#Need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge

[bi-naesala]

Dismas and lovers

16. Shieldbreaker

Amani had hoped that she could’ve escaped her nightmares once she set foot inside the Hamlet, but her hopes were soon shattered: no matter where she went, no matter what she did, her sleep was never as restful as it was supposed to be, because by some magic that she wouldn’t want anything to do with, her tormented memories would come to life, never leaving her alone.

Sleep for her was a perilous affair, even more so when she discovered that her companions could be dragged into her nightmares as well, having to fight their way out just like she had to.

Night after night, her own health was at risk for the lack of rest, until this very day, having decided that enough is enough: she is going to find a cure to her condition, she is going to be free of her burden.

The first step – the most sensible one – is to seek counsel from the occultist Alhazred: he is a knowledgeable fellow and he is familiar with the occult, exactly what Amani needs.

He had already taken interest in her condition, being one of the first to experience its effects, but she hadn’t been ready to open up at the time – she hadn’t arrived that long ago, so she was still figuring out whether she could trust those people or not. She is ready now, and Alhazred welcomes her with open arms.

Unfortunately for her, the occult is unpredictable so, even after his careful study, he can only bring forward conjectures and hypothesis. Amani can’t help but feel disappointed by such a result, but Alhazred is quick to reassure her: the key to understand what one doesn’t is not only to study it, but to experiment with it as well, which is what the next step of the plan involves. They are going to find a solution to her nightmares, but they will have to try a few things out first, and see what works and what doesn’t.

It may be a taxing affair, but Amani is ready, determined to get rid of this once and for all even if it’s going to take forever to actually do it.

There have been many attempts, but nothing has worked, shattering what little hope Amani held still in herself, but not all is lost, not yet at least: if an external protection is useless – no incantation nor amulet could keep the nightmares at bay – then the answer to their dilemma must come within herself. Maybe, instead of following her and tormenting her wherever she goes, these nightmares are conjured, involuntarily of course, by Amani herself when she goes to sleep, which is coincidentally the time of day during which one’s mental defenses are weakest.

The idea of being the bringer of her own torment unnerves Amani, but if that is true she has to take matters into her own hands, instead of relying on an external solution, which to her is much more preferable: the more self-sufficient she is, the calmer her nerves are.

She’s taught a few meditation techniques, Alhazred being a patient and helpful teacher. He tooh as to rely on these techniques to keep his own afflictions at bay – if he were to ever lose control of his powers, he fears what might happen to the Hamlet at large – so he was more than happy to help Amani again.

Even this isn’t enough to put a definitive end to the nightmares, but it lessens their frequency, a confirmation that her state of mind before she falls asleep plays a fundamental part on how the night will turn out.

This is a step in the right direction, though the road to success isn’t an easy one: even with meditation it’s still hard for her not to sink in her fears, when the memories of what happened torment her nights, so clear that they become real.

What to do?

She finds a solution in the most unexpected way, but also the simplest.

It happens by chance, during an expedition to the ruins: in dire need of some rest, they have set up camp in an empty room. Out of all of them, only she and the thief Dismas are still awake; she suspects he’s afraid of being caught by surprise by her nightmares, that’s why he still hasn’t joined the others, though he doesn’t look on edge. Being the one who had suggested they continued exploring at least another couple of rooms, he might simply not feel tired yet.

She tries to pay him no mind – people like him unnerve her, but he’s been behaving well, so she’s trying to give him the benefit of the doubt – but the fire has almost died out – they should look for something to revive it soon – and the cold is getting to her, so she can’t help but to scoot closer and closer, inch by inch, in search of warmth.

At first, he doesn’t seem to notice, which prompts her to continue in her endeavor, but eventually he comments on it. “Need something? You’re getting awfully close…” Then a smirk appears on his face. “Afraid of ghosts?”

She doesn’t laugh at his joke. To tell the truth, she is even considering not speaking to him altogether, but if it’s imperative for her to keep a state of mind as calm as possible before falling asleep, she supposes she shouldn’t keep everything inside.

“Not afraid, just…” she hesitates just for a moment, “I’m cold.”

At those words, Dismas’ demeanor shifts immediately: he doesn’t say anything as he takes off his coat, handing it to her. “Here.”

Her first instinct is to grab it – she wouldn’t mind something to cover herself with – but she chooses to just close her fist around it, grabbing it but not taking it yet, suspecting the existence of an ulterior motive behind this sudden kindness.

“Why?” is all she asks.

“Doesn’t seem wise to let you freeze to death,” he replies, shrugging. “I can take it back if you don’t want it…”

The way he keeps looking at her as he tugs the coat towards himself makes it apparent that he’s teasing her. She hates falling for it, but she won’t renounce her source of warmth, so she snatches it out of his hands. “It is fine, actually. Thank you,” she immediately says, wasting no time putting it on so that he won’t be able to take it back without having to touch her, and everybody knows how dangerous of an action that is.

Dismas takes it in stride, however. “Fine, fine. Have it your way,” he chuckles, turning his gaze away from her to focus on what he was previously doing – which Amani doesn’t know, and frankly doesn’t care about.

Now, she feels, she can withstand the night. She makes herself small, keeping the coat tight around herself. It smells of blood and battle, but it isn’t as disgusting she would have initially feared; the fur around the neck isn’t as soft as it surely was when it was first manufactured, but feeling it against her skin is still a pleasant sensation.

With warmth, however, comes also drowsiness, and before she can even realize it, she falls asleep.

She isn’t met by the reassuring emptiness that signifies that her sleep is going to be a dreamless one, but at least she isn’t in the desert, which is reassuring.

The place she’s in doesn’t seem to be a place at all, actually, more like a feeling, or a memory. Inexplicably, all she can see is Dismas, Dismas, Dismas.

Dismas lounging forward with his dirk pointed at the enemy. Dismas taking aim, tongue slightly out to wet his lower lip; she must have noticed this habit of his at some point, but not enough to consciously remember it apparently – why would she have done that, after all?

Dismas at the tavern, laughing at a joke someone said while sipping his beer. Dismas at the armory, studying with keen eye his recently upgraded weapons.

Dismas cursing after missing a shot, brows knitted and teeth gritted. Dismas smirking as he outmaneuvers an enemy, dogging their attack to slash their throat – or which part can be closer to a throat.

Dismas reaching out for her, helping her up after a false step made her fall. Dismas calling her name.

Dismas, Dismas, Dismas…

She wakes up with a start, feeling a hand touching her shoulder, a hand that would’ve soon been cut off if she hadn’t realized who it belongs to.

“Apologies,” Dismas mutters. “I would’ve let you sleep more, but we have to move out…”

Amani shakes off the last vestiges of haziness and looks around; indeed, everyone’s intent in gathering their things. They all look well-rested – as well rested as one can be sleeping in a small dark room cursed with humidity while outside creatures of all sorts roam around anyway – and especially they show no sign of having endured a recent battle. Does that mean…

“The night went well, then? No… accidents?” she can’t help but to ask, needing to make sure. Considering the contents of her dream, it’s a wonder what might’ve happened – what if she had summoned a second Dismas for all to see?

Judging by the calm way everyone’s acting, however, she doubts that must’ve been the case, much to her relief. “Nothing at all,” Dismas confirms, in fact, which brings her immense relief. “You slept like a puppy,” he adds, then, flashing a smile towards her that makes her skin flush – she must still be under the influence of her dream, or else she wouldn’t be able to explain such a reaction.

She clears her throat, hoping that even if he has noticed her behavior, he won’t point it out. “I’m glad to hear that,” she says, before getting up so that she too can get prepared for a new day in the ruins, but not before giving Dismas back what is his. “Here,” and she hands him back his coat, despite already missing its warmth, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” is all he says, before he turns his attention elsewhere, failing to notice the way she keeps staring at him, and staring, and staring, until she shakes her head, cursing herself for her indecent behavior.

Despite the strangeness of her dream, however, she has to admit that something must’ve worked well, because nobody was attacked. She simply had a dream like any other person.

It is hard to tell, however, if such a result has been directly because of Dismas or if it was just a coincidence, as either option seems plausible.

Knowing this, one thing is sure: she will have to try again which, she supposes, will imply getting closer to Dismas than she would normally be. Just a night ago, she would’ve dismissed this idea with nothing more than scorn, but maybe she was wrong about him.

There is only one way to find out, and she’s eager to begin.

[good-from-all-sides]

oh no

I'm not a master of writing something, so just here's a reader x Cole from my quotev account

You are an ordinary adult. Well.. As usual.. You may have come from another distant realm, given your features (it can be anything, horns, bunny ears, claws, whatever you like best <3). As well as your ability to create various mysterious artifacts and things. For example, your dark red cape with gold patterns, it's Living, inside the cape you can see a pair of blinking eyes, toothy mouths... They are very talkative, so... a good conversationalist. True, he also needs to be fed. Wonderful. Who will feed cloak?.. You. And you can't tell anyone what to feed him. And you have a lot... A lot of things. Oh, and I also forgot to say that the Crystal King is finally defeated, the ninjas won with the help of common efforts, and your peace is not disturbed. So far everything is going great. Until you hear some voices inside the cloak. Is it time for a conversation? You opened your eyes in displeasure and tugged at your cloak slightly. From which the voices fell silent for a moment, and then resumed their attempts to say something again.

"He's coming. He's coming. He's coming."

" – Looks like they got ahead of me haha..." – It was Cole. He smiled tiredly and sat down next to you on the step. The black-haired man tried to say something until he gave up, he could only stare into the distance until she decided it was time to talk. “ – Yes, they said you would come. Do you need my help?" – You looked at him and nodded several times. One glance was enough to understand that something was clearly wrong. But deciding not to say anything further, waiting until he told everything himself, you turned your attention to the sky, on which clouds were occasionally seen. The heart of the black ninja was not easy right now. The loss of his powers, as well as the knowledge that the object of his sigh must soon set off on a long journey somewhere far beyond this realm. It can be dangerous and scary in there, although she could handle it just fine. Knowing what you've been through. But he knows from this that his heart is still aching, she will be all alone again to relive it all over again. Did she really need to leave? After all that's happened? So much has happened in so many years of friendship! Who's going to make them chocolate chip cookies now when they lose the fight? Who will train them? Who will be next to him?.. From all the thoughts he is dizzy, and his hands are squeezing their GI. “ – Do you really need to leave?..” –  he just can't muster the strength to look you in the eye. If a ton of thoughts don't go away right now, he doesn't know what he will do. " – I'm not sure. I've never stayed in one world for so long before." – you thought. What to do next? In other worlds, you never had such a... "family." This is so strange. If you leave, will they remember you? Or will they be forgotten as quickly as some bad dream? You don't know this. All this time, you somehow strangely cared about everyone. You have seen a lot of movies and series where people take care of each other, help out in something or something like that. You often cooked them something sweet when they were very tired after the next mission; gave them a hot bath; were a pillow for whining and tears; sometimes saved. It's so hard to forget. the special moments when the ninja gave free rein to his emotions, fell on her shoulder and cried, you just need to understand and accept them. Gathering all his strength, Cole placed her hand on top of hers, her arms full of scars from past battles. And he moved closer to her so that their knees touched. “ – You understand, don't you? We will miss you very much! You mean everything to me and more, you know? Please…” – The black ninja looked so desperate, like an abandoned kitten given some love. His grip on your arm is just as desperate, like he's afraid to let go. Looking him straight in the eye, you thought the best thing to say. But you just sighed, smiled tiredly at him and gently pulled him to you. It seems that everything is clear without words.

jjjjjust a reminder that English is not my native language and I use a translator!!<3333 

[eccentric-nucleus]

so there's this old actionbutton review of prototype (that has apparently been removed from the actual website, which i guess is fine b/c on reflection the review overall isn't super good) that has a part that i think about a lot.

Prototype is clearly a game that was originally meant to be a challenging action game that took the concept of super-powered main characters out of the ego-trip where you simply explode in ever greater fireballs the entire universe, like a Final Fantasy character in a platformer, and into the realm of the thoroughbred racer. A realm where the power is a tool that must be used carefully, because there’s so much of it, that there’s too much of it. Restraint is what we play video games for, in a sense. We restrain ourselves from making the wrong choices. We take pleasure in our sense of timing. We enjoy learning and growing and doing and, above all, not doing (the same thing over and over, due to failure).

b/c like... yeah that's the thing with power? power invites complications; that's kind of what power is: the ability to affect change at greater magnitudes, which invariably means a reduction in your fidelity of control. unintended side-effects and all that. but the entire concept of the 'power fantasy' is about not having the drawbacks of power, & that's what video games are all about, so it makes sense that that doesn't really come up that much in games. leveling up is just Good, it makes you better at things, because if it made you worse gamers would find that to be bad design, etc

this also comes up constantly in progression fantasies. unsurprisingly!! b/c their thematic content is entirely the power fantasy, so of course getting more powerful is an unalloyed good.

there's another prose chunk in a similar vein i think about a lot that's from a wizard of earthsea, near the beginning: duny (as a kid, before he's named ged) has his island raided by barbarians and they're gonna burn down the town and kill everybody.

He had worked all night at the forge-bellows, pushing and pulling the two long sleeves of goathide that fed the fire with a blast of air. Now his arms so ached and trembled from that work that he could not hold out the spear he had chosen. He did not see how he could fight or be of any good to himself or the villagers. It rankled at his heart that he should die, spitted on a Kargish lance, while still a boy: that he should go into the dark land without ever having known his own name, his true name as a man. He looked down at his thin arms, wet with cold fog-dew, and raged at his weakness, for he knew his strength. There was power in him, if he knew how to use it, and he sought among all the spells he knew for some device that might give him and his companions an advantage, or at least a chance. But need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge.

(incidentally i think reading progression fantasies has made me a worse reader. they're frequently so wordy and yet nothing happens, and the writing never really says anything or has specific sentences that capture the mind, and so i've gotten into this really bad habit of skim-reading through them snatching out nouns and verbs. so now when i go back to reading prose that's actually, you know, good, i still end up skimming it and missing out on relevant details, since relevant details actually matter in real stories, instead of just being wordcount padding.)

anyway the rest of a wizard of earthsea is basically all about the relationship between knowledge and power and what responsibility comes with that.

i guess this is yet another post all about how i really don't like the thematic simplicity of all the progression fantasy but boy have i been thinking about that a lot as i've been writing other stuff. fun fact, 'goblin cave', my royalroad story, and 'blinded by the summer sun', the tmnt porn i've been writing, have basically the same themes b/c they're both actually about the blunt nature of power + the problem of needing power to exist in the world vs. the grotesque nature of people who seek only power. b/c as you can see by all the above that is kind of a thing i've been thinking about a lot recently. it's just one of them has turtle porn.

i mean i'm fairly sure i've mentioned it here also but they're very heavily influenced by dead zones of the imagination, which i would recommend everybody read. it's only like 20 pages.

To be more precise: violence may well be the only form of human action by which it is possible to have relatively predictable effects on the actions of a person about whom you understand nothing. Pretty much any other way one might try to influence another’s actions, one at least has to have some idea who they think they are, who they think you are, what they might want out of the situation, and what their aversions and proclivities are. Hit them over the head hard enough and all of this becomes irrelevant.

It is true that the effects one can have by disabling or killing someone are very limited, but they are real enough—and critically, it is possible to know in advance exactly what they will be. Any alternative form of action cannot, without some sort of appeal to shared meanings or understandings, have any predictable effects at all.

[...]

As long as one remains within the domain of theory, then, I would argue that simplification can be a form of intelligence. The problems arise when the violence is no longer metaphorical. Here let me turn from imaginary cops to real ones. A former LAPD officer turned sociologist (Cooper 1991), observed that the overwhelming majority of those beaten by police turn out not to be guilty of any crime. “Cops don’t beat up burglars,” he observed. The reason, he explained, is simple: the one thing most guaranteed to evoke a violent reaction from police is to challenge their right to “define the situation.” If what I’ve been saying is true, then this is just what we���d expect. The police truncheon is precisely the point where the state’s bureaucratic imperative for imposing simple administrative schema, and its monopoly of coercive force, come together. It only makes sense then that bureaucratic violence should consist first and foremost of attacks on those who insist on alternative schemas or interpretations. At the same time, if one accepts Piaget’s (1936) famous definition of mature intelligence as the ability to coordinate between multiple perspectives (or possible perspectives) one can see, here, precisely how bureaucratic power, at the moment it turns to violence, becomes literally a form of infantile stupidity.

and so on. that's power, baby! the power to define a situation and stop anybody else from objecting to your framing. by killing them!

[knowtherealme]

I create my life and its rules. I made myself a prison-break game on hard mode.

I think I did it to prove to myself I could break out on my own, to see what I was capable of. I set the challenge level on high so I could make sure I’d earned everything I thought I deserved. I think I also saw there was no other way to free others unless I’d been in a cell myself. I needed to walk their path so I could point the way for them. I sacrificed my life and bet everything on myself with sheer balls and complete trust in my abilities. 

Do I regret it? Sometimes. But now I know, and I didn’t before. I know what game this is and how to play it and what the win conditions are. I’m not lost anymore. So there is no confusion or pain from a God who abandoned me or a world that hates me. There is peace in knowing I did this for myself – so I could know myself, so I could give myself what I needed to help others the way I wished I could.

Sometimes the hurt from being in it alone floods me. But how else would I know what I was capable of? If I had help, I’d always wonder whether I could have done it myself. I’d always wonder whether I’d earned everything I had. Whether I truly deserved it. 

-

I did all this so I could be a hero. I’ve never told anyone this.

I intended to be a hero who saved others. except there was one caveat – how could I save others without knowing how to save myself?

