitfalls of anguish is the part that’s burned into his memory. Any hesitation that was there was wiped clean—all that’s left was triumph and sheer rage, an insurmountable amount of it laid bare on his face and in his eyes so prevalent that Akira had barely noticed Captain Kidd behind him.

“What the hell—” Akira stammers, unable to process that Ryuji’s here, in Maruki’s Palace. There’s a sag in his shoulders, the effect of the curse attack probably causing him to feel heavy and drained. That’s why they should always be wary of curse skills; they’re a direct attack on their physical and mental state. (Once, it had hit Ann particularly hard in Futaba’s Palace. If Akira’s hits became harder after that as a precaution, nobody mentioned anything.) “Why are you—”

Ryuji turns and anything that Akira might’ve said dies in his throat. He barely looks like someone who took Eigaon head-on, but it doesn’t stop Akira from feeling waves of nausea anyway.

“Are you hurt?” Ryuji asks tersely.

“No, but—”

“Good,” the look on his face was one of pure, irrepressible fury, one to rival his awakening. “Then I can get pissed off without having to feel bad.”

Akira nods and touches his mask. “We will, I know you’re probably confused but you got hit pretty bad—”

“I didn’t—”

Personas burst in and out, flickering like shadows from TV static. “Sorry, just give me—”

“Stop looking for—”

“You got hurt, at least let me—”

“God dammit, Kurusu!” he snaps, and grabs his wrist, grip lax. “Why aren’t you listening? I said I was fine, wasn’t I? I’m not hurt, I don’t want your effin’ diaharan. I just want you to talk to me about why you’re here and I wasn’t.”

“Ryuji, it’s a long story,” Akira starts, forcing his voice to be steady.

“Long story, my ass!” Letting Akira’s hand fall, his glare hard as steel. “I was in some messed up world where Kamoshida didn’t slap my leg like a toothpick and everyone was in it with me. I have zero clue if you were in it from the start or if you got out if it later on, but I know one thing:” he jerks his thumb behind him. “I had to rely on Yoshizawa and Akechi Goro of all the damn people in the world.”

“They told you?” Akira hisses quietly.

“Jesus Christ, this isn’t about them!” Ryuji shouts, and his hands are clenched into tight fists. “Why does it matter that they told me? The point is that you didn’t, and it really fucking sucks that my leader, my best fucking friend would let me live like that!”

“It’s because I’m your leader!” he snaps, and he realizes his voice is raised. “It’s because I’m your best friend that I did that!”

“What are you even saying?” His fists are shaking, his frustration threatening to break out.

“I’m saying that the crap you guys went through was hell. God, just look around! Yusuke lost what was supposed to be his father figure, Haru actually lost her dad and had to put up with some predatory douchebag, and Futaba…” Akira clenches his teeth. “She’s fifteen, Ryuji. She’s a year younger than us, and she’s gone through so much—”

“And they still moved on, didn’t they? They still get out of bed everyday, still go out and live life, they still have a purpose. They want to live in the reality they fought for and you just want to, what, take that away from them?” his jaw locks tight. “Did you forget that it’s always, with no damn exception, supposed to be a unanimous decision?”

A long, heavy beat fills every crevice of their bones.

And then: “Your mother.”

“What?”

“You love your mom more than anything,” Akira says. Early memories of Ryuji roll in his mind, and even those are filled with him raving about his ma, about how she was the only one on his side when it felt like the entirety of Japan was against him. And how she just smiled when she found out Ryuji lost his scholarship. “You want to be in track for her again, to help her. That’s what you wanted—”

“Are you seriously bringing in the mom card? She’s moved on, Akira! She’s swallowed what happened, and we’re fine. Yeah, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to have that scholarship, but she’s over it. We all are.”

“But don’t you wish it never happened?” Akira insists, urgent. “You don’t have to put up with it, Ryuji. You have that choice.”

“And my choice is to live in a reality that we all decided to live for! It’s our choice and you almost took that away from us! I just don’t get why you would do that, Akira. You’re so damn smart, but why couldn’t you see that we learned to be happy?” Ryuji takes Akira’s face in both of his hands. “What were you thinking, Kurusu?”

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but he finds himself looking into brown eyes instead—still furious, but beneath it all is confusion, and above all, hurt. It was the one thing Akira wanted to prevent above everything else.

He realizes, a bit belatedly, that’s he’s so, so stupid.

“I just want every single one of you to be happy,” Akira whispers.

“I know.”

“I thought this is what you wanted.”

“I know,” Ryuji begins to deflate a little, the tension seeping out of him.

“I’m—” Akira swallows past the lump in his throat, and averts his gaze. Shame burns hot as fire inside of him. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For not talking to the group first. You’re right—I forgot about the unanimous decision part.”

“Damn right you did.” Ryuji lets go of his face, sighing. Scrubs his hair. “I’m still mad at you. Like, crazy mad.”

Before Akira can say anything, Ryuji pulls him by the shoulder and incases him in a tight hug. “But I forgive you.”

Slowly, he hugs him back. “I won’t do it again.”

Ryuji squeezes him tighter. “I know you won’t.”

They stay like that for awhile—in between realities and in each other’s arms.

—

Footsteps. Lots of them. Not as fast as Ryuji’s, but louder, overlapping one another. Approaching fast.

“You’re screwed, dude,” was all the warning Akira got before he was released and promptly tackled onto the ground by two separate entities screaming into his ear.

“Akira!”

“I’m gonna punch you so hard—”

“Kurusu, I am so crazy pissed at you—”

“What did you expect?” Makoto sighs as Ann grabs him by the collar and shakes him vigorously. “It’s only natural we react like this since you abandoned us.”

“I—did—not—abandon—” Akira tries, but Mona clambers onto his shoulders and is attempting to restrain him in a headlock. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he can barely even feel it.

“You didn’t tell us anything!” Ann yells. “We had to rely on pancakes over there—”

“I had believed that the relationship we had forged was an admirable one, but I would have thought you’d talk to us about it first—” Yusuke says, but stops short when his eyes land on Futaba.

The group quiets down, and even Ann and Morgana cease their harassment.

Hands gentle and heart thudding, he coerces the two off of him and sits cross-legged on the cold tile, awaiting his execution by the hands of a fifteen year-old girl.

Her Metaverse footwear adds about two inches to her stature, barely breaking into the realm of five feet, but as she slowly walks to where Akira is, he can’t help but feel her towering presence.

She stops an arm’s length away, her goggles perched on top to reveal her expression; blank except for the slight twist in her mouth.

Unconsciously, everyone else had forced a semi-circle around the two like a mediocre street fight, waiting on bated breath for the verdict. It takes some effort, but Akira manages not to look away from her gaze.

For a moment, only the buzz of the lights can be heard.

“I have some guesses about what’s going on,” she says eventually. “But you know everything, I think. And you didn’t tell us.”

Akira swallows and Futaba pushes on. “I get the feeling of wanting to be alone. I’ll help you have that if that’s what you want. But,” her blank expression cracks and her voice begins to wobble. “Don’t try and leave like that. You helped me, back in the summer. And you won’t even—” her breath hitches, and Akira’s chest clenches. “You won’t even let us do that for you.”

“...Futaba—”

She reaches forward towards him and he tenses for the hit, only for her to pat his head firmly. “I know,” she says softly. “Ryuji chewed you out pretty good, and there’s no hecking way I’m letting you pull something like this again. I just wanted to tell you what I was feeling.”

Akira nods and tries for a smile. It probably doesn’t come out right. “As if I could ever leave behind my annoying, genius key item again.”

“You’re such a loser,” she snorts before throwing herself on Akira, arms opened wide and crushing every ounce of air out of him.

Somewhere behind him, Ryuji yells out: “Group hug for the dumbass leader!”

“I am not a—” Akira gets out before his breath is snatched out of him four, five, six more times.

“Ouch, Yusuke that’s my back—”

“Don’t be mean. You know he’s got a lot of sharp angles cause he eats six times a week, max—”

“Mona-chan, your fur is so soft. Do you use a conditioner?”

“Well, sometimes when Akira is in the bathhouse and I’m feeling a little brave—”

Voice muffled, Akira groans dramatically. “I can’t breathe…dying…”

“Oh, puh-lease, you can’t die from too much love!”