I spent most of the first part of my life waiting for someone to save me. I thought all I needed to do was survive. If i hung on long enough, someone would know I was trapped and someone would save me. I prayed and pleaded and fervently fantasized about a savior coming to break me out and fix everything. 

Now I realize I’m all I’ve ever needed. I’m the hero I waited for. This is what the game was always about. 

I wasn’t alone in the cell but I might as well have been. There was someone else in my cell – my brother. Seven years older. 

I thought we’d be in it together. I thought we’d work together and break out together. I thought it would be us against our jailers. 

but he turned on me. he abused me. he used what little power he had over me. he coped with being jailed by becoming a jailer himself. 

(

i don’t know. did i create this too? as part of my hard mode?

)

i loved him. i thought it would be us against them. I took care of him. I thought the way he abused me was love. I kept quiet. He was all I had. The only person in the whole world who was on my side even a little. 

why did he go? why did he leave me? why did he abandon me after everything I let him do to me?

-

it’s difficult to get through this but I must. I have to look it right in the eye unblinkingly so I know the truth and I can never un-know it. 

-

so there I was. biding my time till I was older knowing it would give me a better chance of escape. meanwhile, I read everything I could. I didn’t let my jailers know anything about me. I hoarded knowledge for when I would need it. I made myself as small as possible so there was less of me for them to hurt. 

I bode my time till I became of age. I did what I was supposed to and i secretly built strength while I could. It was difficult. they made sure I was occupied and overwhelmed and distracted. and I did it to myself too because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get strong enough. I doubted my ability. 

I came of age. I worked on getting stronger. 

It took a lot longer than I ever expected. I didn’t realize how deeply they’d wounded me. There was no one else. I had to learn how to heal myself, how to care for myself. 

no, that’s not true. god started talking to me in my mid-teens. he found me. he forced himself into my sight after he saw I couldn’t see. that is what shepherds do – they come after their flock. and I didn’t know it then, but I belonged to him. 

-

I don’t know how much more of this I can talk about today. The more I talk about it the more pain I release. I didn’t realize. I didn’t know this was the shape of my life. 

I feel all the pain of that time. It is in stark relief against the backdrop of this prison vision. I see the shape of my life now and I feel such immense love for myself. I can feel her pain, I want to reach out and hold her tight to my chest. 

I’m sorry. I thought I’d be able to tell you this all at once. It’s too much, but I do want you to know. I intend to be known, I intend to share what it’s like to live my life with you. it’s too painful being alone, I wish someone would live in my world with me.

I’ll continue this tale when I feel well enough. 

Thank you for listening to me, making space for my words in you. It comforts me to know I exist somewhere other than myself. To know there is a piece of me out in the world roaming free even if I am still chained in this prison of my own making. 

[damgoodfantasy]

The Sweet Spot of Fantasy Openings

We all know the classic fantasy opening: young hero grows up in sleepy idyllic farming village next to a river, meets a wise mentor, and eventually leaves after some kind of big event makes it dangerous for them to stay. It's such a classic because it works. That is not to say that you must always follow this formula, however. In fact, I'd say Ursula Le Guin's characterization of the village of Ten Alders in A Wizard of Earthsea is a great example of how to establish a sense of place without leaning too heavily into any typified fantasy conventions. Of course, as the basis of comparison, I will be using the Shire, since I can't not talk about Tolkien at least once a week.

First off, we have the description of Ten Alders. Right away, we break from the friendly conventions of the Shire by having it described as "lonely" (AWoE, Chapter 1). We can still picture its farmlands and distant mountains well enough, and the general comforting vibe is maintained, yet in that one simple word the village in my head shifts from one of naïve joy to one of distant isolation.

Next we have the wise mentor, typified by Gandalf. In this case, Le Guin includes this convention, but shakes it up by splitting the mentor character in two: a primary mentor of the village witch -- a well-meaning woman who is ultimately self-serving and is "one of those who fled" when danger arrives at Ten Alders' doorstep; and a wise wizard Ogion the Silent who quite literally guides the protagonist from childhood to adulthood. I quite like this, since it still feels comfortable but admits that our mentors (especially the early ones in childhood) are not peerless, and wisdom in one aspect does not imply it in another.

Finally, we have the inciting incident. In the Shire's case, we have of course the arrival of the Nazgul, and likewise in Ten Alders we have an arriving evil: the Kargs. Both are a sort of faceless, animal evil, yet again, Le Guin subverts this trope by having the young hero face the danger head on when their mentor fails to do so. "Need called knowledge out" as Duny (or Ged as he would be shortly known) summoned a great fog and helped scare the Kargs back to the coast to be slaughtered. Not only does this make for an unexpected, thrilling scene, it sets up Ged as different from your run-of-the-mill protagonist. We know he has great power and is not afraid to use it. I don't mean to imply that Frodo is a typical fantasy protagonist, but I'd say Ged's characterization so early is stronger and more memorable.

All in all, Ten Alders is a fantastic starting point for A Wizard of Earthsea. It sets up our hero, provides a backstory that is rich and unexpected, and draws the reader in. If you've never read Earthsea, I'd highly recommend it, whether you're a fantasy reader or writer. It's a real treat!

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of changes

Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

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CW: Dissociation, mentions of rape, violence, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power.

Sometimes you find yourself asking what ifs. What if the Event never happened and you never received the vision? What if Ajax never developed his obsession with you? What if you treated him a little bit warmer? Would he be more tolerable? There are thousands of possible scenarios buzzing in your head, sometimes diverging just by words left unsaid or an outstretched hand being shaked. You know it’s a futile thing, thinking about the future and the present that you will never have, but you can’t stop, thoughts spiraling further and further.

This morning starts with the similar what if. What if I agreed to start again? The brief conversation from yesterday is still on your mind - you dread it’s another of the turning points in your relationship, just like the rejected handshake or the hospitalized recruit were. A moment after which there’ll be changes, changes that you won’t have time to prepare for. Speaking from the experience alone, Childe, like the rotten bastard he is, will act even worse from now on. It all started from teen Ajax following you and offering his friendship at every turn and somehow ended in him personally asking Tsaritsa to assign you to him, reducing you from a highly respectable Fatui agent skilled both in stealth and subterfuge to a glorified escort and a secretary.

One day he’ll just get tired from all of this and will forcefully bend me over in some dark murky corner, you darkly conclude, the remnants of the sleep leaving your body entirely at the grim thought. Or maybe he will break his promise not to cheat and will order me to do it.

Unwilling to think about the Ninth Wave of your unwanted relationships, you quickly stand up from the bed and start preparing for the day. Dressing and freshening up from the sleep you still mentally return to the darker place, cautious of what Tartaglia will pull out this time. Finally, you exit the door fully ready and lock the room, hiding the key under the clothes after, and make way to the fourth floor of the bank.

Here lies Childe’s working space and personal quarters , and if the former can be easily seen and entered just by walking up the stairs, the latter is hidden from view by the wall and massive door. There is a wide work desk and two armchairs placed too close for your comfort. You peek into the interior window, only to find it veiled by a thick curtain from the other side, so you decide to broaden the space between the chairs.

Satisfied with distance now, you sit at your place, taking a sheet out of the pile of documents, mostly consisting of reports of credits approved and money returned, unusually mundane yet highly classified information. Aside from accompanying Childe when he needs to beat and threaten the debts out of deadbeats, you also have to track the transactions the bank makes, a routine job consuming most of your daytime.

At the sixth or seventh fiscal account, you hear door opening and mentally brace for Ajax’s presence. Harbinger doesn’t smile, looking serious instead. You hope it has nothing to do with you, as it’s too early in the day for you to already deal with his usual mess.

“[First]”, you look up, staring at the bizarrely humorless Ajax looming over your sitting form. He clears his throat, as if he feels awkward right now, “Are you sure you won’t have one of your episodes?”

Your mind blanks for a second and then there’s a mix of shame and anger flooding your being and making you see red. Over the last months you spent working with him, he was the sole trigger of your affliction and now there are considerable gaps in your memory, in which you have absolutely no clue what happened to you. You had an inkling that Childe is aware that you are not always completely here, but a slap in the face with such casual mention is enough to render you wordless for a good minute.

“I... It happens only under certain circumstances”, you find your voice wavering and his face darkens, as he quickly catches unsaid ‘because of you’. Fortunately, he decides not to press it.

“There’s a problem at hands, one that needs your skills". These words make you do a double take - Ajax doesn't look like he's lying, speech lacking usual grandiose and bravado, yet you still can't believe he lets you return to your former work. You make a quick guess.

“Qixing?”

“Qixing” he nods,"their spies must have learned something about the sigils. It's a minor issue now, but if Tianquan or Yuheng will learn about it…"

"A diplomatic disaster and a permanent loss of Geo Archon's gnosis" you continue for him, “Fatui would be banned or seriously limited in Liyue and most of trade routes will be cut off, Ningguang can easily press sanctions against most of Snezhnayan import”. You frown at the thought, no matter what Fatui would do in such situations there's too much to lose and almost nothing to gain, even if you start destroying the investigation and replication of sigils right now, it will be a waste of possible weapons against Rex Lapis.

Then, there's one painless exit from the complicated mess: destruction of all meager material evidence and clues they somehow scraped together. Despite finally having a glimpse of a freedom, you don’t feel any excitement, but doubt instead - just a year ago, such operation would be another routine task for you, but now, having wasted months because of Childe's possessiveness, you can't help but feel incompetent.

You contemplate, glancing at him: on one hand, Tartaglia can easily send any other agents, but on the other hand, none of said agents possess a vision, a vision that you specifically molded to be a perfect tool for stealth and assassinations. He tilts his head, a hand impatiently drumming against the desk, waiting for your answer - you can infer his inner monologue - Tartaglia, just like you, is torn between his loyalty to Tsaritsa and his own feelings on the matter and this is what finally cements your decision.

You can almost see how much he itches to forbid you from taking the mission, but stops himself out of his sense of duty to Snezhnaya, and this knowledge fills you with darker type of satisfaction to the very brim: You lean back, pretending to still ponder over his words, enjoying the view of apprehensive Childe for once.

“I think, I can’t...” you start, your voice deliberately small and hesitant, watching how Ajax smiles again, convinced that you no longer have any confidence in your abilities, “let Snezhnaya be compromised in any way”.

He doesn’t let any of the anger and frustration show on his face, yet the drumming ceases, leaving you two in the silence, save for the sounds of the street coming out of the window.

You know you’re poking at the sleeping tiger, letting a childish impulses to guide your words, but the opportunity to upset Harbinger are much harder to come by these days: he took away your job, your delusion and your freedom, the least he can do to compensate is suffer in return.

“Alright”, he finally says and fails to hold back disappointed sigh “agent [Last]. Your delusion is in Ekaterina’s possession, just as the rest of the equipment. You will start tonight, information is in the upper left drawer. You have no right to fail, if you do I will write a complaint to Tsaritsa against you and personally oversee that you will be discharged”.

It’s a gambling game then, and terribly unfair at that - even if you win it won’t set you free or relocate under someone easier to handle and Tartaglia loses virtually nothing by allowing you to roam out of his sight for one night only, and by failing you will literally had your life into Childe’s eager hands.

You won’t let the bastard triumph.

***

After getting your gear and delusion back, you spend the rest of the day reading the data and mentally preparing for what is about to come. The qixing base you're to infiltrate is located awfully near the current place of sigil research, as if Ningguang or whoever planted it here already suspected Fatui from the start. The base itself is disguised as an ancient Liyuen ruin with a couple of deactivated ruin hunters placed nearby to scare off the adventurers who no doubt will try to explore it.

You are almost panting when you finally reach it - turns out that despite being easily visible from afar, the base is surrounded by the tall and steep cliffs from all sides, with the only passage bound to be guarded. Invoking to the power of your vision, you effortlessly become invisible to the eye, enter the building and almost rush back the same second - there’s a millelith passing nearby in whom you almost bumped in.

Heart racing you enter the building again, walking on half bent legs to minimize the sounds, and avoid milleliths on your way. They feel a sudden rush of frosty air, but seeing no one nearby, just write it off as a sudden midnight chill. You continue to make your way, peeking into each room, forcing yourself to remain in this form longer and longer, body aching and freezing from the overuse. Finally you see it - a stack of documents placed on the bamboo table near the oil lamp in a conveniently empty room.

Your hand is already extended to push the lamp and fake an accidental fire, when you decide to investigate the papers - it’s better to learn what qixing already knows. Your eyes quickly peruse a liyuen script, characters upon other characters - a report about suspicious activities, a detailed intelligence of Northland’s spendings and thankfully, not a word of sigils, except the note stating that Fatuis are buying a considerable amount of paper and ink.

Having memorized each of the documents, you throw the lamp now, a flame quickly spreading to the documents and soon consuming a whole table. Someone in the corridor screams about fire, four milleliths rushing in the room and you use this distraction to sneak out. Having escaped the borders of the faux ruin you quickly run, still maintaining invisibility, and only when you reach the cliffs again do you allow yourself to rest.

After climbing over the rocks, the rest of the trail is spent between jogging and walking, frost from the vision still residing inside. Bitter chill slows down your movements and you can’t help, but shiver from time to time, arms and legs aching and burning from it. You eye the pyro delusion and consider using it - unlike a cryo vision that you sculpted for secrecy and agility, the delusion is more battle-focused, able to produce quick bursts of fire in the rare occasions you get into a brawl.

Suddenly, a ball of flames explodes near you - a whopperflower bursts out of the ground, sensing you in proximity. You dodge another fireball, instinctively flinching at the sudden flash of light and send an ice blade it's way. It slightly grazes the creature's skin, yet a mimetic plant rushes back under the ground as you summon another icicle and swiftly stab it in the "head" the second it emerges again.

The plant dies in convulsion, it’s reddish walls contracting around the blade, a fast stream of boiling hot energy nectar shooting from the wound the moment you pull away the weapon. You curse, as some of the liquid hits you on the leg, burning a part of your pants and scorching the flesh underneath. Hissing and gritting teeth, you use your vision again, now to soothe a throbbing pain.

Well, at least I am not freezing anymore.

You return at the first rays of dawn, dull pain still lingering in the lower body, pulsating and echoing every step. Slightly drowsy Nadia at the entrance nods at you, her gaze at your wound obvious even with a mask on, and you nod back, a wordless exchange providing a slight reprieve, before you have to deal with Childe again.

“Hard day?”, she asks right before you enter, a pale shadow of concern in her voice. You frown, confused by the sudden disquiet.

“Something happened?”

“Uhm”, a small pause, “the boss. He was restless tonight, very restless”.

Ah, shit.

“Well, that is unpleasant” you deadpan, any remaining desire to go inside the bank vanishing the same second: “Thank you anyways” and then you step in.

Harbinger waits right there in an absolutely empty lobby - it seems that Ekaterina’s shift hasn't started yet. He’s leaning on the wall, head turning to you as you enter and immediately noticing the state of your leg. His expression grows darker, when you thought he would lighten up at your perceived failure instead.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, hints of steel appearing in his voice. You lift your eyebrows - no teasing, starters or bravado. Maybe he's so impatient to hear about your failure that he forgot to keep up the act?

You swat away his question, deciding to report on your mission instead - documents were destroyed by a set up accident, none of the qixing and milleliths saw you; he doesn’t seem to listen though, eyes still glued to the burn and then he repeats his question, voice taking the dangerous tone.

“No one, no one did it. It was an accident on the way back”, he isn’t convinced judging by the way he grabs your arm, his monstrous strength evident in the steel trap grip. “Damn” you cuss, trying to free your hand - if Tartaglia learns that you let the whopperflower of all things injure you, he won’t let you live it down and will weaponise it, to point out your so-called incompetence over and over again.

“Let me go” you tug harder, a vision coming back to life from the distress. You pull away your wrist from him again and again and then you hear it first and feel it second - a small cracking sound and a sharp pain, shooting up your arm - you broke a bone. It’s too sudden for you to realize what happened or even properly sense the shock of ache.

He lets go of you in the same second, eyes looking blankly at the injured hand. His lips thin and he exhales, in a long and strangely controlled manner - seeing Childe act and look so emotionless is sure bizarre. He hauls you up bridal carry style, ripping out a low hiss of pain as his clothes rub against the burn, and directs himself to the stairs. You're too busy gritting your teeth and trying not to cry in front of Childe to notice him climbing past the third floor and only when he opens the door to his room with a kick do you finally snap back to reality.

Despite working for him for months now, you enter his quarters for the first time. It's a spacious place, with a wide bed and writing desk located near the window. There are different weapons decorating the walls - swords, claymores, spears - all with the traces of use, and a small pile of trinkets and children's toys on the desk, placed right near the started letter, some of them already half wrapped - must be a gift for someone, then.

He sets you down on the bed and turns to the wall, taking a dagger from its place and some small container. A part of you gets scared all of the sudden - you remember your morning thoughts and all those instances when his eyes focused on your body for far too long to be innocent or comfortable. Is this it? Did he get so fed up with you that he decided to drop any pretense and abandon the cat-and-mouse game you two seemed to have?

Ignoring the pain in both limbs you jolt for the exit - there’s no meaning in fighting him, yet you can still flee, lock in your room and then plan what to do. “Stop it” he says, a warning clear in his voice, and to your frustration it’s enough to glue you in place. You look at him, heart booming in your chest, barely suppressing a flinch at every step he’s taking. He leads you back to the bed, as you feel the world warping around you again and the worst part is that you can’t stop it - It’s unfair, I can’t leave, not yet, I will hate myself for the rest of my life if it happens.

He kneels down, blade slicing through the pants as you forget how to breath. His figure deforms, a dark blue sea leaking out of the dead fish eyes and you see great leviathans lurking underneath the surface. Childe is the ocean, in a sense that he contains horrors beyond the human imagination. He is the great sleeping kraken that will swallow the world and you are his first victim.