“Besides,” Makoto pops her head out from somewhere in their impromptu football pile. “I doubt Ryuji would let you die after he took the hit from—”

“Oh, hell,” Akira blinks. Patting random limbs around him, “Let me up. I need to check-in with Akechi.”

“It’s okay, senpai.”

A pause, and they all gradually turn their heads to the sound of the newcomer’s voice.

With a little struggling and some light shoving, Akira stands. “I missed,” he says quietly. “I got sloppy.”

“Did you really believe that that messy attack would cause lasting damage?”

Akechi comes up from behind Sumire, face gaunt and trudging, but his contemptuous expression immovable. “It’s insulting that you believed I’d be anything less than fine.”

The group tenses, all sense of levity evaporated—in its place is wariness, layered with a thick coating of distrust. Akira opens his mouth, but Haru beats him to it.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Akechi-kun.”

A few gasps were let out, and Sumire’s mouth hangs open. Akechi’s shoulders tense ever so slightly.

“...Thank you.”

Haru shakes her head, smiling. Whether or not it’s forced or legitimate is anyone’s best guess. Next to Akira and Akechi, she has the toughest mask to crack. “I should be the one thanking you. You assisted us greatly in supporting Akira-kun. Ah, and Yoshizawa, too!”

Haru, Akira had learned very early on, can wield an axe better than a lifetime-trained lumberjack can. Yet her ultimate weapon is being able to kill people with kindness despite—no, because of what happened to her. The strength to pursue compassion in the face of vile circumstances is what compelled Akechi to silence now.

Sumire spoke for the both of them. “It’s no problem!”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Ann says. “But I’m beat.”

“As am I, but I can’t find it in me to return to dorms after all this,” says Yusuke.

“Me neither,” Makoto pipes in.

“I think we all want to keep hanging out, right?” Futaba asks. “So I’ve got two words, bolded, italicized, underlined, and highlighted: Leblanc party!”

Ryuji squints. “That’s three words, dummy.”

“Ooo, that’s a great idea, Futaba!” Ann exclaims, clapping her hands together, “I can get the cupcakes and some sweets!”

“I can get chips and snacks!” Haru beams.

“Drinks are on me, y’all!” Futaba says.

“Fear not,” Yusuke says, self-satisfied. “I will let Boss know.”

“I want sushi!” Morgana yowls.

“Not too sure I gave the okay to this, given that I live there,” Akira says, only to be booed from all sides.

“No one likes a tsundere, man!” Ryuji yells.

“Akira isn’t violent,” says Makoto, frowning.

“That’s ‘yandere,’ Mako-chan.”

“I’m expecting everyone in Akira’s room in two hours!” Futaba announces, and hesitates, before looking at Akechi. “Everyone! And I mean it! At least...just for today.”

Akira blinks before Haru cuts in. “Yes, I completely agree. A celebration for being together again, and to everyone who helped us get here.”

They all nod in agreement. It’s incredible; it’s the people around him that elected him to be the leader of their little group, but he will only ever be half as strong as they are. For them to be able to set aside their feelings, their hate, for one day just because they’re grateful that Akira was saved from his own delusions—Akira really doesn’t deserve them. (But there’s no way he’s saying it out loud. They’ll all eat him alive if they even suspect that he’s thinking that.)

“I’ll politely have to decline—” Akechi attempts, before Ryuji scoffs.

“Dude, come on. One party ain’t gonna kill you and there’s no way you’re beating Haru in a manners competition.”

“Or Futaba in a battle of obstinacy,” Yusuke finishes.

When Akechi looks like he’s about to argue once again, Sumire clears her throat and levels him with a loaded look. Looking away, Akechi accidentally meets Akira’s eyes with a carbon copy of the same expression.

You’re not getting out of this one, detective.

Eventually, he relents: “One evening.”

—

After a quick group discussion about who’s getting what, Akira offers to get sushi and all but drags Akechi with him, saying that if the restaurant recognizes the Detective Prince they might get a discount; though judging that Akira had tipped a generous thirty percent and the way he had pulled Ryuji aside to make sure he wasn’t hiding any wounds or pain (“the only pain I have is you. You’re a pain in my ass, ‘Kira”), Akechi assumes that Akira had an ulterior motive.

They stand outside the restaurant somewhere in Ginza, the empty alley more bearable than the crowded inside. For once, the weather is approachable—gray clouds in the early evening sky, though the chill is as present as it always is. Few are out and about on leisurely walks and mundane errands, finding no need to celebrate on an arbitrary Wednesday, but every once in a while there are those with laughter and frivolity trailing them; a reminder that their work is far from over.

Someone in the distance buys a drink from a vending machine when Akechi’s eye twitches.

“Do you mind?”

Immediately, Akira averts his eyes from Akechi. Embarrassment isn’t present in his expression, but the disgustingly thick layer of concern couldn’t be clearer. “Just checking.”

“For what? If I was bleeding out over a scratch?”

“Because I know you could've avoided that scratch,” Akira says, voice hard. “Yeah, my aim was shot, but that shouldn’t have hit you. You’re good in short, all-out fights like that. It’s your element. Yet I still hit you.”

“We all have our off days.”

“I guess,” he says, and the corner of his mouth tilts up, just a bit. “You looked pretty tired by the end of it.”

Akechi throws a glare at him. “I suppose I’m not used to someone who acts like he’s in the middle of a dance contest while he’s in battle.”

“Okay, okay,” Akira chuckles and the last dregs of uneasiness seems to wash away, the hard line of the corner of his eyes fading. His fingers gravitate to his pockets. “You’re too feisty right now to be injured.”

He feels himself about to retort against ‘feisty’ (Akechi’s never been called feisty in his life and he isn’t about to start today) when Akira looks up, staring at the sky. “Mind if I say something?”

Akechi gestures a gloved hand and Akira turns to give him an unreadable look. “How’d you convince them?”

An odd question. “After seeing you be triggered by mentioning or seeing memories from the real reality, it wasn’t too difficult to create a plan surrounding that.”

Akira was shaking his head before he even finished. “No,” he says. “I mean how did you know what to say to them?”

Squinting, Akechi thinks on his next words, wondering if it’s some sort of trap, not unlike a traveller poking at the ground in case of quick sand. He comes empty-handed. “Have you forgotten that I, however unwilling, worked with your thieves for a good chunk of time?”

“Huh,” Akira muses. “That’s nice.”

He feels his teeth clench. “What?”

“I always wondered how much of it was, you know, an act. Like which one was the fake detective spiel and which was the real Goro,” his mouth twists into a sour expression, but Akira doesn’t notice. “But you got to know them. At least, enough to know what to say.”

“Don’t speak like I had any intention of using that in any condonable way. Information and trust was what I needed to get the upper hand, fruitless as it was,” he replies. “Or had you conveniently forgotten my past actions?”

Akira smiles, though it could just as easily be a tight grimace. “Unless Maruki decides on a do-over, I’d have to say no on that one.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But wow,” he scuffs at the pavement—whether it’s flipping a pen through his fingers or tugging on his forelocks, he never seems to stop moving. Akechi hates it. “I know you think we’re naive and stuff, but Haru and Futaba sure are something else by inviting you, even if this,” Akira gestures between them, “Is temporary.”

“Temporary, hmm?” Akechi ruminates. “I was fairly baffled as well. I don’t believe I’d have it in me to be able to recreate what she did if it were Shido.” Looking back to the restaurant, he wonders if their order will ever be ready. “Truth be told, Sakamoto not taking the green light to summon Taisai the moment he saw me is almost as surprising, given his temper.”

“He’s working on it,” Akira shrugs. He side eyes Akechi. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Trying.”

Him and his stupid games. “Trying to what?”

“You know,” Akira waves a hand. “To be a good person. Or a half-decent one.”

Silence stretches on. The clattering of plates and cutlery fill up the empty space.

And then: “Do you think I did this for you?”

“No, jeez!” he rolls his eyes. “I get that you hate me, despise me, loathe me, whatever. You don’t like me. I just thought that—”

“That somehow empathy bloomed within me?” Akechi scoffs. “Hilarious. What would be the point of that? Are you honestly telling me that if I got down on my knees, tears positively streaming down my face and apologized with my whole being, you’d forgive me?”

“Maybe?” Akira answers, and Akechi freezes, not expecting a genuine response. “Only if everyone else does.”

He tries not to make his relief obvious—he wouldn’t know what to say if Akira had said something as ridiculous as actually forgiving him, especially when in Akechi’s mind, he’s already accepted what is and isn’t possible. “Given the possibility of that, a simple ‘no’ would be more efficient.”

He raises a shoulder half-heartedly. “Who knows? With enough time, anything could happen.”

Akechi stays silent.

“Oh,” Akira blinks. “Speaking of time—”

“This sushi place is scamming us?”

“—you and Sumire are pretty friendly with each other.”

“Hardly,” he crosses his arms. “She’s always insisting on teamwork, and communication,” he spits it out like a curse. “Too much time was wasted on useless endeavors. I had to watch her eat half the table at one point. However, in fairness, she provided valuable insight about the other...what?”

Akira’s looking at him with a strange expression—the lovechild of awe and disbelief. “Nothing, it’s just…” he trails off for a second, before his eyes crinkle in mirth. “I’m happy for you, Akechi.”

Before he can reply, make a comeback, quell the sudden cold in his fingertips, Akira lights up.

“Looks like the food’s finally ready. Let’s head to Leblanc—Mona’s probably gnawing on the stools by now.”

He moves past him, and Akechi swallows back the bile in his throat.

—

“You think Boss’d mind if I grab a couple of glasses?” Ryuji’s muffled voice leaks through the thin walls of the cafe. To a nosey passerby, they’d be able to hear conversations with a concerning amount of clarity. It’s a miracle no one’s called the police on them before.

“Nah, he’s too big of a softie to mind. Since I’m the heiress to his grand, lackluster estate, I want you all to feast and be merry without worry! Am I right, Haru?”

“Absolutely, Futaba-chan!”

“Is it me, or is Mona acting kinda...rabid?”

“I’m sorry to act so garish, Lady Ann, but I’m starving and Akira’s probably already stuffing his face with—”

The bell chimes and Akira’s eyes lock with a wild, salivating cat. “—Sushi!”

Like an untamed beast, a ball of fur sprints at Akira. “Yeah, it’s all here, just—ow, Morgana, let me—okay you know what?” Akira tosses the bag to Ryuji, who catches it by the handle with ease.

“Ann, grab lover boy over there before he claws into the furniture.” Ryuji takes out the paper boxes as Ann picks up Morgana, and his face looks stuck in a euphoric state; awaiting sushi and cradled by Ann, Morgana looks like he could die happy.

Akira takes a moment to examine the small, overflowing cafe—Yusuke and Makoto are behind the bar setting up drinks (orange soda and water, no alcohol lest they want to taste nukes by the hands of Johanna), with Yusuke making sure that each glass has the same amount of liquid and ice cubes (more than once has the ice slipped out of his hand and onto the floor). Sumire smiles at him, and waves when Akechi saunters to her, rolling his eyes. Futaba is still trying to explain to Haru how they’re basically the same person given their ‘societal circumstances’ and he can see that Haru is genuinely agreeing with her. Ann is chiding Morgana when he starts purring so intensely he’s nearly vibrating out of her grasp.

“Whatcha smilin’ about over there?”

Prying his eyes away from the sight, Ryuji paused his rummaging to look up at him.

“I wasn’t smiling.”

“You weren’t,” he agrees. “But your eyes kinda—” he gestures vaguely at his face. “So it’s pretty much the same thing.”

Of course. Let Ryuji figure him out in four seconds or less. They can make a gameshow out of it. “Maybe it’s because I’m excited for sushi.”

“Well, tough luck buddy,” Ryuji crumples up the now-empty plastic bag. “Cause you forgot the soy sauce.”

“You what?” Morgana crane his head backwards to glower at him. “Akira, please—”

“Doesn’t Boss have soy sauce in here?” Ann asks.

“This is a coffee shop, so I wouldn’t think so,” Makoto says.

Akechi mutters under his breath, “That sushi place is truly vile.”

Sumire whispers back, “Is it because they didn’t have a dessert menu, or…?”

“Shut it.”

“No biggie,” Akira says, feeling his pockets to make sure his wallet is still there. “There’s a 777 down the street, it’ll be quick.”

“I’ll come with,” Ryuji hops the bar, inciting a ‘Ryuji!’ from Makoto. “Forgetting can be such a pain, yeah?”

He nods, and the two of them set off, Mona yowling behind them.

—

Yongen-Jaya never gets old.

The back alley is jam-packed with small businesses, motorcycles, vending machines, stray cats and much more—it’s the equivalent of shoving all the clutter to the back of an already cramped closet. But it’s not the organized chaos that tugs at Akira’s heartstrings; it’s the memories that come with the mess, with the atmosphere of Yongen that makes him ache. It’s how Morgana whispered what he should get in the grocery store, or watching a movie 20 minutes late with Ann, or Yusuke tripping over a bike.

Right now, walking side by side with Ryuji, he thinks about how he had insisted on walking Akira home after he awakened Arsene, making sure he got home safe even though his apartment was on the other side of the city.

Even then, Ryuji was always looking out for him.

They’re silent as they walk, footsteps falling in time with one another. There’s no rush between them, despite Morgana’s insistence. It could just as easily have been a nightly stroll between two people who find comfort in the crisp, nighttime air.

But Akira knows better than that. Ryuji isn’t as slick as he thinks he is, and his jumping at the chance on soy sauce is as subtle as a neon sign. So he waits—as long as he needs to for Ryuji to speak, which never takes long. (He’s so honest and forthcoming, it’s insane. As someone who insists on having two meters of caution and deliberation up at all times, it’s a trait Akira’s always been a little jealous of.)

It took some time, but Ryuji finally starts. “Yoshizawa explained what happened while you were out getting food.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot to catch everyone up to speed.”

Shaking his head, “S’fine, we get it. She let us in on the whole Maruki thing, how it worked and stuff. The whole...what did she call it? Reality? Yeah, how our reality kinda molded around our desires. It fits the bill with everyone—Yusuke with Madarame, Futaba with her mom. Me with the track team.”

He must’ve seen something in Akira's eyes, because he puffs out his chest. “No, this ain’t me second-guessing my decision.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Damn right,” he huffs. “Well, after Yoshizawa explained all that, Makoto—y’know, she’s got a big brain and all—asked her something that’s still on my mind. Then Yoshizawa kinda got a little nervous, didn’t give a decent answer.”

“She knows as much as I do, but I can try my best to answer.”

“Good,” Ryuji shoves his hands in his pockets. “Cause Makoto was wondering what your wish was.”

Akira’s footsteps stall for a split second. Ryuji keeps walking.

“I got these memories, ‘Kira,” he says, slowing down, and Akira directs his eyes to the ground. “Don’t really understand it—like flashes of pictures, of people, of places, but it’s real annoying. Keeps slipping away like those crappy prizes in claw machines. Wanna know something though?” he stays quiet. “I asked around, and no one else was getting them.”

“That’s odd,” Akira manages, despite the frantic rhythm of his heart.

“See, the memories are crap, they’re no good. Can’t remember them. But the feeling that’s there—” he lets out a long, shaky breath. “I dunno if I can ever shake them, man.”

Silence.

Ryuji stops and turns. “Akira.”

Slowly, Akira looks up. Ryuji’s frowning, brows wrinkled together like unfolded laundry (he wants nothing more than to reach up and smooth it away), and his fingers are flexing as if he wants to squeeze something to get rid of his confusion. That’s the thing about Ryuji; he always feels so much more than anyone Akira’s met, and it translates to physicality. More than once during a Thieves meeting did Ryuji have to take a break and go for a run to process.

“You’ve got to tell me because—” he scrubs at his hair, sighing. Clenches his jaw. “Because if those—those memories, that feeling isn’t what I think it is, I’m gonna go fucking nuts.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you need to know?” Akira asks. “What if knowing would make everything worse?”

“That’s impossible.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because this feeling is the best thing I’ve felt in a really long time.”

Speechless, Akira doesn’t know how to respond. He stares at Ryuji, his palms facing up like he doesn’t have anything left to give, his eyes open and sincere. There isn’t a hint of malice in them and it makes Akira feel like he can tell him anything and receive nothing but support in return. Like he had a hundred times before.