His hand takes something out of the container and you expect it to burn and to hurt you, but instead there’s a muffled soothing feeling that comes, an unintentional “ah” coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t force himself and patches you up on the contrary.

You come back to yourself little by little, when he almost finishes with ministrations, leg and wrist looking like two casts. It feels bizarre to come back to your body halfway, to see Ajax kneeling in front of you, head hung low and it’s even weirder to hear his voice, hurt and utterly defeated: “So that’s what you think of me”.

He helps you come back to your room, as you still feel dazed. You pinch yourself a couple of times, still unable to believe that any of these happenings are real, they are.

A turning point, you conclude, there’s no way anything will stay the same after this.

You both dread and anticipate the changes.

[marvelwritings]

A piece of me has disappeared

Summary: By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. 

or: Peter get's abducted and Tony goes to rescue his son 

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet and …. The repeats stops working once Peter’s stomach gnaws again, the hunger he’s so gravely experiencing has switched to a whole new level. No longer the petty grumbles of an empty stomach, instead it’s replaced by the need to eat anything, despite Peter’s rationality telling him he can’t. He’s been locked up for at least seven days, but he’s still to sceptic to eat anything his captors offer him. He’s very close to breaking.

He tries to hold on by imagining that he’s at home, but he’s so tired, yet so fitful he won’t close his eyes for more then 10 seconds, and the constant torture is so jarring it hurts worse to imagine home, then be woken up in reality, than to just to be present. Peter wonders if Tony is every going to find him.

The first day, he had no question about it. Tony is scarily determined and protective to anyone who dares come after the people he considers family, Peter got a first row demonstration when some journalist tried to bad mouth Spiderman and he got clocked in the jaw, so Peter knows it’s just a matter of time.

By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. So much so that they keep him sedated at all times, just enough sedative to keep him conscious, but not too little that he can tap in his superstrength. Peter will never be able to escape on his own.

Maybe if the avengers got called in they were close, but Peter’s not sure Tony would call in people he hasn’t spoken to in a few months, purely to find him. He can hold out hope though.

The third day is also the day his captures, he hasn’t seen any faces so far and the sedative contorts their voices too much to match them to somebody he knows, start with the emotional manipulation. So far, they had stuck to electrocution by tazers and punches applied to any sensitive area of his body, but Peter must not have been broken fast enough for them.

‘You know, you remind me of the stereotypical bad guys in movies, like in kids movies? Do you like kid movies? My favorite is Frozen’, Peter had once babbled in between punches through bitten teeth, trying to keep up his high spirits.

They didn’t like that one bit.

They claim all sort of ridiculous things, like that the Starks paid money for them to have kidnapped him, that Tony never started searching for him, that he might as well give up because no one was coming to fetch him. Peter laughs in their face, witty even in the face of extreme danger. It was still funny to him then. Now, on the evening of the seventh day, he stares unblinking at a wall, only moving when the physical pain becomes too much and he needs an outlet to scream.

‘Please’, he pleads sobbing. If he wasn’t so starved as he was, so mentally vulnerable, he would have been embarrassed. As it stands, Peter’s just so incapable of resisting, he simply gives in.

‘Please stop,’ Peter whimpers. If he had anything to give he’d bargain, but money is tight for May and him, and he has no knowledge of anything avengers related that could be of interest to these people. Mister Stark told him it was for his own safety, so it wouldn’t be used as leverage against him, but in Peter’s warped mind it further adds proof Tony never trusted him.

‘Ahn’, a captor coos, ‘he’s begging already, how cute.’ The voice is distinctly that of a woman’s, but it hold nothing of the warm timbre both aunt May and Pepper possess. He misses them.

The woman slides a hand up in Peter’s hair, and for one confusing moment Peter thinks she’s going to start stroking it, like Tony does, but then she balls her hands into fists and pulls his head aside. The next tazer gets placed in his neck.

‘This wouldn’t be happening if your so beloved mentor would just give up the plans for the new shield initiative, but alas, as long as he doesn’t you’ll be stuck here. The tazzer buzzes to life and Peter seizes up. It’s the so many’th time today, that Peter gives up on holding back, his scream ricochets in the room.

‘Then again, maybe we went after the wrong kid. Maybe we should have taken Tony Starks real kid? The one he actually cares about?’

Tears stumbles down his cheeks and he wishes he could fall back into unconsciousness, but of course life is not that kind. No, he begs inside his head, to warm out to speak. Not Morgan, never Morgan. He’d die before he’d let anything happen to her.

‘What do you think soldier,’ she addresses the second captor in the room, ‘perhaps a phone call would speed Stark along? A sign of life and how close to it being snuffed out the child is? What do you want Peter?’ She asks sickly sweet, as if it’s a regular question and not a taunt.

Still, Peter can’t help but reach out. He longs for one phone call so wholeheartedly. Maybe, maybe he can convince Mister Stark to get him out of this mess. He could promise to do every task Mister Stark ask of him, he could even offer to work for Stark industries until he could pay back the money he’d pay Peter’s kidnappers, anything to get out of here. Peter will do anything.

‘I think he’s agreeing.’ The woman grins, pulling out a burner phone out of her back pocket. She types for several excruciating moments, in which Peter begs to every god listening that Mister Stark will pick up. That he’ll hear Peter out.

‘Hello,’ the woman greets the phone, her smirk so evil Peter’s spider senses warm him to run, fighting through the drugs. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you Stark.’

She lowers the phone to a few inches from Peter’s ear, because Peter is too tied up to hold it on his own. ‘Speak loudly kid.’

The use of the nickname causes shudders to run down Peter’s back. Why can’t he go home?

‘Mister Stark, please help me, I don’t know where I am, but- I want to go home, please mister Stark I-. I’ll do anything you want, just please.’ Peter’s whines gain pitch, until he is nothing but a sobbing mess, barely worth the name Peter Parker, let alone Spiderman.

The phone clicks shut.

‘Whoops, looks like he hung up’, The woman snickers, patting Peter’s cheek with fake compassion. Peter bellows, heaving so severely the nonexistent food he ate threatens to come back up.

He’d never find out the phone was never connected in the first place.

---

By the grace of Peter doesn’t know what, he drops unconscious after the failed phone call to Mister Stark. The sleep is fitful at best, but at least it helps restock his powers. When Peter comes too, there are loud sounds just outside of the room he’s captivated in. He thinks there’s screaming and pleading, but he’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to care. His hands drop uselessly by his side, his head turned away from the door as he squeezes his eyes shuts.

Why can’t this be over yet?

The door busts of his hinges, the door falls inwards. Immediately, the yellow and red armor, belonging to the iron man suit, rushes in, with the faceplate down. Now that the door is open, or gone more like, It’s clear that all the sounds Peter had been hearing where the scream of his captures. There are many of them, but they’re being taken down one by one.

Peeking aside the Iron man armor, Peter sees a flash of red and blue, and captain America’s shield knocking someone out cold.

‘Kid, kid’, Mister Stark draws his attention in a panic. The faceplate is still down, which means that Mister Stark is either not here, like he wasn’t when the vulture first dropped him into a lake, or he’s assessed the situation and deemed it too dangerous to lower his defenses.

‘You’re okay underoos, we’re getting you out of here.’ With very little effort, Mister Stark snaps restraints on Peter’s wrist and ancles, all the while murmuring under his breath. He’s trying to reassure Peter, but it’s not having any type of effect.

Instead, the comfort causes Peter to burst into tears once more, his body begging for food and pain medication that will make everything stop hurting. He doesn’t care that Mister Stark is doing this out of rightfulness, or maybe out of debt out of some kind that he’s trying to even out, Peter just wants to go home.

Once the restraints are all loose, and Peter is free of them, Mister Stark waits for a tense second, maybe expecting Peter to hob off the table and join the fight or something. That doesn’t happen. Peter lays motionless on the table, looking intensely at the glowing eyes of the iron man suit, maybe trying to convey a message that Mister Stark can’t decipher.

‘Come on Pete, we have to get out of here before they bring backup. I can only hold them off for so long.’

‘Back up?’ Peter ask nonsensical, his spider senses blaring danger at him.

‘Yeah, they’re big fans of the avengers, they’ll all be swarming in here for autographs soon, but we’re kinda busy so we really have to go now.’ Mister Stark turns frantic, his hands carefully, oh so cautiously, gripping at his shoulders.

Peter allows his muscles to turn limp, pliant under strange hands. They belong to his mentor, to one of the only touches he has ever felt that don’t originate from people who are trying to hurt him, but he’s so very terrified, it doesn’t register. Peter holds still, submissive to whatever is about to happen because the pain always seems to end faster when he doesn’t struggle.

‘Peter’, Mister Stark anguished voice insists, his faceplates lifts up, and the dull eyes of who Peter has come to think of as a father gaze upon him with despair. Mister Starks hair is greasy, his mouth is pulled down in a grimace, and his eyes are, for a lack of better word grief stricken. He’s so much older then he was before Peter was taken. ‘Please buddy, we have to go.’

Mister Stark’s calloused finger strokes Peter cheek with the utmost care, barely even pressing firm enough for Peter to feel it. He does though, and traps the touch between his check and his shoulder.  The dam breaks, and the barrier of terror that clouded Peter’s judgment lifts with it. He gasps, coming up for a breath of fresh air, and the moment between mentor and son brings at least a sliver of clarity, before he sinks back under the enormity of his panic.  

‘I can’t walk’, Peter rasps, his throat torn from all the screams. He refuses to let that stop him, he’s so close to safety, he needs to push on further just a tad longer. ‘Please Mister Stark, I can’t walk.’

‘It’s okay Pete’, Tony soothes, pressing an unyielding kiss to his forehead, and if at all possible, Peter see the rage harden his face even more. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry.’

Before Peter can begin to process that statement, Mister Stark puts the weight on his knees, the iron man suit helping to lift Peter as if it’s no trouble at all.  Tony is no liar, Peter finds, as his body begs to be placed back on the uncomfortable bed. Even places that had been relatively unharmed ache, and Peter feels like a broken doll.

‘It’s okay Kiddo we’re almost there, just a minute longer.’ Peter clings to Mister Stark, using every ounce of strength to hang on, despite the fact that Tony has a tight grip on him as well. Iron man isn’t fighting alone, as the avengers are here to back him, them, up. In any other situation, Peter would be gushing. Not only is he seeing his heroes in action, but they’re in action for him, to help him, but now, Peter only turns his head to burrow it into Mister Starks chest plate.

‘Please, please’, Peter whispers the entire way to the jet, not even realizing he’s begging for something.

‘I got you Pete’, Tony assures, one hand briefly leaving Peter’s back to shoot at a capture that’s standing in the way of the jet. Other than that, he doesn’t interfere with the fight one time, but he must itch too. Peter hears him bark orders at captain America, telling him to take some of them alive.

‘Please don’t leave me here, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.’

The Jet is nice and warm, something Peter relishes in, but when Tony tries to lower Peter on a medbed, that’s objectively much more comfortable then the bed he was on before, Peter screams. No words are spoken, but the scream startles Mister Stark just the same.

‘Stark, the base is cleared, get him strapped in, Banner is coming’, Natasha ushers, ignoring Peter’s cries and running to the cockpit. Stark has him, she argues, and it does the kid no good to have more prying eyes on him.

‘What is it, are you in pain?’ Tony asks franticly, without responding to Nat, hands hovering over Peter’s body to check for injuries, the light dims when he spots just how badly he was treated in captivity.

Peter screams again when Mister Stark pulls away too far for his liking, latching onto the suit so rigorous it creaks in protests.

‘Please, I’ll be good, don’t leave me, please. I- I know… I’m sorry, Morgan- I’, Peter can’t talk with how much he’s weeping, there are so many things to say and all of them are fighting one another to be said first. Eventually, after everyone has already touched base, the jet leaves and Doctor Banner urgers Tony to place him on the bed, Peter settles for; ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘Peter’, Tony spits, so harsh that Peter snaps to attention, letting go of the armor and limply following where mister Stark wants him. He gently grips Peter’s chin, mindful of the bruises, and with glistening eyes, he conveys; ‘I’m never leaving you here, do you understand. I don’t care what else you have in your head, but right now, all I need you to know is that I’m not leaving you. Ever.’

He waits for the conforming nod, which Peter only gives when Mister Stark clasps his hand into his. ‘Beside, May would kill me if I came back without her nephew, and I don’t want to be the one to receive her wrath.’ Tony laughs faintly.

He wants to cry at that, good or bad he’s not sure, but instead he allows himself to be lowered, giving in only because Tony is crouching down with him, shielding Peter’s body with his own. It’s unsensical, there in the jet and there’s no danger, but if Peter feels protected Tony will do it, no questions asked.

As soon as he’s in a horizontal positions, Doctor Banner injects him with pain medication, and within seconds, Peter has floated away, dreaming of the lake house with Morgan, Pepper and tony and May at the end of the hallway.

---

Peter knows he’s in the medbay before his body has even fully awoken. He’s been here before, perhaps one to many times for it too be so familiar, and he can recognize the atmosphere from anywhere. The smell of disinfectant lingers around the room heavily, but so does the smell of motor oil, coming from Mister Stark’s lab the floor below the medbay. Usually he’s not alone when he wakes up either, accompanied by Mister Stark or May, maybe even both, and so despite the room having a different connotation, it holds security for Peter.

When all his senses click into place, with an almost audible snap after being out of commission for a week, the burning anguish joins it. It’s almost worse than during the torture itself, because it’s hitting him all at once now, and after stewing for a day his body is one big bruise, but it’s also better, because no more hurt can be added.

Blinking his eyes open, Peter glances around the room and notices that he’s by himself. He hasn’t made up his mind yet whether that’s a good or bad thing. Despite being alone, Peter very nearly cries out for the pain medication he’s sure Tony has at hand. His metabolism runs through painkillers faster than a normal body, but Mister Stark has experience in that department thanks to captain America, which is why Peter never wakes up in the medbay feeling sore.

He’s hoping to snatch some of the good stuff before he can sink away in sleep again, until a dark thought pops up in his head. What if Mister Stark purposefully didn’t give him enough medication so he wouldn’t stay asleep? What if Peter is expected to pay of his debt starting this very moment? It would make sense. Mister Stark is a man that likes to get a move on things, and this is probably no exception.

He bites back a loud whine. He’s so tired and sore, and if he could be anywhere in the world right now he’d choose the lakehouse and rest on the back porch, while looking over Morgan and ensuring she’s safe.

Still, it’s heaps better then what was waiting for him before, so Peter sucks in a deep breath and lifts himself up. He’s dresses in a hospital gown with socks on his feet, the only reprieve of the cold of the tiles that he has. His body fights in protest against the jolting movements, and Peter sinks back into bed three times before finally managing to stay upright. He swallows back bile, and blinks away the disorientation woozing its way through his head.

‘Friday’? He whispers, voice cracking on every syllable.

‘Yes, mister Parker, the AI replies easily, as chipper as a computer can possibly be. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she adds, when Peter takes too long to reply. It’s not out of rudeness, but the words take a while to be processed in Peter’s hazy mind.

‘Can you tell me what Mister Stark wants me to do?’ Peter finally asks after coughing to clear his throat. Pride flows through his bloodstream when he manages to sound fine.

‘Mister Stark has not given me any directions, but by the distress and elevated heartbeat he experienced whilst at your bedside last, I hypothesize that he would like you to rest Peter.’  

Confusion laces Peter’s next move. Rest? But if that was the case why wasn’t the man here, ensuring that he does like all the other times he’s been in this position?  Deciding not to ask the AI anymore questions, while simultaneously ignoring her advice, Peter focuses on setting one foot in front of the other. If he can’t get a direct answer out of Friday, he’ll just get started on cleaning up in the lab.

The last few times Tony and Peter worked in there, Mister Stark had jokingly grumbled that the lace was getting to disorganized even for his taste, which definitely means something. Peter limps his way to the door, already breathing more heavily and deciding to take a rest against the still closed door. His foot throbs, so Peter switches to put the most weight on the side of his foot, instead of on the balm.

The small trek has left him bone tried, and the lab still seems so far away. Peter tries to calculate how far the lab still is, and agrees with himself to divide the length into smaller stretches. His next stop is at the elevator, so Peter shuffled along the floor, ignoring the black spots that dance before his eyes and threaten to have him collapse.

The extortion reminds him of the time that Toomes dropped a building on him, which is just plain ridiculous, this shouldn’t be half as tough. Peter scolds himself to man up when about halfway to the elevator he bumps into a cart and whimpers.

After finally finding support on the elevator beams, Peter allows himself a twenty second break to cry. At this point, the exact reason for crying is unbeknownst to him. All that he does know is that he feels like a mess, like someone took all the spiderman away from him and left him as a pile of uselessness. He shouldn’t have the right to complain however. Mister Stark rescued him from a fate much worse, the least he could do is help him out.

‘Friday’, Peter pauses to gulp in more air, and to force his tears back. ‘Open the elevator.’

‘Mister Parker I would advise-‘

‘Please’, he begs, voice barely louder then a whisper. The AI complies without further disagreement. The elevator begins to move the floor bellow it, soundlessly passing Peter along. The theme song, a little joke that Tony had installed after they made a song about spiderman, which plays during every elevator ride when Peter is present, stays off. The doors open, and Peter stumbles out, cheering up a dash when the mess doesn’t look as bad as he had imagined it. The clean up should be doable within two hours, even in Peter’s injured state. Most of the mess comes from scattered papers and documents that Tony tosses aside and never bothered to do anything with, and of mechanical parts that are ready to be thrown out.

All in all, not a lot of weight that Peter has to pick up. He has barely started on five pages when the elevator behind him opens again. Peter hadn’t noticed it going to a different floor in the first place.