And then, in a single moment of clarity, Akira realizes that Ryuji’s seen him, has been with him since the very beginning of everything, and still calls him his best friend without a drop of hesitation.

If Akira can’t tell him this now, can’t respect what Ryuji’s been giving him, then what would be the point of any of this? He won’t (can’t) lie to Ryuji, and he’s not about to change that now.

A small gust of wind comes and Akira’s hair gets blown back, just a bit.

“My wish was for us to be together. For you to love me in the way that I love you.”

At that moment, a meteor could have struck. An airplane could have crashed. The ground could have swallowed him in his entirety. The world could have destroyed him, but nothing could’ve possibly taken the feeling of sheer relief that thrums through his veins. Like a concrete block that was pressed against his shoulder blades, relentlessly weighing him down everyday, suddenly gone.

Ryuji’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open (he wills himself not to look at his mouth). It doesn’t matter what disaster could possibly arrive; Ryuji’s next words would crumble Akira more than anything else could.

The Metaverse had never once terrified him like this.

“Seriously?” he asks, voice hoarse. “You can’t mess around right now, Kurusu.”

“I’m dead serious, Sakamoto.”

Ryuji blinks. And again. And then takes a step forward, and all but sprints towards him.

“Wha—”

“You are—” he bends, arms extended. “So annoying!”

“Ryuji!” Akira yells as his feet are suddenly swept off the ground.

“I wanted to say it first!” Ryuji screams back, and then he starts to spin and Akira has to hold on to him for dear life. (Did he hear that right? Probably not. He must’ve said something else.) “But nooo, Joker over here has to steal the kill!”

“Wait, wait—” it’s hard to think when the world is blurring together mercilessly, but Akira knows that Ryuji will never drop him.

“I guess ain’t no time like the present.” The spinning slows, and Akira gradually feels the concrete beneath him once more. Hands find their way to his shoulders and despite his coat, Akira can feel their warmth.

“Kurusu Akira,” his eyes are bright and his grin could’ve led ships back to the coastline. “You are, without a doubt, the best that’s happened in my existence—you’re my best friend, super cool, and obnoxiously good-looking. I am so fucking in love with you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Ringing. Akira’s ears are ringing as he processes what came out of the other boy’s mouth. It was impossible—so impossible that Akira had thought it needed another impossibility to make it possible. It was a fantasy so buried that he never let himself think it, and only let himself indulge in the idea in moments of weakness. It was a hidden shame, a chain that binds him, a broken record that mocked him for ever believing it could happen.

Yet here they were; Ryuji’s still grinning and Akira gradually, ever so slowly, starts to smile. That smile morphs into a grin, and eventually—

“You love me,” Akira laughs, unable to hold back his joy. “You love me, Sakamoto Ryuji.”

Ryuji joins in, doubling over, shoulders shaking, his hands still glued on him. “This is crazy!”

“So crazy!”

They both laugh even harder. They must’ve looked like a couple of idiots, standing around some random alley and practically crying of laughter for no reason. Neither of them give a damn.

After a bit, they sober up, mirth still clinging in their eyes and cheeks sore.

“So…’ Akira says, unable to stop smiling. “That feeling you were mentioning before…”

“Yeah, dude?” Ryuji has these tiny little dimples at the very top of his cheekbones if he’s grinning hard enough. It drives Akira crazy.

“Was it this? Was it love?”

He tilts his head. “Hell no. What I’m feeling right now, y’know...love,” Ryuji fumbles over the word, despite his brazen confidence from early. “I’ve been feeling that since Kamoshida’s castle.”

Akira’s mouth twitches. “Same here.” Shoving his hands in his pocket, he gives Ryuji an inquisitive look. “So if it wasn’t love, then what was it?”

Ryuji hums. “It took me awhile to realize what was going on with me, and it took even longer than that to let myself feel it. And, y’know, I was scared shitless that you wouldn’t feel the same way, so when we were—” he gestures between them. “Even if it was Maruki that made it happen, I guess I felt… accepted,” his expression turns sheepish. “And let me tell you, that feeling? It sticks with you.”

“I get that,” Akira says, voice hushed like confessing a sin.

They stare at each other, at a loss for words but finding no need to find them right away.

“Oh,” Akira blinks. “I haven’t even properly said it yet.”

Ryuji gives him a questioning look, and he responds by lifting one hand and places his fingertips to Ryuji’s cheek (where his dimples would be), touch featherlight. “Sakamoto Ryuji, I love you in every reality.”

To his delight, blood rushes to Ryuji’s face. “Quit it, ‘Kira,” he mutters. “You’re not fooling anyone with that cool bullshit, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Oh yeah?” letting his hand drop, Akira takes a step back. “Is that a challenge? Because I’ve been wanting to do this since the festival.”

He squints. “Don’t you dare.”

Akira takes a deep breath and cups his hands over his mouth.

“Akira, I swear—”

“I love Ryuji!”

“Oh my God—” Ryuji slaps a hand over his mouth, face beet-red. “Someone’s gonna call the cops on us now, thanks to your dumbass!”

Voice muffled, “So what?”

“So your ass goes to jail, for real this time.”

Akira says something incomprehensible.

“What?” he drops his hand.

“I said that you’ll probably just bust me out, won’t you?”

Ryuji snorts. “Duh. Give me a week, and you’ll be out on the streets making a mess again.”

“You know it.” If he doesn’t stop being so ridiculously earnest, Akira would have no choice but to squeeze him until he pops. He readjusts his glasses instead. “We should probably grab that soy sauce before Mona—”

He stops when Ryuji showcases a handful of soy sauce packets from his pocket, expression smug.

“First rule of thievery: a slick hand is a slick man.”

“That is definitely not the first rule of anything.”

“Thievery is a crime, Akira.”

The two of them banter as they head back, side by side. Despite everything, there’s still a bit of a shyness between them, but that’s okay—they’ll take things at their own pace, the way they want to do it.

Their shoulders bump, and if Maruki had asked him for a second wish, Akira would decline without hesitation.

—

“Give it up, Futaba. You’re playing to lose.”

“Ha! I haven’t lost a game since I misclicked in Solitaire when I was eight.”

“Ladies, neither of you know the art of the hustle in the way I’ve perfected it.”

“You going around random parks and picking up cans for three hundred yen isn’t a hustle, Yusuke.”

“And who taught him that word?”

“Ryuji.”

“Definitely Ryuji.

“You bet I did.”

“Um, no one’s played anything for two minutes now.”

“Trash talk is gameplay, Haru.”

“This is less trash talk and more senior citizen bingo chitchat.”

“Shut up Akira, winners can’t join the banter.”

“‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown.’”

“Wow. That’s deep, man.”

“Don’t fall for it, it’s from Spider-Man.”

“It’s Shakespeare, Ann.”

“See, this is why Makoto’s college bound and you’re not.”

“I don’t want to go to college. It’s a scam.”

“You wanna know what else is a scam?” Futaba slams her cards down hard enough to rattle their drinks. “A revolution!”

Groans fill the air, and Akechi looks over Ann’s shoulder from the next booth. “Mind if I mention that you’re done for?”

“I’m blonde, not stupid,” Ann whispers back fiercely. “And besides, it’s not like you could’ve predicted a revolution.”

He leans over and points to one of her cards, careful not to touch her. “Judging by the way Sakura and Kitagawa are holding their cards, they’re chock-full on pairs. If you use this,” he flicks one of her cards. “They’ll have no choice but to—”

“Time! Red flag! 911!” Futaba stands, pointing an accusatory finger at the pair. “No outside help allowed, it’s cheating! Akira, make them stop.”

“Oh, so now you want me to talk?”

“Yes, I command you.”

Akira turns to give Akechi a stern stare. “Stop cheating, it’s making Futaba upset.”

“Then why hasn’t she said anything about Sakamoto giving you strategies?”

“Pfft,” Futaba snorts. “That’s more of a handicap than anything.”

“Hey!” Ryuji tips his chair towards Futaba, balance precarious. “‘Kira, she’s bullying me!”

“You think I can stop her?”

“Good point,” he scans the room. “Yoshizawa, stop her abuse!”

“Huh?” Sumire tears her eyes away from Yusuke, who started rearranging his cards by pattern instead of… anything that can help him win. “Why me?”

“You guys are the same age, so,” he waves his hand in a need I say more? gesture.

“Can you just get on with the game?” Makoto sighs. “I’ve been wanting to play, but all you do is argue.”

“Don’t worry Makoto,” Futaba’s glasses glint like an anime villain. “This won’t take long.”

Three minutes later, Ann shoves her head into her hands, brutally defeated. “Akechi, you suck. Yusuke beat me.”

“You did the exact opposite of what I told you to do, how is that possibly my fault?”

“I thought it was reverse psychology!

Sumire can see Akechi physically restrain himself from commenting any further.

Their impromptu party has been nothing short of a success—surrounding them and littering the bar are empty sushi boxes with Morgana snoring one of them. After everyone ate the (ridiculous amount) of food, Haru suggested a casual game of Tycoon, but there had been a glint in her eyes that told Sumire it would be anything but. It was an array of cutthroat games topped with poor trash talk and a complete lack of camaraderie with one another; the opposite of what had happened in Maruki’s Palace.

When Ryuji had sprinted past her, swift as a lightning strike, Sumire was ready to join him until a hand gripped her forearm. Ann shook her head. The rest of the Phantom Thieves were geared up and ready to go, yet none of them made a move towards Akira. It was as if there’s a silent agreement from all of them. She explained to Sumire why, all while keeping an eye on the two boys fighting with each other.

“Akira… he takes his role in the group seriously,” Ann said. “Sometimes a little too seriously, but that’s because he has to. Nothing bugs him more than someone on the team getting hurt, so he ends up trying to do everything himself. And Ryuji,” she nodded at him. “He hates it. Tells him off every time. Akira doesn’t usually lose his focus like this, but whenever he does, it’s just better to let them sort it out. It may not seem like it, but Ryuji’s been doing this as long as Akira has. They’ll make it work.”

Her voice had been so certain, so confident and sure of that fact that Sumire could only nod and wait for them to finish.

Now though, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. They had accepted Sumire with open arms, had made her feel comfortable and welcomed in what’s clearly a tight-knit group.

“Okay, who’s next?” Akira calls, gathering the cards with deft hands and begins to shuffle the deck. “Makoto called dibs already.”

“I’d like to give it a try,” Haru says. “Many older fellows from the company seem to judge power through the hierarchy of cards, so I’d love to get more practice in.”

“Sounds problematic,” Ryuji comments.

“It is, but I’ll never back down from the chance to see defeat flood into their eyes.”

A beat.

“...Okay, so Makoto and Haru are in, anyone else? Winner gets to poke Morgana while he’s in a coma.”

“Speaking of—elephant in the room,” Ann leans forward and drops her voice. “Was it just me, or was Mona—”

“Super, really, mega, ultra weird as a human?” Ryuji finishes eagerly.

Sumire gasps, “Oh my God, you too?”

“Duh!”

“I’ll admit it: it truly made my stomach hurt to witness such a sight,” Yusuke shudders.

Haru frowns. “Don’t be rude to Mona-chan.”

“I ain’t saying he’s ugly! I’m just saying it’s effin’ weird to see our not-cat actually not a cat.”

“He looks like he’d hold a skateboard but not know how to skate,” Futaba says.

“He looks like he’d be carded for a PG-13 film,” says Ann.

“He looks like he’s a throw-in for an up-and-coming J-pop band.”

Everyone turns to Akechi, who raises an eyebrow. “What?”

All at once, everyone bursts out laughing, the sound filling up the every crevice of the room.

“You’re all mean people,” Akira crosses his arms but is unable to keep the humour out of his eyes.

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty, leader,” Ann snorts. “There’s no way you didn’t think that human Morgana wasn’t insane.”

“I absolutely did not see anything insane.”

“Probs cause you can’t see, period.” Ryuji moves forward and pushes Akira’s bangs up. “Christ, how can you see with this mop in front of you?”

With his hair no longer obscuring his view, nothing is hiding Akira’s smug lilt of his chin, his eyes seeming to glow blue when he says, “Third Eye.”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Impossible in the real world, dude.” Without seeming to realize it, his hand was combing back Akira’s thick locks. “You’re just too nice to that damn cat.”

The act seemed so gentle, so tender, so natural and unhesitating that it’s almost as if she shouldn’t be seeing it. Maybe it’s because Akira seemed to almost lean into his touch, or the way Ryuji reached out like he was drawn to him. Or maybe it’s because no one even comments on it, like this was so common that it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Whatever it was, it’s enough to make her look away.

Only to see Akechi bring up his phone.

“I have to take this,” he stands, grabbing his coat.

Sumire frowns. “Who’s calling?”

“Business,” AKechi pushes past the door, bell ringing as it swings back.

Yeah, right.

“That reminds me,” she says, pulling up her own phone (dead, but no one needs to know that). “I have to call my father.”

“You can head up to Akira’s room,” Futaba suggests.

“No, it’s alright,” she notes that she didn’t suggest that to Akechi, but Sumire can’t exactly blame her. “I need to speak to Goro anyway.” She stands and bows to everyone deeply. “Thank you very much for inviting me.”

Grabbing her coat, Sumire follows Akechi out, leaving the warm glow of Leblanc behind her.

—

Somehow, she isn’t surprised to find him at the rundown laundromat once more, back pressed against the unmoving dryer.

They regard each other for a long moment.

“It’s a little chilly, compared to the last time we were here,” Sumire says.

“No one’s using the bathhouse right now.”

“That’s a shame,” she walks over to the washer on the far right, and with a little hop, makes herself comfortable on the off-white steel. “I quite miss the scent that was here. Kind of like a gust of wind wearing perfume. Now it smells like… well, nothing really.”

“I never liked the scent. It made me prone to headaches.” Akechi crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Your phone didn’t ring,” she says simply. “And you never put your phone on silent. Really, it was like a light in the sky that says ‘Goro is in trouble, send help!’.” She leans forward, propping her chin in her palm. “I’m just responding.”

Akechi stays silent as a brick wall.

“Why did you leave? I don’t know about you, but I thought it was going pretty well, all things considered. You hate them, I know, but you seemed to be… well, not repulsed by them at least. And they seemed to get along with you alright.”

“That’s why I left,” he says, expression impassive. “They just had their perfect reality ripped away, everything they could want, and they’re all in there pretending that they’re fine. Lying to each other. It makes my skin crawl. They fight for the truth, yet cower behind a mask, an act—”

Sumire’s gaze turns icy. “Don’t try and make them out to be like bad people. It’s not an act. You know it’s not.”

They study each other, and then Akechi’s shoulder drops slightly. “I know. It would be considerably easier if it was. That group…” his eyes slide sideways. “Is perplexing, to say the least. I don’t understand how they function, I don’t understand how their dynamic doesn’t turn vicious over time, and I especially don’t group how they can forgive Kurusu despite his—his meddling of their lives.”

It’s the most candid she’s seen Akechi without him bordering on a breakdown. Sumire chooses her next question carefully, one that’s been bugging her.

“Why did you ask Akira for help back then?”

“Here, you mean?” At her nod, “I told you—when he’s feeling cooperative, he can prove to be of value.”

“Why did you come back to Leblanc with them today?”

“Allies are advantageous,” he answers a hairsbreadth too quickly.

“Why are you still here, Goro?”

Akechi hesitates. That’s a first. “I don’t know.”

“You seem to always have an excuse, don’t you?”

“What are you getting at?”

A silence falls over the two of them, heavy like a weighted blanket. The vending machine whirrs loudly behind her.

“How long have you been in love with Kurusu-senpai?”

Akechi stares at her, long and hard, as if he was considering his handful of moves in a game of chess. And then he walks towards the other washer, leaving the middle one empty between them and jumps on.

“Not as long as you, I don’t think.”

Immediately, blood rushes to her cheeks relentlessly. (Of course he figured it out.) For all her insistence of teamwork, she forgets that this isn’t a one-way mirror. “That’s probably true,” she admits.

Rotating on the smooth steel, Sumire faces him. “It happened pretty much the day I met him. Damsel in distress, knight in shining armor—the works. He was nice, I was flustered. Ripped straight out of a textbook shoujo manga,” she chuckles. “Considerably less cherry blossoms and way more weapons, though.”