Lister Stark burst out of the room like the devil himself is after him. He pauses for one second to observe what Peter’s doing -he’s in the middle of bending down at a very lateral pace- and then he’s off again, cursing under his breath.

‘Jesus Christ Peter what are you doing?’

He pulls out a rolling chair from behind his work bench and rushes it to Peter side. ‘Come on, sit.’ He says already clenching a hand around Peter’s bicep to guide him down. In his confusion, Peter follows his instruction.

‘Mister Stark?’ He questions, eyes tracking his mentors movement as if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and punishment will follow.

There is none, all that Tony does, is fall down on his knees in front of Peter, so they’re making direct eye contact. Peter gulps at the sight. He’s sure those jeans cost more than half of what May ears a month, and if Peter is expected to repay those too, he’ll never be able to pay of his debt.

‘Kiddo, what are you doing?’ Mister Stark asks incredulous, his hand never leaving Peter’s arm. His eyes sweep over Peter’s form, noticing the ailments that he aggravated by walking all the way down here. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get started already.’ Peter admits shyly. He can’t understand why he’s being treated with such kindness all of a sudden.

‘Started on what Pete? I don’t understand.’ Mister Stark shuffles closer, one hand coming up to cup Peter’s chin, sweeping gentle circles that are meant to calm himself down as much as Peter.

‘Paying of my debt.’ Peter replies confused, wrapping his arms around his stomach area and bending downwards in an order to self sooth. He needs to get up soon, are Peter’ not sure he will be able to. Now that he’s granting his body some rest, the pain he forced to the back of his mind is rushing back in.

‘What debt kid, you need rest and you need it right now. Stay here, I’m going to go get you a gurney so you don’t require any more walking.’

Right as Mister Stark gets of his knees, Peter’s hand shoots out, gripping the older man’s wrist.  The action was pure habitual, but now that he’s initiated contact he doesn’t know what to do.

‘When will I have to start working then? I’d rather get started as soon as possible, to thank you for everything Mister Stark.’ Peter’s voice pitches even lower, letting his head hang down in shame. He really doesn’t want to offer his suit back, Spiderman is what gives him purpose, but the sooner he no longer has a debt, the sooner he can start working to provide May with an extra income as well. He has no choice.

‘I can give you the suit back if you’ll accept it.’

Tony regards him with perturbation for several long lasting moment. Then, he gasps, finally clicking in his head what Peter is going on about.

‘Oh kiddo, that’s the concussion speaking. Listen to me,’ he sinks back down in front Peter, taking his hand in his. ‘You have done so much for me. If anything it’s me that should be in debt to you.’ Peter pens his mouth to argue, but Tony hushes him softly.

‘You’re not thinking straight buddy, that why spider baby’s need their rest. But truly Peter, you don’t owe me anything. Well except maybe you owe it to  be safe, I think I’ve earned that much.’

‘Really?’ Peter asks optimistically, his whole body filling up with a feeling he can’t name, but it chokes him up until he’s bursting with the urge to give a hug to his mentor.

‘Yeah Peter of course. All I want is my kids to be safe.’

Kids. Tony sees Peter as his kid, as equal to Morgan. A person to love unconditionally without needing any favors, without having any debt. Of course Mister Stark won’t ask that of him, despite his front, the man has a heart that’s made of gold. Mister Stark, his mentor, and his father figure.

‘Dad,’ Peter sobs, almost falling out of the chair in his rush to get to Tony. The man immediately returns the hug, holding Peter up in a way that he hopes will be the least painful for him.

‘You’re okay Peter you’re okay.’

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking’, Peter confesses, deeply ashamed of how low he thought of his dad.

‘It’s okay Kiddo, like I said it’s the concussion. Of course you were scared, I can’t blame you. I promise that I tried so hard to find you bud. I’m sorry it took me so long.’

Peter says nothing, he’s had enough encounters with Tony now to sense that the man wouldn’t believe him if Peter told him it’s okay. Instead he just nuzzles closer, accepting all the love and affection radiating from Tony, and giving back what he hopes is just as much.

‘Can we go back to the lakehouse?’ Peter asks softly, burring his head in Tony’s neck. It might be a weird question coming from him. He liked the beach house enough, but he has never actively asked to go there when they could stay at the tower as well. But now, Peter won’t feel safe unless his down there, in the cabin hidden behind threes, where the environment is quiet that he can hear everyone’s heartbeat, and can confirm that everyone is safe.

‘Sure kid.’ Tony responds, a tad bewildered, but happy to provide anyway. ‘We’ll leave as soon as you get check out okay. I want to make sure you didn’t rip anything.’

‘Okay’, Peter mumbles, a bone deep tiredness washing over him, and letting him sink down into Tony. ‘Thanks dad.’

If Peter were more awake, he would have noticed the silent tears of happiness streaming down Mister Starks cheek at the name. As it stands, Peter just hums contently when a kiss is pressed at the top of his head, and Tony strikes a hand through his hair.

‘Anything for my son.’

[nabrizoya]

RoW Theories and Things I Want to See

with RoW literally a few weeks away, here’s some theories your way. 

this is Really long. like, really very long; mind you. 

Nikolai might become a disabled character.

It’s just the vibes. If we can take reference from the Too Clever Fox story, there’s a line that says “...and his [Koja’s] fur never quite sat right the same...”, which might hint at it (mostly bc i don’t want him to die). Also if this is indeed possible, it can be used to address ableism if it exists in this universe, especially since Nikolai is someone in the highest position of power. 

Zoya will experiment the shit out of powers. 

Idk why the synopsis says that using her powers might be a great deal, which tbf will be because she is truly the most most powerful atm; but Zoya wouldn’t mind taking the step outside of the old norms and bend the orders until they serve their purpose. That’s the entire goal rly.

But all along, she will consciously keep herself mindful to not hunger or discharge her power in a way that may cause harm. She knows the tyranny of the Darkling and the ways he employed. She knows better. 

More character depth to Zoya. 

Given the excerpts, the book does seem to explore Zoya’s infinite grief. And of course her Suli heritage, which a great part of the fandom consistently wants to shadow what with the talk “white features/ part Ravkan” bs. 

But there’s more. I hope RoW will show Zoya’s dilemma (that was alr hinted in KoS) she has with the power she holds, the responsibility she has with having that power + using it in the way that will not be detrimental to her and the country. It will be a great way to portray her self-awareness and doubt and insecurity. She is a good leader, that much is told in text but not shown. There’s character development from the end of R&R until KoS that makes her evolve from a what she was then to the capable and mature 22 year old she is in KoS. 

Of course all of their capabilities will come to light in RoW but I think Zoya and the agency to her as a character will play an integral part. More so because Zoya is to be the conduit to reversing the current Grisha orders, which runs in parallel with the fact that she needs to go back, go back to the roots of her Grisha knowledge and roots of her i.e. her unending grief and trauma. 

She will need to forgive herself while also dealing with the guilt and anger she may have caused due to her position and power. All of this while dealing with her own complex and contrasting emotions due to her own trauma.

Nikolai is held for treason. 

The word of allying with The Darkling may be out and that is enough reason for the entire country to turn against him. The secret about the monster causes issues more than enough already, and this will plunge the country into deep political turmoil and threats to security. So RoW will be more politically driven. That said...

There’s no overt war. 

By this I mean that there will not be war on the battlefield, both armies or more charging at each others’ enemies and such. Ravka cannot afford one either. The excerpts have already proved that. There will be skirmishes akin to a war scenario, but a complete battle like the last battle in R&R? Like a final battle? That’s not going to be there, I think… What I’m assuming might happen is that the Fjerda and Ravka will take a possible Cold War route, if it isn’t already the case they’re already dealing with atm. 

Ravka’s monarchy will collapse. 

It may become a democracy or any other form of public or majority vote. But the monarchy (as well a possible dictatorship, esp with the Darkling returned) will be eliminated. ...Or so I hope, since it has been alluded to in KoS. 

But that poses many problems. With no one line for the throne, let alone with a crime so dark like a blot on Nikolai’s skill (of taking the Darkling’s help), it is possible that Ravka will shun it, right alongside being torn about it because Nikolai has been, for the best of his ability, a good King. All of this in line with the Resistance rising in West Ravka. 

This ties in with the court matters, especially if I want to hold the further points I make true. The resolution to acquit Nikolai of his charges requires a testification forth a jury which will then make a decision about his motives and future. 

Zoya as the Interim Head. 

After all of this, Zoya’s point about Ravka not accepting a Grisha Queen will be true after all, because there will be no monarchy to welcome such an arrangement. 

But Ravka will need a good and trustworthy leader despite Grisha powers and Zoya is the best person to take care of that. The comment “...becoming a steady leader...” and the “Welcome home, Commander,” were there in KoS for a reason (and this is what I think it will link to). 

That being said, there’s more nuance to this than my summary. Zoya is a character of colour. That—in addition to the already existing threats, objections and possible question of capability in the position—ill play into how she will be able to discharge her responsibility. It’s not going to be convenient.

EDIT: taken from a reblog/addition to the og post:

A smoother/more structured transition

Once after the monarchy collapses and a leader must be chosen, it will not be Nikolai. Nor will it be Zoya, though she might serve as an interim head. What I assume might be possible is that someone older is chosen, someone older and loyal and with the proof of knowledge and service to the country. Possibly by majority vote or elected by a council.

Instead of the sudden change, this can be a smoother (if that can even be said about such a major political scenario change) or more structured. I also say this because a. if Nikolai is indeed charged (and later acquitted), firstly his political career will already hold a blot if the word about using the Darkling as a resource is out and secondly, he’s way too young to serve as the leader (by modern standards, sure, but like, the required age will be set while drafting the constitution? currently its 35+).

Instead, the current cast can become representatives (which Zoya would already be, (mostly the head of the) international committee that safeguards the Grisha all over the world) and the Triumvirate will be dissolved. (it should be, tbh)

And hey, b. after all of this, they can and kind of need to take a step back. Nikolai and Zoya will be able to truly explore their relationship, given how Nikolai mentions how he wouldn’t marry unless he’d have had the chance to court someone and marry someone he barely knows nor knows him. For Zoya’s part, she does know Nikolai but surely probably not the extent of openness that a healthy relationship has, and on Nikolai’s part, he admits he barely knows her beyond as a General except for just little things about her.

They could be able to realize and work on their feelings while alongside being involved with the workings of the country and the constitution.

“One day you will overstep and I will not be so forgiving.” 

Need I say more? Something that Zoya does will cost her Nikolai’s goodwill and we know Zoya knows her practicality and the extent to which she will unapologetically move if there is threat to the country and its King. She will do what was right and required. 

A major part of that line ties in with Magnus Opjer and I think with the confidence in the versatility of her powers, Zoya might as well move w/o any word to the Triumvirate to eliminate the most direct threat to the throne. This will bring splits in Nikolai and Zoya’s relationship. 

How this tension between them will be resolved without compromising either of their values, without playing into fandom stereotypes and others must be carefully handled. All of this while showing the best of their dynamicity, practicality and priority as they carefully pull out just those weak sticks of the jenga without putting the whole country into trouble. And with a war in plain sight, they’d know better than pointlessly argue and would rather see how the two of them are wrong. This ordeal will bring out just how condensed power is in the current scenario, imo. 

Importance on the way women have shaped history. 

Something that KoS has already set precedence for. Zoya being a PoC, Nina taking into account of the sufferings of women she comes across and the consistent ‘Who will remember them?’ will be elaborated on further. As for how it is done and how well it is done, that remains to be seen. 

Baghra is alive but maybe not thriving bc she’s stuck in the Ice Court. 

They entered a chamber where an old woman sat with her hands chained, flanked by guards. Her eyes were vacant. As each prisoner approached, the woman gripped his or her wrist.

A human amplifier. [...] But the Fjerdans used them for a different purpose – to make sure no Grisha breached their walls without being identified.

Kaz watched Nina approach. He could see her trembling as she held out her arm. The woman clamped her fingers around Nina’s wrist. Her eyelids stuttered briefly. Then she dropped Nina’s hand and waved her along.

Had she known and not cared? Or had the paraffin they’d used to encase Nina’s forearms worked?

- Chapter 22. Kaz; Part 4: Trick to Falling, Six of Crows.

Nina will be the one to free her and together they might wage a war from Djerholm together.

This gets even more interesting because we know the anguish and scorn that Baghra feels for her son at the same time; she understands the wrongness that he used to seek and will continue to. Zoya does take Baghra’s name at the Fold when she mourns and rages over how people forget the destruction and most importantly, forget the women. Baghra could be the symbol of the stag as the art piece depicts, or will be shown with relation to the Darkling’s powers.

As for how she will play into the story, perhaps she will be the one to help reverse and find the roots of the orders, in the sense that changes the perception of the Grisha powers for the Grisha as well as the common folk of Ravka. She is the only other person other than Juris and the Darkling to have the age of eras together, knowing Ilya Morozova, and she will be instrumental in giving Ravka an advantage over Fjerda. Either that or she will help in scrubbing the prejudices of Fjerda slowly away with whatever powers she has left. Or both. 

Alina will reappear, but will not contribute to the plot significantly.

Zoya understands that the truth she knows about the Darkling is very minimal not enough to end him for once and for all. It makes sense that she will probably consult Alina for it. So, Malina appearance, possibly at the orphanage. Alina will not directly contribute to this war, but she will play a critical role in defeating the Darkling.

Besides, Alina —and Baghra— are the only ones who know that there has only ever been two Darklings. Zoya did sense, multiple times during KoS, that the Darkling is damn old. Yuri mentions it. And while it is not outright specified, the fact that Zoya thinks that she realizes just how ancient Lizabetha is in context of meeting the Darkling is enough proof for her to seek more information about the age and the older skill of the Darkling. 

And I think it goes without saying that I want to hope that the Darkling and Alina will not meet. Pls, she’s had enough. 

Lada is the lost, other friend that Zoya refuses to bury. 

“She saw her mentor die and her worst enemy resurrected, and she refuses to bury another friend.”

Liliyana is dead, we know. But there’s no other mention of Lada except for the “wondering what happened to the pug faced girl.” Lada is possibly a part of the group of women and a Grisha returning to Ravka from Fjerda, exploited by the parem. She might die being unable to withhold the sheer torment of the parem induction, which will devastate Zoya because Lada was also the closest she’s had to a family with Liliyana. 

Either that or Lada is already dead or dies some other way, and Zoya cannot bring herself bear the grief of losing her. 

Cameos: Inej and Jesper. 

The most likely of the crows to appear in RoW are Inej and Jesper and they’ll play equally important roles in the plotline. Here’s a breakdown of why:

Inej

Inej has taken the responsibility of becoming a slave hunter, and it makes sense for Inej to make an appearance in the book, given that there’s going to be a ship taking the Grisha from Fjerda to Ravka. 

The women aboard are vulnerable and require immediate attention, which Inej will immediately zero in on. She will have enough reason to suspect both Leoni and Adrik on the ship, especially when the jurda parem is still a secret. Leoni and Adrik cannot give that information away because they don’t trust Inej (and have no reason to either). Inej won’t trust them either, not until she understands that the reason why the women are being taken to Ravka and for what reasons. 

Which gives her excellent reason to step in, try to analyze the situation and help the women accordingly.

Here’s an exciting thought though. Once after the entire misunderstanding is overcome and Inej understands (esp. if Nina is brought into the conversation and security and secrecy of the conversation is ensured), there may be discussion about how the Grisha might find a safer space in Ravka.

Inej’s appearance might also extend to playing a pivotal role in giving Zoya the confidence to seek her heritage and where she hails from, to embrace the part of her past and forgive herself and others for her mistakes. 

ALSO, 

Grisha finding a safer space in Ravka will mean that Inej can pitch Jesper’s case for him to Zoya. Being the highest authority who takes cares of the responsibilities of the Grisha, Zoya will be the best person to talk about this with. 

And so, here comes Jesper. 

Jesper

For one, I wish Jesper and Leoni interact, talk and just bond like the iconic siblings they would be. <3 But more than that, Jesper plays very integral to the plot for more reasons.

Jesper’s arc will parallel Zoya’s. Both of them are new to their powers in their own individual sense; Zoya is trying to use her new powers in a way that hasn’t been done before, thereby breaking the Grisha orders of powers and Jesper (assuming he has decided that he might want to learn and embrace his Grisha powers) is learning them afresh. 

This journey of them trying to embrace, learn and relearn and reject older norms and experiment really work in tandem.

That will lead us to a further (plot) theories. 

Ties with Novyi Zem 

As of the KoS end, Ravka has no support from anyone atm. Sure the Kerch will provide funds but Ravka has no real allies. Here’s where Novyi Zem and Jesper come in. 

We know Novyi Zem is a new country and also that it is the second safest country for the Grisha in the universe. As of KoS, their agreements are not renewed and they would be since between Kerch and Novyi Zem, Ravka was forced to pick Kerch. Yet Ravka needs their help in acquiring jurda for the antidote. 

So here’s the deal: Ravka will get their jurda but at many conditions that the Novyi Zem will impose on Ravka to not let exploitation get in the way. 

The conditions imposed could be (these are just some at the top of my head but I hope there are more to ensure the safety and security of the Zemeni, in Novyi Zem and in Ravka too) : 

Naval support from Ravka

We know of the Zemeni ships and ofc Nikolai has been hard at work trying to develop plans to use the sea to its fullest advantage. While the news of the izmars’ya isn’t public, Zemeni can place a condition for technical aid from Ravka since Ravka does have the technical knowledge it can dispatch as a condition.

A Grisha School in Novyi Zem

Think about it. Ravka, despite being the safest place for the Grisha, still isn’t entirely safe. Not all Grisha become soldiers in Ravka, they have a choice to abstain but those who are training are still recruited a honed for purpose alike preparing for war, especially the teens and preteens from the time of the Civil War. The training does take a lot of time. Ravka intends to make a home first and then service, but at the moment, while the Grisha are provided safety, it’s not assured in the best sense. Both the facts about a home and service are in precarious positions atm.