“I’ve never found the appeal of those,” Akechi muses. “Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever picked one up for myself.”

“They’re really sweet if that’s what you’re into. I have a collection at home, I can—” she stops. Clearing her throat, she instead asks, “And you?”

“Are you asking me to gossip with you?”

“Less gossip, and more a conversation.”

He hums. “Perhaps I should’ve corrected you before,” he shifts his torso to her direction. “Kurusu Akira is something of an anomaly. He’s on probation, an outcast, hated by his peers and authority in his life. Barely a penny to his name, he was a nobody living in an attic at the top of some cafe. And yet, he ended up leading the phenomenon, the internationally acknowledged and polarized group of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.”

His tone is flat, inscrutable when he says: “And I have never met anyone I hated more.”

The smile that was nestled in Sumire’s face drained as she watched Akechi’s expression: eyes glazed over and posture completely relaxed—like he was informing her of the weather next week. “By rule of the formula, he shouldn’t have had the success that he did. He doesn’t deserve the victory the Thieves did, the friends he made. Because if someone like him can possibly be more than the scum he is…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know if what I’m feeling towards him is love. It’s possible. But just as possible as that is a simple, unencumbered infatuation towards him, an unhindered obsession.”

Akechi crosses his legs, and the action makes him look younger. “Take that information as you will.”

“That’s how I figured it out. The way you spoke about him was very…” she struggles to find a suitable way to describe how Akechi speaks about Akira—it was loaded with backhanded compliments (heavy on the backhand). Every time he spoke about him, for or against, it was like a battle of semantics; he was almost arguing with himself half the time. “Telling,” she finishes lamely.

Sumire shifts from where she’s sitting, almost wishing that someone would go into the bathhouse if not to create enough steam to warm her up. Though she considers herself lucky to finally be having this conversation, the venue is much to be desired.

“Diction aside, you have strong feelings for senpai. Be it love or hate or some sort of amalgamation of the two. So why didn’t you wish for him? It would’ve been easy. You wouldn’t even notice the change.”

He considers this for a moment, fingernails tapping away at the hollow of the washer. “Do you know much of existential topics?”

Blinking, “Like those tarot card tables in Shinjuku?”

“Not quite. Moreso on topics such as karmic retribution, fate, ‘destiny,’” he air quotes, mouth twisting in mockery. “Basically, the idea that certain things are out of your control.”

“Sure, I know of them. I can’t say I’m anything more than a casual believer, if I can even say that.”

“When I was young, I was as well. But I learned early on that the concept of the universe providing aid is nothing more than a fever dream,” he fiddles with his glove absentmindedly. “So everything I have, I fought tooth and nail for: my reputation, my studies, who I am. I made it happen, not anyone else,” Akechi shrugs. “So why on earth would I start now relying on someone else to get what I want when I know that it won’t work? Clearly, the universe—if such a thing exists—doesn’t give a shit. ”

“Wow,” is all she could say.

“Wow indeed.” He runs his hand over top the panel and comes up with dust. “I have a question for you, now.”

“Go for it.” Admittedly, she’s curious about his question. Akechi simply exudes the aura that he just knows everything there is to know. She wonders if he calculated that into himself, along with everything else.

“Since what Maruki did was essentially getting your call answered by the universe, how did you get over your wish so easily?”

“I didn't.” Raising an eyebrow, “Did you think I did?”

Her question is answered by a lack of retort. She tries not to feel satisfaction from it.

“I’m not over it,” she admits. “Of course I’m not. I still struggle with it, when I’m alone. The guilt gets crazy at night, so it helps to keep busy. Busy is… busy is good, usually,” Sumire looks down and swears she sees blood on her hands—flashing in and out like bad reception. “It helps to treat it like a regimen. A muscle to train.” Looking up, the corner of her mouth quirks up at him. “Kasumi was always the one to remind me to stretch when I overdid it.”

“I never figured out how altruism like that works,” says Akechi. “How do you live, serving others even at the expense of yourself? What’s the point in all of this if it isn’t for personal gain?”

The way he says it so matter-of-fact stops Sumire from dismissing him right away. There isn’t an ounce of malice in his words or any intent on meanness—only pragmatism.

“I get it,” Sumire says. “But in a way, selflessness is easier. It’s straightforward, helping others. For many cases, people don’t even know themselves well enough to be selfish.”

“Can’t say that I can relate. Not knowing the end goal is practically a death sentence.”

Sumire hums. “Figures. It’s almost scary how sure you are of what you want,” her eyes meet his, red on brown. “Are you so sure that you’d die for it?”

Akechi’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “What are you really asking?”

“If we defeat Maruki and return everything back to before,” she swallows. “What happens to you?”

Surprise morphs its way into Akechi’s face like watching moss grow on timelapse. And then he suddenly snorts, startling Sumire more than anything they’ve faced in the past week.

Akechi clears his throat, but there’s still traces of humor. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Despite how morbid the conversation has shifted, Sumire still feels her lips stretch wide. “Not like you gave me much choice.”

“Point taken,” he says. “How’d you figure that I’d die as soon as all of this is over?”

“Maruki mentioned something back then, about people losing their wishes if this was all reversed. And that, partnered with what Kurusu-senpai said back then,” she shrugs. “It’s hard not to assume.”

“You’d make a fun verbal sparring partner, Sumire.”

“Oh, no way,” she waves her hand, hastily trying to hide delight. It’s not everyday you can pull a compliment out of Akechi Goro. “I’m all about the practice—put me on the spot without prep and I’ll fold like a bad poker player.”

“Like Takamaki?”

“Worse.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Impossible.” Akechi rests his elbows on his bent knee, propping his chin up on his hand. “Are you going to ramble on with some mindless monologue to try and talk me out of it?”

“I don’t know. Probably not,” she admits. “You’re too stubborn to fall for something like an intervention.”

Sumire understands, though, the extremities of the situation aside. If she gained the ability of hindsight and saw herself still pretending to be Kasumi, she’d probably be revolted enough to choose death, too. “There’s a good chance that Kurusu-senpai would try to stop you though.”

“He can try,” Akechi sniffs. “It’ll be a waste of time on his part.”

She makes a noise of agreement, and they lapse into a comfortable silence once again (they’re starting to make a habit of it, but she doesn’t mind), with only the buzzing of fluorescence serving as white noise.

Whether he’s doing this for himself or not, his sacrifice would ensure that reality would return to normal for everyone, granted that they can stop Maruki. His intentions are self-serving, completely indifferent to how this would affect everyone else, yet his forfeited life would mean that everyone would get their reality back. Even if it’s a means to an end, an egocentric reason, Akechi is willing to act as a martyr to achieve normalcy.

She lets her eyes drift towards him, lost in thought yet posture still perfect; no doubt another addition to his handcrafted state of being, and wonders if his accidental philanthropy is enough to atone for what he’s done.

Sumire almost cracks a smile—she’s stressing more about this than he is, but she can’t help it; she sees herself in him. Not completely, but in chunks. Specifically how they see Akira—his pride would never let him admit it to himself, but Sumire has no such reservations. There’s a substantial way they both revere him, place him on a shiny pedestal complete with those red velvet stanchions wrapped around.

Everyone must see him like this, she thought. Like fog on a mountain, something impossible to grasp. But then she saw how Akira was with his group for all but one evening and realized just how wrong she is.

Stretching her legs over the center washer, her knee bumps against his ankle. He doesn’t jerk away.

“Have you really not tried reading manga?” she asks.

“No. But once, I picked it up and pretended to read it for a publicity stunt,” says Akechi. “Why do you ask?”

“Because everyone reads manga.”

“Clearly not.” A pause. “I’ve caught a few episodes of Featherman, however.”

Sumire claps her hands together. “Really? That’s amazing! My sister and I used to cosplay them when we were young.”

“Oh, I only started watching recently. In Leblanc, actually.”

“You have to watch it from the beginning,” she frowns. “How else do you understand the plot?”

“Are you implying that Featherman has a plot?”

Akechi is not a good person, in the grand scheme of things.

“Of course! How else do you feel the pain of episode eighteen?”

Because of that, any place that he may have had with the Thieves had been scrubbed clean.

“Death of a Condor? Did you actually feel anything when you watched that? I thought it was a filler episode.”

And for Sumire, she didn’t have a place there to begin with.

“Interesting. I thought you were a casual fan?”

(But maybe—)

“I know a trap when I see one.”

They can form a place for each other, instead.

Sumire’s about to retort when Akechi cocks his head. “Why are you here, Sumire?” he asks again.

“For good company.”

“You were with them.”

“I was,” she confirms. “And then you left.”

A palpable beat passes.

“You’re wasting your time, befriending a dead man.”

Sumire’s mouth curves into a bittersweet smile. “Maybe we’re both wrong about that. There’s always a chance that we’ll see each other down the line, you know.”

“In a cemetery, maybe. When has optimism ever worked for me?”

“It could start working now.”

“I doubt it,” he scoffs, and then his expression softens ever so slightly. “If that did happen, us meeting again down the line… I don’t think I’d be against that idea.”

Akechi gives her a warning look and rushes, “But odds are—”

“Let me worry about the odds,” Sumire says. “I think I’m allowed to spend my time doing what I want. I mean,” she shrugs. “That’s what we fought for, right?”

He smiles, just a little. “I suppose it is.”

Chattering and laughter can be heard from the inside of Leblanc, but they don’t bother to listen.

[silly-billy-bean]

Paul Blart Essay Two: Electric Blartaloo (an essay by Red)

American Thanksgiving has come and gone, and with it, Paul Blart Mall Cop Two season. A lot of little things clicked this watch, so this essay will not be a massive theory explanation. It will go into each individual point that came together this watch. For a full explanation of the Blartverse as I see it, I wrote an entire other essay about it. Go read it here to not be confused. 

On my most recent watch of PB2, I came to the conclusion that Donna was under the Shadowman’s influence. The scene where she is first introduced she deliberately misleads Paul Blart and punches him in the throat. There is no reason for this other than the Shadowman’s shadowy schemes. Then there’s the fight scene, where she is not knocked over by a solid kick to the whole body, this is fucking weird. Frankly, Donna is superhuman. She definitely has been magically protected by something, The Shadowman. This causes issues in the fight scene specifically, if we assume that both Donna and Vince’s gang are under the Shadowman’s control. Option one is that only Vince is directly touched by The Shadowman, and this is why his lackey could fight Donna instead of Vince fighting Donna. The second option is that The Shadowman’s schemes are becoming too complicated even for him to keep separate. He has a lot of pawns in his grasp and it’s only fair to cut him some slack in that department. There is a tiny chance that she is instead under Paul Blart’s protection or the angels’ protection. However, this is astronomically implausible. Paul Blart is not shown to be willing or capable to give some of his power to non-Blarts. Being around a Blart is not an automatic path to invincibility, as shown by everyone else around him. Specifically his mother, who did not hold the power and is thus bested by a milk truck. The angels would have very little to do with Donna, there’s no evidence for them interfering with her one way or another. Granted, there’s very little focus over all on the angels because the writers are cowards so I work with what little I’ve got. 

So the contemplation garden is a portal to the shadow dimension. When Paul Blart exits the green room before his big speech through a door marked “Showtime” he is shown immediately going into the Contemplation Garden. This is weird. Later, the entrance to the contemplation garden is shown to be somewhere completely different. This garden is the only place where the shadowman can be near Paul Blart because it’s a little piece of his own home dimension. This also explains the bird thing. Why is there a Grey Crowned Crane in a Las Vegas hotel? Who brought it here? Who is letting it attack guests? Who is feeding it? Why isn’t it leaving the Contemplation Garden? These plot holes can be solved with a simple theory of a shadow plane and a few portals scattered around the hotel.

This viewing I also picked up on a key piece of evidence to support the core of all my theories, Paul Blart’s imperviousness to physical harm. “My body’s fine, it’s my ego that took the hit,” Paul says, eating peanut M&Ms while laying on his back. This simple line validated my entire theory. Paul’s body is unable to be harmed. I, personally, am shocked that a car hitting him was the point at which his ego became injured. It somehow wasn’t the stupid little segway dance he did just seconds before. Although, his entire life is about as humiliating as that so maybe he’s used to it. Perhaps he’s immune to embarrassment after years of being Paul Blart: Mall Cop. 

The reason that Divinia is so horny for Blart despite having a boyfriend is that she sensed his immortal power. There’s no other reason for this sudden abandonment of Eduardo for this stink man. I cannot fathom that she felt any genuine attraction to Paul Blart’s horrible soul. Divinia must just be sensitive to his powers.

One interaction that bugged me until this watch happened when Maya and Lane were kidnapped. 

“Maya: They’re stealing art from the hotel!

Lane: From the what?

Maya: From the hotel!”

This exchange is fucking wild. In canon, Lane works at the hotel. He spends all his days at the hotel. He is currently in the hotel. Either Lane is that hard-of-hearing representation that I so dearly crave, or he is only in the hotel to do his angelic business or protecting Maya. It can be both. 

I believe I have solved the hypoglycemia debacle. In case you didn't know, the way that PB2 portrays hypoglycemia is “If my blood pressure drops, so do I.” which is massively incorrect. I struggle to comprehend the thought process of the writers of this movie most times, but here I’m one hundred percent sure neither of them knew what hypoglycemia was and refused to look it up. When Paul Blart passes out because of “lack of sugar” he consumes the droplets of a little girl’s melting ice cream. That ice cream that Paul Blart slobbers up can’t just be ice cream, it’s magical, because he springs up immediately after. The family’s conversation is absolutely buck-wild, there’s no way they’re humans. The daughter says “Look at the pretty flowers, Daddy, can I draw on them?” which can’t possibly be a thing that a human says. The younger daughter’s ice cream must be supernatural in origin along with the family to have reinvigorated Paul so quickly. If we follow this logic, the audience can confirm once and for all that Paul Blart definitely doesn’t have hypoglycemia. That’s not how it works, Kevin James. You need to stop.

All in all, this movie sucks ass. I, Red, formally challenge Kevin James to an interview/interrogation. I have so many questions and want to look at the man who willingly made this dumpster movie in the eyes. I hope Paul Blart stubs his toe every day forever. This being said, I will probably watch this movie again before next thanksgiving. 

[frangipanidownunder]

Would you consider a prompt? I have been home from a unexpected and long hospital stay for just a couple of days. The news is all good, but I am tired and it's freezing and gray and rainy here. I am amazed at the level of loving support from my husband and I feel so loved. So I am thinking of Scully, home from the hospital after Tithonus or Redux II or FTF and wondering how that "coming home" goes for her - and Mulder of course. Fic is Medicine Anon

And prompt 39 from the cliché list for @edierone ‘Having a bad day and the other noticing’. Thank you to @chekcough for your excellent betaing.

Living Better: fic

There’s a newness about everything. A sheen of hope. The sun is bright, the sky open, the world seems wider. The furniture in her apartment gleams, her plants are healthier, lush. Her mother must have been in, cleaning and tidying as though hygiene and order could turn around the march of the cancer invading her daughter’s body. 

Scully is grateful. She is. Whatever quiet miracle took place over the last few days, she’s been given a second chance and this homecoming, however unremarkable (I’ll be fine, mom), is a new start. 

Before. After. 

Still, everything feels Herculean. Where there should be wings of freedom, she’s weighted down by invisible cargo. There’s a roiling mass of ingratitude inside her. A fist of anger or shame or bitterness. During her fight against the disease, her mind had accepted her fate and now it’s like her spirit is pissed that she’s having to live again. There’s a nagging voice in her head. You should be doing more, Dana. You should be out there living. Life rushed by once before, don’t let it disappear into the rearview mirror again.

She should be free. Free to feel. She knows she should feel more. People have revealed themselves, their true selves, to her these past months. And Mulder. There’s Mulder. A hero who went in to battle. Who won. And now? Happily ever after is a load too heavy to bear.

With late afternoon shadows playing over the floor of her living room, she’s sitting on her couch, knees tucked under her seat, robe pulled around her frame, still bony and paper-skinned, prone to the cold. Aromatic steam wafts from her cup. Peppermint tea helps with the lingering nausea. There’s a romantic comedy playing in the background and she’s trying to read the novel that Tara presented to her with a ‘I’m sure you’ll love it because I did and we’re related…’ smile. It’s not really her thing, but she has time, once a luxury, to read, to rest, to do nothing. 