TL;DR: Ravka isn’t entirely safe for Grisha therefore the Grisha themselves too are not + Ravka is war torn. 

So what happens? 

One of the conditions as the next best country that serves as home to the Grisha, Novyi Zem may put forth the prospect of building a Little Palace like institution for the Grisha in Novyi Zem. It sounds morally wrong in the sense that the Grisha there will also be trained for war, but the war will end and soon, the Grisha will not be subject to serve for something but engage in economic activities as anybody else with the progression of time.

All of this won’t happen immediately either; learning their powers, honing it in the way that is unocnventional from what it had been pre-RoW and that transition + the building of the establishment in Novyi Zem and laying foundation for the  transnational panel or committee for Grisha that Zoya talks about will all take so much time. 

A few Grisha representatives from Novyi Zem can learn at the Little Palace and by the time the construction of the institution is done in Novyi Zem, these Grisha, along with other willing Grisha who either want to return to the country they were born in (like Leoni) or are offered to teach in a different country can do so too. 

There will be stricter terms so as to not ensure exploitation and possible colonization in these nations. 

Zoya mentions in one of her chapters that eventually there will be a need for the a  transnational panel or committee for Grisha. Jesper can Zoya can make it possible, adding in other countries to the panel slowly as the war recedes. 

Kaz and Wylan? 

Least likely to make an appearance, in my opinion. I think they’ll be mentioned plenty of times or brought up once and given great importance for how they can help in the side plot. 

Shu Support: 

This is more a hope than an actually theory dfbkdhjadfh but Makhi might have to step down from the throne because Ehri will take the place; either as a Queen (no...) or she might oversee the process of strengthening Shu Han and finding a leader (if she doesn’t want to become one herself). 

Ehri is capable, more than capable despite the little we know of her from the last chapter in KoS. All I hope is for an understanding and friendship between Nikolai and Ehri (and the subsequent cancelling of the marriage duH) for this to happen. She has little interest in statecraft but with the time she might spend with Nikolai, she might change her views. Even if not then she still gets the happy ending she deserves with Mayu (which is canon at this point rly).

Emotional Development or Breakdowns

Okay but I really, really, really hope we get to see all the three protagonists lose their shit and deal with their trauma, seek help or trying to stop isolating themselves or anything else they do to cope? Nina, Zoya and Nikolai, all of them cry, all of them get to completely lose it, let themselves be human and healthily cope and learn to rely on the people they trust the most. Like the sheer power and potential to show the myriad of ways to deal with grief, sadness, stress and more and make use of the trio’s backgrounds to show healthy and diverse ways of helping themselves, by letting themselves and others help them is just *combusts* Incredible! 

That being said, can I also ask for moments of fear and desolation from the side characters too? Impending war isn’t small business, it will take its toll on people, and all these reactions just cement their fears and what they value the most so. pls. Humanizing them rly. 

The Saving Each Other 

As much as I mostly kinda hate this trope, there are traces in the KoS that Zoya might be the one to end Nikolai’s affliction. On the other hand, there is talk of Nikolai helping Zoya control her powers which seems counterintuitive when you consider that Zoya knows that there is a line that she must never cross and that she is very, very careful about it and will continue to be. 

They can instead be the ones who motivate each other in times of distress as they always do (as shown with how Nikolai tries to gain control over his monster during the burning thorn ritual in KoS, allowing himself the vulnerability but also knowing that giving up will be unforgivable to both himself and Zoya as well) but I seriously do not wish for each other to be the ones directly ending one another's misery. Or perhaps this is just a fear imo that Leigh wouldn’t even take the route of (in which case, thank fuck).

Stab Stab Stab 

Zoya gets the chance to kill the Darkling with the rest of her friends. After all, Darkling does call them all his old friends. Just Julius Caeser him all the way and put a bow tie on the book. *chef’s kiss* Everybody deserves a second chance... at ending a tyrant when it fails the first time. 

+

So far, this is it. Rule of Wolves is in less than a few weeks and im- asdfghjkl. not Ready. i’m more Worried than Ready.

[silverstarlightwrites]

An alternate AU to this one that occurred to me just now

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Naruto dies.

Something in Sasuke breaks, and he goes berserk. Haku and their ice mirrors scream as they flashboil in the black flames Sasuke summons forth, and it takes only a howl and a wild gesture to send Amaterasu blazing across the bridge to consume Zabuza and Tazuna as well. The stone melts underneath them, while Kakashi snatches up Sakura and flees, and it’s not until Sasuke feels the weight of wet clothes - crushing Naruto’s body to his chest, bloody and so absurdly hot - that he realises the bridge has disintegrated, and the water is burning.

It’s instinct and desperation that let Sasuke to douse the fires he’s conjured, and even then it aches and tastes like blood and acid, and he’s sinking when Kakashi whips across the surface to catch him, the moment the flames are gone.

Sasuke cries into Naruto’s chest, and refuses to let go. Sakura is cold and silent, and she neither speaks nor eats for the grim, slow trek back to Konoha. And it is slow, even further drawn out by the constant fluctuation of chakra from Naruto’s corpse, carried awkwardly and painfully by Sasuke alone.

It’s not Naruto’s chakra, of course. Kakashi dreads the inevitable questions, resolves not to lie when they come, and somehow their absence is even worse.

The moment they walk through the southern Konoha gate, there are Anbu all over them. They pry Naruto’s body from Sasuke’s arms, despite his shouting and kunai, despite the way Sasuke’s eyes ignite into blood red to fight-- But he doesn’t summon Amaterasu again, doesn’t expend the chakra he doesn’t have to try and kill their own. Sakura touches his shoulder, just two fingers, and her face is pale and hollow when she shakes her head, but it’s still more interaction than she’s allowed for the whole trip, and Sasuke obeys her. Blinks his eyes black, slumps in place, and then sags against Sakura.

She catches him, and he’s shaking, and she stares over his shoulder, unblinking, at the Anbu wrapping Naruto’s corpse in chakra-absorbing paper scrawled endlessly with Seals.

Kakashi isn’t sure what she sees, and he isn’t sure he wants to know.

One Anbu stays behind, and they instruct the gutted remains of Team Seven that the Hokage wants to see them. Kakashi can’t bring himself to intervene when Sasuke snarls and lunges, or when Sakura lets him. Doesn’t step in when Sasuke tells them to Fuck Off or when he punches them weakly in the chest - and the Anbu clearly thinks he’s simply not going to get involved, because when they try to catch Sasuke’s wrist they aren’t expecting Kakashi to move. Too fast to be safe, too fast for the chakra use not to burn.

Sasuke leans back into Kakashi as the Anbu trips, and Kakashi feels himself close his hands on Sasuke’s shoulders. “Don’t touch my kids,” he hears himself hiss, and if he doesn’t quite know when he accepted them as his then he doesn’t quite care either.

One of them is dead, and they won’t be permitted to mourn him properly because of the beast caged inside him without his knowledge.

The thought makes Kakashi sick. It all does, all of it. Konoha’s abuse of an innocent child, Kakashi’s complicitness in allowing it to happen. Hiruzen’s cruelty in allowing it also.

In allowing all of it.

Sasuke has lost enough.

The Anbu doesn’t need telling twice, and they leave Kakashi to cajole his kids into seeing Hiruzen. It takes more effort than he’d care to admit. Just physically, the three of them are a wreck - and it’s worse emotionally. Mentally.

“You let them take him.”

It’s the first thing Sakura has said since Naruto died - in a burst of blood and scarlet chakra - and Kakashi suddenly thinks he’s never felt anything so cold as her voice. When he meets her gaze, it’s like drowning.

“I had to. The Hokage will explain.” Because Kakashi is bound not to. By an oath that maybe he shouldn’t have taken, by a promise extracted by force. Why shouldn’t he tell them?

He doesn’t, of course. He scoops Sasuke up, and despises that Sasuke simply allows it, and offers Sakura a hand as they start walking. Sakura ignores it, striding ahead with her back too stiff and her hands clenched too tight. The walk to the Hokage Tower, while significantly shorter, is the same as the trip from Waves to Konoha.

Hiruzen ushers them into his office, tearful, and Sasuke struggles stiffly out of Kakashi’s grip. Red flickers and whorls through his eyes, and it’s impossible to know if he’s fighting to ignite his Sharingan or if he’s fighting not to.

“I’m sorry.” It’s low and mournful and wet. It’s insulting.

Sakura snaps. She flies into a rage, screaming obscenities. Her teammate is dead, and she’s never experienced loss like this before, and gods but she watched it happen, and no pitiful, pathetic ‘I’m sorry’ can ever undo that. That Hiruzen even tries sends her over the edge.

Nobody stops her. By the time she burns out, the office is torn apart, papers scattered everywhere and the desk overturned. Sakura has scratched her nails bloody against the woodwork. When she collapses to the floor and howls, Sasuke finally approaches her, sinks to her level, and wraps his arms around her.

Perhaps he understands, then. Perhaps a hug - so tight as Sakura clings back that it may be the only thing holding her together - is all he wanted after the horror of his clan’s slaughter.

Kakashi catches himself wondering if Sasuke ever got that hug, but he knows the answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Hiruzen explains to them what a Jinchuriki is. He explains the basic concept of a Bijuu, and gives them a short summary of the Nine-Tails. They take it blankly, too much to process over the top of their raw grief, but they look to Kakashi as if searching for confirmation and Kakashi nods. Tells them it’s true.

And then, because it’s not enough, it’s pathetic an explanation, he hears himself continue.

Because “He deserved better. We failed him.” Hears it spin, feels more than sees the way Sasuke and Sakura twitch and shrink, and then corrects himself. His own voice is like tar in his throat.

“You failed him.”

Sasuke and Sakura follow him out of Hiruzen’s office, and Hiruzen doesn’t try to stop them.

Kakashi sets the pack to watch them when they all end up at the war memorial. It wasn’t exactly a decision to go there, of course, but it never really is. All eight ninken are there already when they arrive, and they encourage Sakura and Sasuke to collapse and curl up with them, but Kakashi resists. He has something else to do.

And it’s dark by the time he comes back, his kids and his pack all bundled up in his far-too-tiny apartment, but he wakes them all the same. Demanding Naruto’s body back hadn’t been easy or clean, and the results of the chakra-draining done to preserve as much of the stray Nine-Tails chakra bleeding out of where it had torn free upon Naruto’s death is... messy.

Naruto’s body stays wrapped up the way Kakashi walked out of the Anbu Blue Vault with it. Only his head is visible, and his hair is knotted and matted with blood and oil, but it doesn’t stop Sakura from running her hands through it, or Sasuke from laying his head against Naruto’s chest.

Not enough people come to Naruto’s funeral. The whole fucking Village should mourn him, the child who protected them from the Nine-Tails for his entire, short life. His loss should have been overwhelming - it should have brought all of Konoha to a fucking stop.

But it doesn’t. Umino Iruka attends, and he’s quiet but he weeps ceaselessly the whole day. Sakura and Sasuke seem to welcome his presence, so Kakashi doesn’t nothing to discourage it.

Hiruzen shows up, perhaps halfway through. It takes all of Kakashi’s still-wan strength to hold Sakura back from trying to maul him, and Sasuke doesn’t fight one way or another when he lights up his Sharingan at the Hokage’s approach.

“Go. Away,” Sasuke snarls at him, and for just a moment it seems like Hiruzen might scold the boy, who’s been stripped of his family in half a dozen different ways, over and over again, as if he’s expressing his grief incorrectly, and that moment is all it takes for Kakashi to speak over all of them.

It’s the voice he used as the Hound. He hasn’t heard it for years. “You should go, Hokage-sama. You don’t want to make me choose a side here.”

Because Kakashi is loathe to fight Konoha at all, let alone its leader, but he knows without a doubt that he will. For Sasuke. For Sakura. If ever the decision must be made, Kakashi knows he will turn on Hiruzen in an instant if it would protect his kids from ending up like him.

Konoha would not make a broken blade out of Sasuke. It would not strip Sakura of her soul.

Orochimaru comes. He seeks out Sasuke, and the power he offers is too tempting for Sasuke to pass up - but he refuses to sneak away in the dead of night. Team Seven’s progress has halted in the aftermath of Naruto’s death; Hiruzen has tried several times to full the gap in their unit, but Sakura and Sasuke vehemently refuse to accept one, and Kakashi does not make them. He will not.

Naruto cannot be replaced. The gap can never be sufficiently filled.

And so comes the morning that Sasuke asks for their company in leaving. He’s been suffocating under Konoha’s weight for a long time, Kakashi realises that morning, and he’s finally reached his limit. Kakashi doesn’t try to talk him out of it; he won’t succeed. There’s no point. Revenge has been his motivation for so long that Sasuke will never quite learn how to give it up, and now he has so much more for which to seek vengeance.

It will only be Itachi first. After that, all of Konoha is culpable for Naruto’s death, and the endless suffering he endured before it. Kakashi is not fool enough to think he can change Sasuke’s mind.

Sakura agrees on the spot. She’s unrecognisable from the bubbly genin Kakashi took custody of from the Academy. She’s gaunt and messy and angry, and she’s forsaken her friends in order to follow Sasuke into the dark. She’s clinging to him, ferociously, in a different way than she’d tried to before.

She’s clinging to Sasuke the same way Kakashi had clung to Rin - how Rin had clung right back - after Obito’s death. Sasuke is her constant, her reassurance that Naruto’s absence won’t just be for nothing, that someone is going to pay for it. That she’s going to help make that happen.

You don’t want to make me choose a side, Kakashi had told Hiruzen, as if they were words of fucking prophecy. Because here are his kids, minds made up, choosing a side that Kakashi would rather flay himself than join - and yet, here he is too, and he knows already he’s going to go with them.

Choosing against Konoha tastes like ozone and fear and self-loathing, but choosing against Sasuke and Sakura is unconscionable. Even this, even this, Kakashi will do. Watching them die is a terror that keeps him up at night, a nightmare with its hands around Kakashi’s throat, a dread that’s getting ever colder. That this might lead to that outcome takes his breath away.

But the thought of not being there is even worse. Konoha forsook Sasuke when his family was wiped out, and Konoha forsook them both once again when they came home bloodied and shattered. Konoha has gone on the same as always, as if nothing even happened, and it always has when the whole world was supposed to shatter and didn’t - with Obito’s eye in Kakashi’s skull and Rin’s blood on Kakashi’s hands - and that truth does absolutely nothing to stay Sasuke’s hatred or Sakura’s wrath. They are young and angry and wounded, and there is no words Kakashi can say that will convince them to reject the power on offer, no matter how dangerous and untrustworthy the source may be.

And he refuses to let them do this alone. Everyone will want their heads, but Kakashi has fought and killed the best of them, and if - in the end - his only purpose is to protect his remaining kids, where he failed to protect the third, then perhaps the Hound yet serves a purpose still.

So Kakashi selects a kunai, and helps them score through their Konoha hitai-ite, and lets them lead him into hell.

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 15 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

A/n: This chapter is written from Tom’s pov. Reader will be addressed in third person.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2k

Part 15 - A Dagger for a Devotee

Now that all of the ingredients for the antidote were gathered and added, the potion was as good as finished. It just had to simmer on for a while. If the instructions were correct, it would be finished on June 29th, which was the last day of school. Graduation day. One day before the wedding. 

The wedding. Tom thought about it a lot. It would happen. That, he knew. The plan was to give Elsie the antidote on their wedding day so that she would be completely healed and they could still keep a low profile towards Marvolo and Morfin. Their wish would be fulfilled then, and even if the Gaunts were going to ask for more, they wouldn’t know that Elsie wasn’t under their might anymore. Tom was sure they were going to try to pressure him by threatening to hurt Elsie someday, even when he was married. That was just in their nature. They would never be satisfied.

He wondered how long it would take them to figure out that she had been healed. Weeks, months, years? And how they would react then. Were they going to take out their anger on him? The more he thought about it, the less he cared. He had even fantasised about it if he was honest. That Marvolo would lose his temper and would attack him. Tom had waited so long for an excuse to pay his Grandfather back, his fingers were itching just thinking about it. Oh, the things he would like to do to him were unspeakable and the grin on his face only widened the longer he envisioned them. He would welcome the opportunity with open arms. 

Some nights, when he lay awake and couldn’t just fall asleep yet, Tom wondered if his life would have been different, if he would have turned out to be another person, had he not been brought up by the Gaunts. He didn’t wish for it, like his fiancée had mentioned so often, no, but he still couldn’t help but wonder. Was there a possibility for a different Tom Riddle to exist? One that would live with parents, one that wasn’t as cold and narrow-minded, one that could crack a real good joke to his friends? A funny, warm, kind version of him? His stomach squirmed at the thought. Disgusting. 

He could have turned out like Benjamin Hilt. Merlin’s sake, what a nightmare that would be. To act like him, so loud and bothersome. Head in the clouds, mouth always open and never thinking about any consequences. Hilt had it so easy. But nevertheless, Ben’s attitude was intriguing. Annoying yes, but intriguing. Tom wouldn’t have thought Hilt would be able to keep his muggleborn mouth shut and keep the pact a secret, but he hadn’t told anyone about it yet, as far as Tom was aware. And he didn’t seem to keep his word out of fear, but rather out of belief. Ben wasn’t the type to have deep thoughts, by the looks of it at least, but he had his priorities set. And for that Tom respected him. Everything Ben did seemed to come so easily from within, not wasting one too many thoughts. It was something so deeply ingrained that it must have come naturally. 

He was so different compared to Tom’s friends. Or whatever word one would use for people like Avery, Lestrange and the others. They were nothing more than followers, blind and mindless. They wouldn’t just offer their help to be a good person. They always wanted something in return, even if it was just Tom’s recognition. And he knew, if someone else were to take his place, they would drop him in an instant. Their loyalty was superficial and egoistic. Just as his own. He would drop them too if someone more useful were to show up and solicit themselves. 

That was how it always had been. How he had thought friendships were meant to be. A mutual agreement, quite similar to business. Be polite, make use of a person as much as you can, make sure they’re intimidated enough to keep their knowledge to themselves and wish them well on their way out. Simple, beneficial and most importantly efficient. 

But what his fiancée, Ben and Camille had was so different. He had waited for Camille and Ben to ask for something in return. Weeks had gone by, where he had anticipated for them to come up and ask for a favour. A note from the head boy to get out of detention, or something else. But they hadn’t. They had helped to steal the Banshee tears and were still tending to the potion in the Come and Go Room every day. For nothing? He couldn’t fathom it at first, and only when he thought about it again, it came to his mind that this could be what real friendship was like. 

He didn’t like how much it churned him, how much consideration it had taken to come to this conclusion, when apparently for other people, that was the most natural thing in the world.

Tom obtained a much greater deal of wit than Ben, without a doubt, but yet, Hilt possessed so much more emotional intelligence than Tom could ever dream of. And he was jealous of him. That Ben could just walk through life, listen to his gut and trust that whatever it would tell him would be with good intent. Tom could have made real friends too then. He could have developed that trust to his gut too, if he hadn’t been fed those vicious thoughts by the Gaunts his whole life. He could have even gotten to know a muggle for all he knew, if he hadn’t been told, day after day, how worthless and irrelevant they were. That’s what they had always said. But the Gaunts had lied so often, maybe they had lied about that too. He had believed them for so long that he couldn’t even tell which opinion was his own and which one had been planted in his head by someone else. 

And then came three people who acted against all his values, showing him a glimpse of what life could be like. Everything he knew, his view of the world, as well as his belief, had collapsed in a matter of months. He had learned so many new things, he wasn’t even sure if he knew himself anymore. 

Had he changed? He must have, somehow at least. It was ironic, how the Gaunts’ plan to marry him off to a pureblood witch, who they thought would bring their family safety and respect, turned out to result in the complete opposite. Nothing, not even Marvolo’s paranoia and obsession for being a step ahead had come of use. They all had turned against them in the end, and for what? The faint idea of power and reputation? What worth did those things even have when everyone who bowed down to you only did so out of fear? They would take the first chance they got to stab you in the back with the very dagger you had given them. If you can’t trust your devotees, why bother?

Trust was something he thought of a lot, too. Did someone truly trust him? His fiancée for instance. She had put her faith in his hands several times in the past, yes. But would she trust him with her life? Had he done enough to earn her deepest trust yet? Or would she let him fall too when the opportunity arrived? When the deal was sealed, her sister was free and the Gaunts were powerless. Would she leave him, or would she stay? It kept him up at night when he thought about being alone again. Not because he depended on someone to be there, he was fine on his own. But he couldn’t change the fact that he wanted her to stay. And only her. No one else would do.

No one else had ever awoken that part of him before. That part that wasn’t as selfish, as calculating and cautious. And he knew no one else could. There was something about her, that slight brush of a hand when she touched him, or that unintentional notion of a smile she wore so often that broke out a whirlwind of emotion inside of him again and again. And he still didn’t even know what it was that he felt. It was nerve-racking, this mixture of nervousness, excitement and joy. If he had been able to, he would have buried those feelings long ago, deep down somewhere where they could have never disturbed him again. But he hadn’t. And he was glad about that. No matter how irritating it was, he craved it now. 

He craved to see her as often as possible, the sound of her voice, the touch of her fingers on him. Her mind, her body and everything in between had him longing, thirsting for even more proximity. He ached for that bond so much, it had become a hassle and he needed to suppress it to prevent himself from shying her away. 

But it was hard to feign composure when all he wanted was right there before him and she was so willing to accept his bid. It took all his might not to do what he most wanted and lock her up in a golden cage, where she would remain for him alone. His secret, his very own jewel. But most importantly his.

He couldn’t do that to her, he knew, she wouldn’t allow it. And he wouldn’t dare. He would never dare to add imbalance to the fragile structure they had built over the last year. She had come back to him eventually, day by day. He just needed to remind himself of that. Wait and improve his patience. Trust that she desired him as much as he did her. And by all accounts, she must have. Why else would she treat him the way she did? The idealist in him feasted on the way she acted towards him. How fearless and comfortable she was. How her mood could swing from gentle to feisty in a second, never dreading his reaction. Her honesty, which was the easiest, as well as the hardest thing to give someone, was what he most cherished her for.

Never before had he experienced something so close to perfection. The purity of emotion, so vibrant and raw it nearly hurt. But its absence was even worse, like a bottomless hole that sucked him in and ate him up from the inside. He had become addicted to the feeling and he would do anything to keep it. 

He would marry her, yes, and willingly so. He would do anything she asked from him. But if she was to leave him then, if she would take that dagger and push it into his heart, he knew it would destroy him.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[writing-in-april]

Origins

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader feels homesick after a particularly gruesome case. Spencer can’t buy a plane ticket, but he can try to help recreate part of home with them.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my eighth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- I’m very nervous for this one to be honest- idk if it’s going to be a lot of peoples cup of tea- this one had me researching a lot lol since I have no clue about boats at all lol- I hope I did the request at least a bit of justice (sorry in advance if I fuck up any terms or anything) but I think I did pretty well with my research (I think). I originally got the request from @imagining-in-the-margins when she handed it over to me also thanks for some help on the folklore parts too! Here it is-

I always want to hear from you guys so feel free to drop me an ask here- and hopefully y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: ~disclaimer lol I know nothing about boating~ Anyway into the other warnings- Takes place directly after season 3 episode 8 (Lucky with Floyd Feylinn) Spencer gets really fucking sea sick- poor baby, Reader is from overseas (originally Cornwall in the request but I made it a bit more vague) and Reader’s father is a fisherman

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.8k

The air that floated around whenever I was out on the water, salty sea water or fresh salt water always seemed to breath life back into my lungs. The river that we were boating on was quite salty near its widest point, tides brought the saltwater in to mix with the fresh making the water quite brackish.

I was lucky to still live somewhat near water after I had moved over to America. I hadn’t had the luxury of picking exactly where I was going to live and work when I transferred to the FBI, I just happened to draw all the right cards. With my schedule I didn’t go out on the water as much as I used to, definitely not as often as I had as a child. I yearned often to feel the specific type of air people only felt when on the water, especially when my job got particularly gruesome.

Gruesome was a way to define the last case my team and I had been brought in to investigate. My stomach churned at the thought of our last unsub, his name couldn’t leave my mind and the images of his heinous acts certainly didn’t leave either. Floyd Feylinn Ferell had been his name, though I wished I could forever scrub it from my memory. His crimes were too vile that everything seemed to trigger a memory, specifically of the frozen corpses.

The team had even noticed how affected I was by the case, often sending me worrying looks whenever it looked like blood drained from my face over sheer shock- just like the corpses. Cases had been gruesome before, sure, but there was something about this one made me feel frozen by fear.

I needed air, and not just any old air.

Homesickness was another factor that was making me feel so ill. I hadn’t been back to my home in so long, the only time I spoke with my father was over the phone, no video chats at all. He was just as technophobic as Spencer, maybe even more so to be honest. My father’s life as a fisherman hadn’t made him exceptionally tech savvy. He did know how to work a phone now thanks to you, which was another similarity to him and Spencer. I had helped Spencer learn how to work his new smartphone just last week.

Spencer, my lovely boyfriend of a few months, wanted to help quell my dark thoughts as best as he could with all of his knowledge. His first solution was to always revert to books, which I didn’t mind, it only made him more special to me. He tried to find books that would remind me of home- and get my mind off of gruesome cases that were closed and shut cases.

Hotch had then suggested the team take a day off, just one. After weeks of back to back cases with little to no reprieve we’d finally get some time alone, even if it was only for a day. All I needed was one day to get on the water and cleanse myself of the negative thoughts I had been feeling lately.

It was actually Spencer that had first suggested this excursion. He had come to one of our dates with his arms full of pamphlets all about renting a boat for the day. He also had definitely read up about boats, I’d expect nothing less of Spencer. I had learned it was his way of subtly showing affection, researching anything that I even was passively interested in.

Spencer packed even more than I did when we set off on the day long date, packing to the brim at least one too many bags- to be honest he packed two too many bags.

Once we had gotten the boat out into the water, the relief was almost instant. It was like my body knew I was home. I wasn’t actually at home of course, but it somehow knew I was near the water again. Honestly, Spencer hadn’t been far off when he called me a mermaid on one of our first dates, I had gone on a ramble about my love for it.

The water wasn’t nearly as clear as where I had grown up, much more dull in my opinion. But, the breeze that danced across my skin as well as the water made me feel more at home then I had been in a long time. After letting the mist spray onto my cheeks for a while I looked over to check on Spencer, who was not doing well by the looks of it.

Spencer’s face was twisted up in a grimace, not used to being in a boat. Until I had asked him a few weeks ago, to make sure it would be safe to go out on the water with him, I hadn’t even been sure he could swim. I also wasn’t that surprised that he had this reaction, it would have been less of a problem if it was a boat that I had picked out and bought. But, I’d take what I’d get if only to be by the water.

He pretended to hide his urge to dry heave over the side of the small boat that I had rented for the weekend. He looked almost green at this point, I knew he was only staying for my benefit at this point making me a tad bit sad. Water definitely seemed to have the opposite effect on Spencer compared to me, being on the water always felt like instant relaxation to me.

I still, however, didn’t want him to feel any major discomfort like he was obviously feeling so I decided to pipe up since he wouldn’t tell me himself, “Are you sure you’re ok enough to stay, Spencer?”

He pulled his life vest around himself as tight as he could while crossing his arms around his stomach. It took him a second to answer and in that time I almost started to turn the boat around back to the bay.

“I’m fine!” He squeaked out and I could see a shiver run through him. If I had offered to turn the boat around he’d most definitely have given me a glare, not wanting me to turn it around for his own sake. I squinted my eyes in suspicion, he was not completely fine obviously, but if he was insistent on staying maybe I could find something to distract him from it.

“Do you want to hear a sea shanty or do you want me to tell a regular story?” I asked out into the wind, thinking that might distract him from his nausea.

“A story, but you can’t call them regular stories.” He teased back as well as he could with the urge to dry heave, as if he didn’t know what I had meant. I scooted a little closer to him before I prepared myself to tell my story.

Selkies were always the ones I started out with whenever I told the stories I had grown up with. Despite its dark undertones I had latched onto the story as a child, finding it similar to the mainstream perception of what mermaids were. Though I’m reality seals that could transform into humans were a far cry from mainstream ideas of mermaids, a Merrow would have been a better comparison.

I always gave Spencer the origins of the story, he liked to know exactly where they had come from and how I had heard about the story in the first place, “As you know by now the folklore about Selkie’s originates from Scotland. Well- let me think about what I haven’t told you about Selkies before…” I pondered for a moment before remembering an aspect of the Selkies powers I hadn’t educated Spencer on yet. There was no doubt in my mind that he probably had all this information stored away in his brain somewhere, it was nice to know that someone genuinely cared about the stories I liked to tell. “Selkies are immortal, but they can be killed by other creatures. And I know I’ve told you that part, but I haven’t told you that they are generally killed by sharks when they are in seal form.”

I then went into the whole lore surrounding Selkie’s immortality. My hands were waving around animatedly as I talked, just like how the small waves were rocking our boat. They had definitely calmed down by now, hopefully Spencer would feel better soon.

Once I finished my tale I beamed over at him, my mood had brightened significantly over this trip, even though I could sense that Spencer’s had not. Though the story might have helped, he seemed a little less sickly now. He then managed to ask again without puking, “Could you tell another story? Maybe about the Kelpies? Or the Pixies of Cornwall? You can pick anything though really, I love listening to your stories.”

My heart swelled enough from his words that I thought it might burst. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of Spencer, he always hunted for more knowledge about things he was maybe more ignorant about compared to other topics.

I opted to then tell him about the Kelpies, who were also water dwelling creatures, before moving onto the pixies. He even seemed to be getting attached to the same stories that you favored as a child, and even as an adult.

I looked over at him as I finished my last little bit of information that I felt I could muster up today. A smile filled with fondness crept onto my face, his fluffy hair strewn about. It was cute despite his lingering sea sickness.

His face was remarkably less green now, my stories must have soothed him which made me feel heat run to my cheeks. Each time Spencer took interest in my origins I felt deeper feelings bubbling up, that were more than what we had expressed yet. Instead of voicing my full feelings just yet, I leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss on the forehead. He may have not looked green anymore, but I’d wait to give him a kiss on the lips until after we got back to shore, just in case something was to happen.

“Can you sing now?” I knew that he was not requesting me to sing any silly old song. He wanted me to sing the sea shantys that my father had taught me as a child. Not that I minded his request, I’d do anything to make him happier and I loved singing them anyway.

I smiled brightly as I guided the boat back to shore while I sang, already feeling lighter. It had not just been the water this time that made me feel better, it was also because of Spencer. He had taken so much care to help me feel more connected with home, loving to learn about your origins.

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith I’m sorry 😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

[raineeskiesabove]

What about angsty Venlumi like Venti taking an arrow for Lumine?

Hi anon, I made this into a oneshot if that’s okay. I’m not sure what I wrote, since I did it while I’m feeling ill so uh;;; enjoy? eheh...

The Stars Will Not Take You | Venti x Lumine Oneshot

It was supposed to be a simple commission. Take out the hilichurl camp, remove any leftover structures, collect and go home. Venti had been there. He was supposed to protect her. So why, instead of singing and laughing with her that evening, he was holding onto her lifeless hand, with the fleeting hope that she would awaken?

As the walked along the road bordering the outskirts of Monstadt, Venti hummed playfully, practicing a new song as they walked. Despite being on their way to a potentially dangerous commission, Venti was as happy as ever. Lumine chuckled to herself, stealing glances at his cheerful smile. She increased her grip around his fingers slightly, relishing in the warmth of his skin against hers. It was moments like this that made her feel at ease. He made her feel like everything would be alright, which is something she desperately needed to stave off the flood of doubts and fears that plagued her mind.

“Venti,” she placed her index finger against her lips, emphasizing for him to quiet himself. They had reached the hilichurl camp.

Huddled in a nearby bush, Lumine’s eyes widened upon seeing the horde occupying the camp. The commission paper stated that the group would be small, not an entire tribe. Maybe more.

“Lumi I don’t know about this. There are too many for simply making a pretty penny. And there are only two of us,” he whispered, the singsong tone in his voice now gone.

Lumine shook her head, “No, we need this money. I’m running low from buying supplies and we must move forward soon. We can’t waste time, Venti,” she explained, face and voice steady as stone.

Venti sighed, his grip now tightening around her slightly smaller hand.

He shook his head, “I cannot allow this. What if something goes amiss?” His words rang in his ears, the realization that he trespassed on his own principles made him bite his tongue.

“We’ll be alright, I can take them. As long as you support me from the rear, that money is as good as ours.”

The bard looked away, his eyebrows knit in a slight scowl. Who was he to stop her? Lumine was free to make her own choices, even if it meant putting herself at risk.

“Fine. I shall support you. Please be careful,” he pleaded.

She brushed a hand against his cheek, kissing his forehead softly in reassurance. Offering him a small smile, she whispered that she would be careful, before standing to lead their small siege.

Initially, the attack went well. Venti used his winds to knock the hilichurls off their feet, giving Lumine more time to clear the way. She fought gracefully, her sword slicing through her enemies effortlessly, her footwork more akin to a dancer than a fighter. Venti consciously told himself to focus, for fear of growing lost in her performance, and yet, the windward god still failed.

“Venti, look out!”

He heard her, but it was much too late to react, the next moment bringing him back to a harsh reality. A sharp pain erupted at his shoulder, an arrow imbued with pyro had struck him. The bard let out a yelp in pain, the arrow burning him from the inside out. The chants of the hilichurls grew louder, now closing in on his vulnerable form. He used his other hand to channel Anemo to hold them off, but it proved difficult to cast with only one arm.

“Venti!” Lumine shouted through a crowd of hilichurls, the monsters falling at her hand as she drew closer to him.

“Lumi, don’t! There are too many! Retreat before- ” his sentence was cut off by another arrow, this time one imbued with electro, sunken deeply into his thigh. His leg twitched at the sensation, the jolts of electricity making his leg grow limp and numb.

“Venti, no!”

For the first time, Venti saw fear flash through Lumine’s golden eyes, her complexion growing pale from seeing her beloved being slowly chipped away. It was impossible for her to reach him, the hilichurls creating an impassable barrier between them. He offered a small smile, mouthing for her to go, praying that she would follow his orders. As he did so, yet another arrow struck his small frame, this time cryo against his side. The impact made him cough, blood spilling from the corners of his lips. She couldn’t stand it anymore. With a strangled cry, she used all of her power to summon a tornado, the sheer force causing many of the monsters to grow caught up in the storm. The larger mitachurls, however, remained unfazed, only growing irritated by the gusts of wind. In her worry, Lumine failed to notice this, ignoring them in favor of making a mad dash towards the staggered Venti.

As a seasoned archer, it was common knowledge that arrows should not be pulled out, for fear of excessive bleeding. But gods, did the added elemental damage hurt. Admittedly, he grew more hopeful as Lumine grew closer, happy that she had fought so hard to protect him.