After a while, the words blur together and the movie’s credit rolls. Her stomach is empty and she knows she should eat. Her mother insisted on leaving cooked meals in the freezer but she has little appetite and her sense of smell has all but disappeared anyway. Where is the joy of food when it’s been reduced to just a necessary fuel? 

As the plastic tub of pasta revolves on the plate in time with the drone of the microwave, she remembers the slop from her night in prison, and gags. Not just at the memory of the soggy grey mess of that stew, but at her resolve to be strong for Mulder, to protect him. She fears that resolve has disappeared, along with the cancer. Back then, when he walked into the senate hearing and smiled at her, she’d felt something more than relief. She could admit that now. At her bedside one night recently, he’d collapsed in tears, clinging to her hand like a child. She’d kept her eyes closed for fear of humiliating him further. He was hanging on to life by the same spidery thread she was. 

And now they have to move on with life as though nothing has happened.

She throws the dinner in the garbage bin.

Sleep evades her again that night, nightmares swirling around her mind, shadowy figures clawing at her as she tries to run, her feet mired in a squelching, sucking bog. The flash of a bullet. Mulder’s temple exploding. His hot blood splattering over her face.

She shoots up, the beating of her own pulse too loud in the predawn stillness.

Something outside of her control demands to hear his gravelled voice. Calling his number is an impulse. He answers, fear edging his voice. She remembers telling him she’s okay, but the rest of the conversation is lost to the void of her memory. A symptom she hopes is only temporary. Now, Scully pads from her bedroom, drawing her forefinger and thumb along the edges of her cheekbones. Hollow. She rests her hand over her stomach, concave. The points of her hips jutting out. Gaps and sharp edges everywhere.

There’s a hazy film of dawn across the kitchen. As she waits for the tea kettle to boil, she’s lost in the mist frosting the window, the ragged edges of it blooming out before receding to nothingness. Just a dot on the glass. She presses the pad of her finger to it and breathes, leaving a trace of herself on the pane. A sharp rap at the door makes her startle, her elbow knocking over the vase her mother gave her when she bought this place. She meant to put it back in the cupboard. She meant to keep it safe.

Mulder’s inside before she can move to find the dustpan, weapon in his hand, yelling her name. If she had the energy, she’d laugh. Instead, she sinks to her knees, feels the gritty shards of porcelain digging into her skin. Her sigh is ragged, the exhalation physically painful.

“Are you okay?” he says, kneeling next to her. She can sense his hand hovering over her shoulders and she wills him to lower it, to feel the warmth of his touch. Instead, he starts to pick up the broken vase.

She heaves herself up and takes a bag from the tidy under the sink to dispose of the pieces. As Mulder places the larger pieces carefully inside, he looks down at her but by now she’s unable to meet his gaze. His scrutiny will crack her open just like the vase and if she falls apart, she’ll never be put back together.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, without alarm, but he takes the bag and leaves it in the sink before bracing her shoulders, turning her into him and leading her to the couch. “Sit.”

It’s strangely comforting to be ordered about by him. She obeys, exhausted. It’s then that she sees the pearls of blood dotting her legs, collecting in the longer threads of her robe. A sharp diamond of porcelain is sticking out from the skin of her knee. 

“Where do you keep your Bandaids?” Mulder’s voice floats over her as she watches the blood ribbon down her shin. She’s no longer shocked by its crimson brightness, having seen it leach from her body so often. But for Mulder, she realises, it’s a cruel reminder of past months.

“In the bathroom,” she says, nodding in the direction. She tries to say ‘thank you’ as he walks away, but the words dry in her throat.

Mulder returns with a first aid kit, unwraps the scissors from their plastic shield and removes the offending shard. She watches his lips form a silent ‘sorry’ as he dabs antiseptic lotion on her, but the sting is refreshing. She can feel it. He holds a cotton pad against her knee and she looks at his strong fingers across her skin. She sees her unshaven legs, her blue veins, her crumpled socks.

“I’m such a mess.”

No response. He dabs at her knee, lifting the pad to see if the bleeding has stopped. He disappears to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water.

“Sorry about the vase,” he says, sinking into the seat next to her.

“It was a gift from my mother. She’ll probably buy two more. She’s…just so grateful, you know?”

He nods. “I am, too,” he says softly. “Very much so.”

Tears burn the corners of her eyes and she presses a finger under her nose to stop the flow but it’s impossible. He lets her weep until she’s wrung dry. Exhaustion leaves her body trembling. He finds a blanket, God knows from where, and covers her.

“You need to give yourself time, Scully. You’ve been through…”

“Don’t say ‘an ordeal’,” she says wearily. She’s heard it from her mother, brother, Father McCue, doctors, nurses. She survived. Life shouldn’t be a trial.

“I was going to say ‘a lot’. It’s not just the cancer, Scully. Your work with me…the abduction, your sister. It all adds up. This disease…how close it came to…” He stops, taking a shallow breath and rubbing at his stubbled chin. “In a funny way it made me reassess everything. That sounds selfish…it’s not what I mean. I…guess that you…not being here would change... everything. You mean more to me that you know, than even I knew.” He looks at her, eyes wet, and laughs in surprise at his own admission. 

“Mulder…”

“It’s true! It took your death sentence to stop me suffocating up my own ass.”

A giggle wells up in her throat, along with more tears. Her chest hurts. And she’s not sure if it’s pain or a coming back to life of sorts. His face lights up. 

“What I’m trying to say is that this is a second chance. For you, for us, for the work…if you still want it.” His voice lowers and he presses a hand over her arm. “Scully, your health is the most important thing to me. And you need to take some time, as much time as you need.”

The silence of the night is heavy in her head. There were times in the hospital where the midnight hours would stretch elastically until she felt she were forever walking towards an elusive dawn. Time really was a construct. The hours on the clock held no meaning, yet they marked her life in increments – for treatments, for food, for visits. 

“I do want to come back,” she says, finally. “I thought I would already be back. Recovery has been…more difficult than I expected.”

He chuckles. “Why does that not surprise me?” He taps her elbow with two fingers. “You are the strongest person I know but you’re also the worst at cutting yourself some slack.” His forehead crinkles, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have nothing to prove that you haven’t already, Scully. Especially not to me.”

“Mom keeps coming by and she’s so cheery and happy and it’s hard, you know? That sounds so selfish, but I keep thinking that I have a duty, some kind of moral obligation to live a better life now that I’ve…survived. It’s like the pressure of life has doubled, tripled, and I can’t even make myself dinner.” Her nails dig into her palms. How can she make him understand? She’s alive. She should be grateful, not bitching about her mom. She shrugs off the blanket, runs her hands down her frame. “I can’t even decide what clothes to wear so I just wear this. I brush my hair, put my earrings in, look at my make-up and all I think is ‘why?’. What’s the point? I’ve already beaten this disease. Isn’t that enough?” He pulls her into a hug and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Shouldn’t it be enough?”

His breath ruffles her hair. His chest moves up and down as he breathes and she listens to the solid, steady beat of his heart.

Releasing her, he takes both hands into his, holding them gently, bringing them to his mouth to press a soft kiss against her knuckles. There’s such reverence in his action. A kind of benediction for them both. “I think...I think you’ve put yourself under this pressure, Dana. Nobody, least of all your mother, expects you to leap back into work or life straightaway. I...I don’t want that. We all want you strong and healthy. And your mother, she knows you. Knows you’ll cut her off, give her a hand wave and an ‘I’m fine’.” He smiles. Gets her smiling too. “How many of those have you given out over the last few months, hey, Miss Scully?” He bounces their clasped hands between them. “I’ve heard more ‘I’m fines’ than I’ve seen aliens.”

She laughs at that. Mulder and his ridiculous puns are like the sun finally rising after an eternity in the dark. 

He pulls the blanket over her lap and his, squashes a cushion behind his head, points the remote control at the television. “There’s a movie on that I know you’re going to love.”

Leaning against him as he chuckles at the scene playing on the screen, she looks around. There’s a newness about everything. A sheen of hope and the itch of wings forming on her back.