His happiness quickly dissipated, however, upon seeing a mitachurl charging straight for her. Lost in her emotions, Lumine’s reaction was slowed, her sword only enough to reduce the severity of the major slice the monster inflicted across her midsection.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

Immediately, Venti pulled all three arrows from his body, blood already soaking through his clothing as he drew his bow to fire. His shoulder burned as he released Wind’s Grand Ode, the force of the bowstring making him hiss in pain. With the mitachurl out of the way, Venti rushed to Lumine, her form now twisted and lifeless against the bloodstained grass.

“Lumi!”

Her entire chest and abdomen had been sliced open, blood pooling around her unconscious form. He placed his hands against the wound to curb the bleeding, but at this rate she didn’t have long to live.

“No, no. Celestia, no! Lumine, you can’t die on me!”

Already, his hands were dyed red with her blood, her breathing growing extremely shallow and faint. He felt tears begin to stream down his face as he wailed hopelessly. They were miles from the nearest statue or Monstadt, and he himself could barely walk, let alone carry her.

“It is unlike you to be bested so easily in battle, Lord Barbatos,” a voice thundered.

Venti looked up, finding himself face to face with Dvalin, a previous member of the Four Winds. A dear friend of his.

Venti sniffed, trying to wipe away the snot running down his face. “D-dvalin. My friend, I plead for your aid in this hour of need. Not for myself, but for her. Please, help me to protect what I hold most dear,” he sobbed.

Dvalin blinked. Never had he seen the archon so vulnerable. So devastated. The warm smile and bouts of laughter that typically sounded from him were nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by a look that made his heart grow heavy.

“A statue, or Monstadt, my lord?”

“Monstadt. This wound is too complex for the statue’s effects.”

He never left her side. Regrettably, he snapped at the clerics when they asked him to leave and return in the morning, to which he refused to do so. Now, alone with her sleeping form, Venti sighed, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper at them. They were only trying to help. Just like how you were back there. That’s something I love about you. But at the same time... it frightens me. Deeply. What would I do if you were to suddenly disappear?” he whispered to her, his voice trembling with fear from his own words.

As he held back another set of tears, he heard a faint whisper, “...not going anywhere,” she said. She moved her hand to hold his weakly, her eyes opened a crack to see his crying face.

“Lumi? Oh, I’m so sorry. I- I failed to protect you, and I should’ve pulled the arrows out sooner and gone to help and-“

She cut him off with a bandaged finger to his lips. “Venti, love, don’t blame yourself,” she assured, offering a small smile before attempting to sit up.

She winced from the movement, Venti feeling powerless in only holding onto her hand and the small of her back. He leaned in closer to take her in a gentle embrace, his tears now staining her white infirmary shirt. His free hand moved from her back to her hair, gripping it protectively.

“Lumine, promise me something,” he choked, ignoring her previous remark.

She combed her own hand through his hair, saying nothing.

“Promise me, please don’t disappear,” he whispered.

She didn’t say anything for a long time, and Venti began to wonder if she had fallen back asleep.

“Venti, look at me,” she said, pulling away. “Do you see me?”

He nodded, “Every beautiful bit.”

She smiled sheepishly, trying not to get sidetracked. “Yes, and thus, my promise is already fulfilled, my love,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Even if I am gone, you will always remember me. I will not be forgotten, and that’s enough for me.”

“But it isn’t for me! You need to live, Lumine!”

“Of course I will, I wouldn’t want to live a day apart from you. But someday, we will be forced apart. It will happen, Venti. But I promise, that somewhere among the stars, we will meet again,”

“Lumine...”

“People are separated, but never for forever, my dear,” she placed her forehead against his, looking into his eyes earnestly. “Do not worry, my archon,” she half joked, letting out a small chuckle.

He sighed, smiling from the influence of her laughter. “Your words indeed ring true, my disciple,” he replied, nuzzling against her soft cheek. “But I will protect you from harm’s way, so that the stars may claim you another day.”

[saphirered]

Something to tug at the heartstrings: How about a sequel to Ghost, wherein the reader loses Lucien a second time but, eventually, finally, finds happily ever after with Kingsley? A sorta soulmate AU, where the reader is just meant to be with this soul. Thank you! 💜

Okay, this one turned out a loooooot longer than I intended but I'm happy with the way it turned out. Definitely something to pull on your heartstrings with a good amount of angst and fluff. Hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting! 😘

-

You knew it was over, the end had come when even across the worlds you felt like a final thread within you had snapped yet you felt nothing, just empty. You knew that moment would come at one point and while you hoped things could have been different… No, things could never have ended differently. Even then, you already knew there was a madness, greed and hunger for power within Lucien he could never escape. Never would it be enough. He’d stop at nothing and would sacrifice everything if that meant he’d achieve his goals. He was willing to do it before, he had done so before and would do it again a thousand times over.

Lucien had been angry, upset, trying to convince you this is not where it had to end between you two. That you could follow him along this path, forever, no longer bound by a fate not your own, a life in the hands of another. You could truly have been free. You could have been like gods among the ants left at the mercy of the whims of circumstance. That’s what he promised you. He promised you greatness, the world, a future of your own making, power, riches, you could have named your price and he’d offered it to you. Lucien had told you no price would be too steep for him but you had found one.

You’d asked him, once faced with the choice, would he choose you or would he risk it all in the pursuit of this damned purpose of his? Lucien didn’t have an immediate answer. Those moments of silence before his honeyed words were enough for you to know the real answer and deflecting, dancing around the truth like he had, all of it was just a dead give away. Nevertheless he tried to keep you at his side because if you know one thing, Lucien is a selfish man and he’d do anything and everything in his power to keep you at his side unless you’d leave of your own volition.

Lavish gifts, romantic gestures, luxuries he’d bestow upon no other, no expense was too great, no time wasted and no love spared. Lucien really went all out to show you just how much you mean to him, how much he needs you, needs you at his side. But nothing could make up for the fact that in the end he wasn’t sure wether he’d choose you or power when faced with the ultimatum. He knew that if he asked you, you’d give your life for him but he could not return the favour and his love knew boundaries set by his idealistic purpose. The more time you spent with him, the clearer that became.

When you became more reserved, coming to terms with this truth that did not mean you distanced yourself from Lucien. You still loved him and that wouldn’t change but like before, you refused to be part of his own demise. You’d not stand idly and watch as he went on a suicide mission with some perverted shadow of what was once living. You don’t know whether or not it was something Lucien had planned, if it was a spur of the moment, if he even was aware he was doing it or the Eyes of Nine reaching out to you but you’d seen the visions, you started waking up being faced with the horrors to a red eye marked on your skin, and another, and another.

And the more you were shown, the clearer it became. You could not be part of this. You’d not resign yourself to this fate and watch the others fall for the whims of one man and his own stupid greed, watch the man you loved fall to his own selfish hunger for power. You’d spare yourself the heartbreak of having your lover be torn away from you yet again. So you left. You did what you couldn’t do before; said your goodbyes and left. If this is truly what Lucien wanted then you would not stand in his way. You’d not be an obstacle but you’d also not be watching from the sidelines waiting for a side to win. You’d not interfere because after all this is the man you’d sacrifice the world for but you’d not stand by and watch him sacrifice you for his own visions. Should he find his way back to you you’d embrace him with open arms. Should he not, you’ll have departed on your own terms and made peace with that. You’d have said your goodbyes.

So when that final thread snapped, the eyes disappeared and a quietness hit you, like all sound had been pulled from the world but the wind and the waves you knew it was over. Lucien was dead and gone and Lucien would not be returning this time around. The world was spared and had gone back into tune. The Mighty Nein had returned and truly became the unsung heroes of Exandria. They did what you could never. They’d risked it all for the people they loved and they succeeded. And while your heart warmed at the thought of that love you also felt an emptiness, an emptiness you’d experienced once before when Lucien was first taken from you.

—————

Even now, that feeling of emptiness, a part of you missing still lingered. It’s as if when Lucien finally passed he took a part of you with him and your life would never be as it was before. You still wouldn’t change a thing. You had found purpose not only in your skills but a sense of belonging among the Revelry. Sure they were a rowdy bunch but something about Darktow and it’s people reminded you of the early days of the Tombtakers. Call it sentimental. But you made yourself useful, proved your usefulness, resourcefulness and connections across Wildemount and beyond to benefit you and ended up with a ship of your own, a respected Captain among Darktow with the favour of the Plank King himself. Though the latter is mainly to do with the copious amount of gold you’ve brought him. You and your crew alone have given the man a private fortune that must have made him richer than the kings of the mainland. Not that you cared. Gold did little to fill that void left in your heart. You had no use for it save for the upkeep of your ship, the payment of your crew and the copious amounts of booze and gambling you and your crew partook in simply because you could.

Life in Darktow and as a member of the Revelry is anything but uneventful but that’s exactly what you need to keep you on your toes. The day you resign yourself to a quiet and restful life is the day you die. You’d been in port for a week and a half and things have been going smoothly. Too smoothly in your opinion because if you know anything it is the gods like messing with your threads of fate a little too much. Perhaps your next voyage will be all storms, or you’ll get stranded somewhere? Maybe the Concord will be on the hunt for you again? A naval battle or a few could be fun? What will the gods throw at you next?

Maybe you shouldn’t have tempted the gods like so because the next thing you see is a tiefling of lavender skin, intricate tattoos all over, and a charming grin on his face attempt to barter with one of your deckhands for something. Your stomach drops, shivers running down your spine and conflicting emotions of joy and pain rush through you all at once. Your bosun shakes your shoulder after seeing you so shellshocked and checks in to see if you’re alright. You shake it off and take a minute to breathe studying the interaction with the tiefling.

Right from the get go you know it’s not Lucien. It couldn’t be and wouldn’t be. Yet it’s also not Mollymauk. However brief your knowing him may have been, you knew well enough this was also not the circus man you’d grown to admire. So who is this? Curious by nature and unrestrained, unbound by the knowledge you probably shouldn’t against all better judgement, you step over to the gangplank on the other end of which your deckhand and the tiefling are conversing. You stand there, crossed arms and just watch. Neither seem to notice you as of now but you’re sure they will if you stay long enough.

As Kingsley goes on, trying to convince this deckhand he just needs to speak to the captain for a brief moment because the Plank King has told him he is to deliver an urgent message, all lies of course, he catches the glimpse of someone that seems familiar to him in some way. He hasn’t ever encountered this person standing at the top of the gangplank before. This isn’t a face he’d forget. He’s never one to forget a pretty face and well, this one’s the prettiest of them all. Okay, he may have seen people as pretty before, so he’ll blame it on attraction then because the moment his eyes fall upon this figure the world just fades for an instant, the words of the deckhand falling on deaf ears but he’s good enough to not let it be noticed.

“You wish to see the captain? Well here I am.” Finally you make your way down the gangplank with a walk that expresses authority and grace but there’s something Kingsley can’t quite put his finger on. You turn to the deckhand.

“I’ll deal with this. Back to work.” The deckhand with a nod to you and not so much as a goodbye to him scurries up the gangplank and goes back to whatever task Kingsley had kept him from.

“My my, captain, I must say your ship is magnificent…” The tiefling tries to sweet talk but the expression you give him shows you’re not buying it. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying. He’ll just have to up his charm a little. Kingsley wants a ship and this is a great ship. He meant that part.

“Cut the crap and get to the point. I don’t have all day.” You give the man a wink for some reason feeling yourself slip into that back and forth game of wit and charm you’d had with Lucien. Gods be damned for pulling on those strings again, your heartstrings no less. And damn your own weakness for not being able to resist that charming grin of this man.

“Perhaps this is a conversation better had in private?” Kingsley, as promised picks it up a notch and walks up the gangplank like he already owned the ship but gestures for you to lead the way. Deciding to humour him and yourself you lead the way to your cabin, the door falling shut behind you two.

—————

The events that followed were the beginning of the end and the more time you spent with this man, this new version of the face you’d been so familiar with, the more you felt that emptiness begin to fade. At first Kingsley had tried to persuade you to go to the Plank King to give himself the opportunity to get the ship’s papers and convince the crew that you’d done something terrible and face judgement while he’d offer to vouch for the crew to be spared if they accepted him as captain. When that didn’t work he tried to coax you in sharing a drink with him, one he had spiked with a strong sedative so he could leave you at the docks and sail away. When that didn’t work he tried to sleep with you. Maybe a few days or weeks in your company wouldn’t be so bad. Have you seen you? He could spent hours just getting lost in your eyes.

But he didn’t manage to charm his way into your bed either. You’d caught him on all accounts, somehow figured out all his attempts and called them out exactly how he planned them. It’s like you could read his mind, or at the very least calculate his every move before he’d even done so. He isn’t anything if not persistent. He wanted your ship and he’d work for it. What he didn’t expect was the need to literally work for it when you offered him a job as a second mate since the last one had fallen to the jaws of a dragon turtle.

Over the weeks on your ship you’d eased him into fact that you had a very intimate relationship with Lucien and had met Mollymauk. You knew who he used to be, you knew his story up until a certain point. In turn Kingsley filled in the gaps, though even his knowledge felt more like second hand too. While you both tried keeping your distance when it came to the undeniable attraction between the two of you it was difficult. That pull remained, be it from your own memories of the past, the ghosts that still plagued you sometimes, or his phantom visions and feelings from a life he never lived himself.

You had to come to terms with it but the more you got to know Kingsley and the more he got to know you, why should you keep fighting something you both felt? Why put up walls, put in time and effort in something so… so stupid? So you had a good and honest talk. Set some boundaries and drew a line. You’d see where this would take you and won’t put any pressure or expectations on the other but you certainly wouldn’t spent a moment more trying to fight this stupid pull between the two of you. Those days were over.

The threads of fate could be a twisted thing but at times could be so in a humorous way. Kingsley had ended up with the ship he wanted after all. Not be leaving you stranded, poisoning or even killing you. Instead his secret message from the Plank King did come. Though his had been a lie when you first met, this one wasn’t. With the discourse on the high seas, the tensions between Xhorhas and the Empire on the low and the Concord’s opportunity to look towards the Revelry, you were needed as more than just a captain in a fleet. You’d be a commander instead and your captaincy would have to move to someone else so who else could you have handed it to? Both of you had been laughing like idiots when you finalised the deal and signed over the deed of the ship to Kingsley Tealeaf.

Despite this new promotion you’d still find yourself back on your old ship with Kingsley going on adventures of your own. He made a good captain save for the mornings he’d be preoccupied and slacking leaving his first mate to take over his duties. Coincidentally those were the days you’d spend on the ship and of course the captain could not let you sleep among the crew. No, you deserved a place more suitable of your station; the captain’s cabin. Part of that arrangement neglected to mention to the others was that the captain would be sharing his cabin with you.

So you’d wake up in each other’s arms like plenty of times before, fingers brushing through your hair, gently dancing over your shoulder and arm up and down as the light bleeds through the curtains signalling the afternoon’s approach. And as per usual with a groan, you’d shift and readjust yourself into a more comfortable position and allow your sleeping limbs to wake. A kiss would be pressed to your cheek, forehead, crown, shoulder, neck, wherever was most convenient pulling you from the final clutches of sleep and easing you into the day.

These moments would be spent embracing the quiet sounds of the waves rocking the ship gently and the shanties of the working crew, until one of you decided to break that silence.

“You are the most truthful and up front person I’ve come across in a long time.” Kingsley speaks as he presses a kiss to the top of your head as you wrap your arms a little tighter around him. You look up to him with an amused half smile, final hints of exhaustion still remaining on your features.

“I am a liar, a thief and a killer. I live a life of piracy and plague the seas.” You deadpan and earn a ‘you know what I mean’ look from the tiefling as you flick his chin. He catches your hand before you can do it again and instead kisses your knuckles, holding on tightly with an amused grin as you try to retaliate.

“And yet you stand out among the masses like a beacon. I could be faced with the promises of the world and my eye would still fall to you. I don’t pretend to understand why or how but it’s true.” Kingsley might have given the words a bit more flare but they’re true no less. He doesn’t understand why but the two of you, or whatever version of him, seem to be entwined wherever you go always bound to end up meeting over and over again like you can’t escape. It’s not like he minds because the two of you meeting back up in unpredictable spaces and situations has been rather enjoyable. Especially once you’d gotten a moment to yourselves.

“Are you trying to charm me, captain Tealeaf?” You tilt your head slightly giving him the same look you’d done when you first met; innocent disbelief.

“I don’t know. Is it working? Because if so, I will lie and say it’s intentional.” At this comment you sit up, pulling yourself free and leaning on your elbow to allow your lips to meet in a sweet but quickly heated kiss. There’s a knock at the door and you pull away making move to get out of bed but Kingsley holds you there. He’s got no intention of leaving this bed just yet and neither are you if he can persuade you to stay. Let the outside world stay that; outside.

“You’re a good man, Kingsley.” You stroke his cheek tracing along the peacock feathers crawling up his neck and jaw. Kingsley raises an eyebrow but when you see that half grin crawl up his face you know you might just have said the wrong thing. Not bad but more akin to provoking the devil.

“I am a liar, a thief and a killer. I live a life of piracy and plague the seas.” Your own words are turned against you and you scoff. The knocking on the door doesn’t go away and Kingsley rolls his eyes childishly clearly not wanting to be bothered by the whines and responsibilities of the day just yet.

“Yes. Yes. I head the first time.” He shouts annoyed with the interruption and the knocking stops but instead of making any move of getting up he pulls you into his lap. A surprised giggle escapes your lips as playful kisses are peppered all over your shoulders and neck.

“Did you have to deal with their constant antics or could they figuring things out themselves?” Kingsley asks between kisses.

“Always.” You pull yourself out of Kingsley’s grasp and get off the bed reaching for a shirt and pulling it over your head earning a groan of disappointment from the man. You shake your head in amusement.

“I suggest you get dressed before you have a mutiny on your hands for neglecting your crew, Captain Tealeaf.” You put on your pants and sit down on the edge of the bed to slip on your shoes, tying the laces as you go. You feel the tiefling slip up behind you arms wrapping around your waist.

“Is that an order, commander?” Kingsley whispers into your ear. You smile turning your head to face him, waiting to see who will lean in first and close the gap. The knocking on the door returns and you take this moment to gently flick Kingsley’s chin again as you slip from his grasp and step over towards the door. Kingsley grumbles a collective of rather colourful words making you grin.

“It is, captain. Back to work.”

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 45

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky will do whatever it takes to get her back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Anger, grief, thoughts of violence, angst

AO3

Bucky paced like a wild animal, back and forth, tail lashing with each circuit he made. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t functioned much at all in the past few days, and he was always a heartbeat away from snapping like a wire pulled too taut.

He couldn’t go through the door he was pacing in front of, the demonic wards holding him at bay. It was just as well. Without them, he would have marched straight inside and ripped Helmut Zemo’s spine out his throat.

It wouldn’t have solved any of Bucky’s currents problems, but it would have improved his mood. And it might have distracted him for a few moments from the black hole currently residing within him. A negative space where the bond had been. Every moment that void was there, he wanted to tear out his own heart.

Maybe he’d still get the opportunity if they couldn’t find a way to bring her back. He’d end his own life for a fast one-way ticket to the demon realm if he had to, and there Bucky would stay until he found her.

And then… what? They’d be trapped there forever? Why didn’t that scare Bucky as much as the thought of being separated, with her being all alone in that place? He knew she was resourceful. She’d proven it by the fact they’d captured Zemo at all.

When the gun had gone off, Bucky had felt like he’d been the one shot, only it hurt so much worse because he actually knew what a bullet to the gut felt like. He’d barely made it in time to catch her as she fell, and he’d been in no state of mind to deal with Zemo after that. Steve had barely been conscious by the time Strange and the others had found them, so it wasn’t him who had caught the bastard.

No, it had been the Alp itself that had stopped Zemo. Before the man had even gotten a chance to order his demon to teleport him away, it had used its paralysis aerosol on Zemo and knocked him into a peaceful sleep. And then it had vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving its master there to be collected by the sorcerers.

The thought made Bucky shake his head. Somehow, Bucky’s girl had managed to make a demon turn on its own master. Not once, but twice, if Bucky was including himself.

Leave it to her to befriend a demon and turn it to her side.

Leave it to her to give everything for Bucky, including her own life. And what had he done in the time since then except vacillate between rage and grief? Between shouting at Strange and standing by Steve’s healing bed like a mourner at a funeral, waiting for them to come up with a rescue mission.

The sorcerers had made little progress, and Bucky feared their only hope lie in the man that had murdered her.

Bucky would have gotten the answers out of Zemo himself, if only for the fact he couldn’t get his hands on him. The demons wards weren’t to keep Bucky out, they were to keep Zemo from calling his demon slave to teleport him away. No matter how had they’d tried, the sorcerers couldn’t break the demon bond. And no matter how much the Alp might not want to, it wouldn’t be able to resist the call of its master, no matter how far away it was. Bucky had learned that lesson the hard way with his own escape attempts from HYDRA.

So now they were at an impasse. Zemo imprisoned but refusing to cooperate, and the sorcerers unable to get anything useful out of him but having no choice but to keep him locked up. Bucky hadn’t be surprised the sorcerers had failed to take away Zemo’s last Hail Mary. If they were capable of breaking demons bonds, they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

The door opened, and Strange had to wave him off before Bucky accosted him with questions.

“Well?” Bucky asked, impatient. “What did he say?”

“Still nothing helpful.” Strange glanced at Wong as he too strode toward the door. It shut with a heavy thud behind them, no doubt locked by all sorts of arcane spells. “It’s clear that Zemo doesn’t know how to work the demon gate with any expert knowledge and relied solely on the red book to achieve his goals.”

The circular stone archway they’d found in the basement of the Siberian compound, which Strange had named the “demon gate,” had remained inert no matter how the sorcerers tried to manipulate and power it. How Zemo had managed to summon the Alp through it, but it wouldn’t respond to the sorcerers, left Bucky short-tempered and frustrated.

It was nothing compared to the guilt. The shame at being controlled, manipulated into almost killing Steve. He was still being tended to by the healers, and the only reason he wasn’t in a hospital was because Strange had insisted they take him to the Sanctum.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then Bucky’d nearly killed her. His worst nightmare being played out before his eyes, or it almost had. Through their tenuous bond she’d somehow broken through to him, and Bucky had managed to stay his hand when he’d never been able to do so before.

It had been… freeing. Liberating to disobey a direct command. To be ordered to hurt someone he loved and having the strength to resist.

And then Bucky had failed to save her anyway. She’d died, right there in his arms, her heart going silent the loudest thing he’d ever heard. As if that hadn’t shattered his world enough, she’d turned to ashes in his hands, the stink of sulfur and brimstone stinging his eyes as she slipped through his fingers.

In that moment, Bucky’s bond to Zemo had been severed. One of the apparent benefits of a demon having a human slave. She’d gone to Hell so Bucky could be free.

And all he’d managed to do with that freedom was absolutely fuck-all.

Bucky’s fist flew, the jagged knuckles of his armored hand knocking a sizable chunk out of the stone wall.

Strange merely lifted his eyebrows. Wong frowned in disapproval. Bucky didn’t give a shit. They should have woken him as soon as she’d gone missing, but instead, he’d woken on his own, bursting through the cryo-chamber and shattering its door to pieces. He’d been so confused and enraged that the sorcerers had had to bind him with glowing ropes and wards until Bucky calmed down enough to explain she was being tortured, and he could lead them to exactly where.

So, yes. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was as much Strange’s fault as it was his, and the only reason he was even still tolerating the sorcerers is because they were her only chance of rescue.

If they could get the fucking gate to work, anyway. A big fucking if. Apparently, sorcerers could make portals on Earth without a problem, but crossing into other dimensions was even beyond Strange’s capability.

And yet, she had been able to do it as a ten year old child. Bucky had hoped, maybe, somehow, she would be able to summon that power within her once again and come back to him, but there had been no sign of any mysterious blue portals popping up on Earth.

So as pissed as he was, Bucky had to remain patient, and right now, he had to pay attention.

“I have an idea on how to power the gate,” Strange said, wearily eyeing the damaged wall before turning to Bucky. “We have more of HYDRA’s research that Zemo ever did, and I have no doubt we will be able to create a stable connection soon.”

“Soon isn’t good enough,” Bucky snapped, struggling not to snarl at the sorcerer. “Every minute here is hours over there. Each day wasted is weeks she has to endure, alone, in a place humans were never meant to survive. We can’t—“

The lump in his throat forced him to silence. Bucky couldn’t say what he’d been thinking, and from Strange’s sympathetic expression, it didn’t need to be said.

They might already be too late.

Bucky still wanted to punch Strange in the face. If he cared so damned much, why hadn’t he kept a closer eye on her? Zemo may have been smart, hell, he was probably a genius to figure out how demon magic worked, but how had he managed to outsmart a whole sect of sorcerers?

“We will move as quickly as we can,” Strange said, indicating Bucky should follow him. “I don’t wish to waste any more time than you do.”

Bucky somehow doubted that, but he still followed after the head sorcerer. His tail twitched as they made their way deeper into the Sanctum, to the place Bucky had spent every waking moment when he hadn’t been by Steve’s side.

“I am aware of the time dilation in the demon realm,” Strange said as they walked down a spiraling set of stone steps, “but it might not be uniform or even linear. Your experience may differ from hers.”

If Strange thought that would be comforting news, he was wrong. Bucky didn’t need an overactive imagination to come up with whatever horrors she might be facing now. He certainly didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of… of finally making it to the demon realm and realizing hundreds of years had passed.

Bucky couldn’t… he couldn’t think about it. He would lose his mind. Bucky would only let despair swallow him after he was a hundred percent sure that… that there was nothing left to hope for. That she was truly gone and wouldn’t be coming back.

That he would never get to see her again. To watch as her eyes brightened and that familiar mischievous grin tugged at her lips. To hold her in his arms while he buried his nose in her hair, filling his nostrils with her scent and—

Bucky shook his head and grit his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not when they were closer to their goal, so he forced himself to focus on Strange’s words. Something about a power source needed to fuel the thing, and that Zemo must have hidden it away from the base because the sorcerers couldn’t sense it. Bucky honestly didn’t understand most of it, only that it would take an unnatural power source to get the gate running.

The underground lair, as he called it, left Bucky as awed as the first time he’d stepped food inside. The room was essentially a giant dome constructed of very large stones, but the most interesting aspect of the room was the glowing glyphs carved into the stones. The power thrummed under his skin and set his arm plates rigid as his tail flickered.

And there, in the middle of the room, lay the instrument that had been the focus of his frustration and anger over the past few days. A stone gateway, teleported here by great effort from the sorcerers. It was ancient, possibly constructed during the days of the Holy Roman Empire, or so Strange had rambled. Bucky was too fucking stressed to appreciate the mythical history lesson.

When the sorcerers working on the gateway turned to Strange and confirmed it couldn’t be powered by anything in their vaults, Bucky turned away, fists tightening, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. But before he could take even a single step, Strange laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Sergeant.” Strange’s voice was gentle, and it was the only reason Bucky didn’t grab the hand on his shoulder and break it. “There’s one thing left to try. It’s not without danger and risk, but—“

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“I suspected you might say that.”

Strange’s smile was sad but accepting as he patted Bucky, and then let his hand drop. Bucky’s desire to strangle the man went down a few notches, and if this worked and he got her back, Bucky might even forgive him.

Might.

Strange straightened his posture and faced the stone archway, held his hands in front of his chest in a manner that meant he was about to cast a spell, and he said, “Though I must warn you, tapping into the power of the Infinity Stones can be quite dangerous.”

With an intricate pull of his fingers, glowing patterns in the air emerged, and that’s when Bucky finally noticed the green light shining from Strange’s amulet. He’d vaguely wondered around the thing always around the sorcerer’s neck, and now Bucky had an answer as to what it was. Something otherworldly, deadly, and strong enough to compare with the power of the blue cube HYDRA had once wielded.

A deep thrumming filled the room, vibrating through the air and up the stones, the potential of something building made Bucky’s wings flair behind his back.

Then the glyphs along the demon gate began to glow, first green like the stone and then to a bright blue that made Bucky’s heart clench with fear. Strange blue lights often accompanied the demonic rituals HYDRA had conducted on him, but he swallowed down the panic and didn’t blink.

The charge in the air built higher and higher, until with a crackle of electricity, the empty space between the archway suddenly filled with light. It pulled outward to the edges, a border of blue around a watery image that sharpened into something Bucky recognized.

The demon realm.

“I can’t hold it forever!” Strange yelled, his hands still in the same position as he somehow, impossibly, held the gateway open using the green stone around his neck. “Get moving, Sergeant!”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice.

With none of the hesitancy he’d shown the first time being confronted by a blue portal, Bucky flared his wings as he raced forward and gave one hard flap, lifting off and darting through the gateway like a missile launched from its tube.

The dry wind buffeted him from the other side and Bucky nearly nosedived into the red sand, but he managed to right himself and soar up into the air. The human side of him balked at the alien surroundings, but it was the demon part of him that Bucky needed now.

Orienting himself to the familiar magnetic fields of the planet, because in a sick way he’d been alive longer here than on Earth, and he knew this place as intimately as his home.

Turning in the direction of his territory, Bucky pushed his body as far as it would take him and flew faster than he ever had before.

Hold on, sweetheart, he prayed to her, hoping he was heard. I’m coming.

Next Chapter

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Took a while but here’s chapter six! Make sure to reblog and like, or leave comments and kudos on AO3, which is still the best place to read it.

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak and Entrapta, feat. Glimmer, Bow, Aurora and Eon (OCs)

Rating: M (for smut)

                                            Repairing Harm Done

Hordak walks through the center of their new home away from home. Entrapta and he share their enjoyment of space, and going on adventures with her has been some of the greatest years of his life; however, Beast Island has been transformed into a multicultural landscape, where anyone could come here if they wanted, and stay here if they chose. While Odessa has been away with her friends, they opted to expand the lodgings here to accommodate growing numbers. Talon and he weren’t the only ones with children, and even without offspring, his siblings were finding life partners, and to add on top of that, visitors from nearby planets come to Etheria as well and, sometimes, like it so much they wish to remain.

Upon this realization, they made an organization to discuss blueprints, schedules and funding for such a project. The funding was no issue: Glimmer and Bow were more than happy to aid them, and have visited the island several times now to see what else was needed. It wasn’t necessarily money they needed, either, as everything on Beast Island was based on a trade system and very loosely; they have utilized the technology on the island well, and created elaborate new machines for daily living. Glimmer and Bow, simply put, love being involved. They offer their expertise, Bow on his own inventions and Glimmer with her magic, but they were enthusiastic to be present at all.

He notes his brothers above him in the trees, connecting large trunks with man-made bridges, where a community of apartments will be launched high above them. The groves are to be interconnected this way, allowing for more freedom of development and making use of every inch of the island, eventually establishing long pathways that will join all shores of the island. This will be the new dwelling place for many of the citizens on Beast Island, while the area he’s moving through will serve as the marketplace, with recreational centers, hospitals, schools and restaurants lined throughout the ground floor. They have been constructing it for a while, but high demand has allowed for a speedier process to take place. Underground it will be primarily used for laboratories, as he and Odessa have the largest ones. It’s also their excavation site for First Ones tech, which they still continue to find more than twenty years later, the deeper into the earth they go; it’ll also serve as their mausoleum, for when those days come.

Animals chirp in the branches, shadows moving along his frame. Looking up, he meets the eyes of his brothers hammering boards into place, and they wave down at him. Being in a good mood, he waves back—

A sharp pang goes up his shoulder. Wincing in surprise, Hordak holds his hand up for a moment. Confused, he shakes off the sensation and continues toward the direction of his residence. Opening the door, Hordak steps inside.

“Entrapta? I’ve returned,” Hordak announces.

No answer.

She must be out. Maybe he’ll go check up on Emily and Imp. The latter has been growing, which came as a surprise to everyone. No one believed Imp could actually get bigger. It’s about the time Imp needs to have tests run to check if he’s still healthy as his body develops, Hordak muses, beginning to climb up the steps—

His legs suddenly lock, and they buckle, causing him to sprawl on the floor. His palms and knees slam into the hard stone, sending waves of pain up his frame. Another shortly follows, stabbing through his body. And it’s never one type of stab—it’s sharp, a knife slashing through; or painfully dull, akin to being jabbed with a worn, flat spear. It may not cut, but it’s relentless. And he can’t ever tell which is worse.

Trying to stand, he finds himself unable to. He pushes up with his hands, and the pain stings up his nerves, all the way to his neck.

Hordak lets out a breath of shock, of anger, of fear.

No.

No no no no no no no—

He looks down at his hands, and the color recedes—the blue drains, melting from elbow down, streaks forming along his wrist, and he can feel them weaken at the shoulder.

Hordak yells out loud, hunched over from the agony, watching as his forearms split in two without warning right down the middle until they’re merely the width of bone within the muscles thinning blood flow slowing unable to move or feel or sense or know why—

Hordak lets out a cry of shock, jolting himself up. Breathing hard, he turns to his right. Moonlight cuts through the dark of his bedroom, the blinds never being tightly sealed enough for his liking. But for once, he’s relieved to see it.

His head falls into his hands, and he breathes in. Breathes out. He withdraws to look at them. His forearms show no signs of disease, stark in the dim room. His shoulders move as they should, and he rotates them to be sure. He claws the air with his fingers, two quick movements. Then he lets them go toward his palm, slowly, pinky first as the rest follow, moving in synchronicity. He repeats this motion four more times, and none of them hurt.

Entrapta shifts beside him, her arm reaching out for his body. Automatic. When she finds only the pillow, Entrapta opens her eyes. She props herself up on an elbow, reaching out to touch her husband.

“Hordak? Are you okay?”

Blinking, Hordak turns to look at her. Her hair is loose about her body, draping across her shoulders in long strands. She doesn’t wear clothes to bed, finding it more comfortable. She followed his example on that one. After decades of being in pain, he didn’t want to be constricted as he slept. It reminded him too much of how often he had to be bound in place by something or another to keep from falling apart. His body was attached by sinew and muscle, like anyone else, but it never felt like that. It always felt like one small gesture would render him incapacitated, and his shoulders would fall from their sockets.

Entrapta sits up, touching the small of his back, “Did you have a bad dream?”

Hordak sighs, “I… did.”

Entrapta brushes the side of his face, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hordak reaches up to take her hand in his, “It… It was the usual dream.”

Sidling next to him, Entrapta lays her head on his shoulder, “I know. It’s scary.”

He lets out a breath, unable to disagree. Adora had fixed him, permanently, in that other lifetime. Horde Prime wouldn’t allow something defective in his midst, so his body had been healed at the expense of his mind’s free will. But when Adora expelled Prime out, he was released from the confines of both mental and physical anguish.

He knows this.

His body has not known that pain in many, many years.

But there are days when he’s walking, sitting, breathing, and his thoughts turn to anxiety. Anxiety about the day, the moment, when his body will fail him again. He exercises every day, relishing in the activity he had been denied. The strength and power and agility that he long forgot about and wishes to keep. He makes sure to have that routine set out for himself, to have those thoughts at bay, to stop worrying him. He recalls how nervous he’d been when Odessa had been born—to have his daughter in his arms, and he would panic about the pain coming back and he can’t grab her in time before she collapses onto the floor and she dies. In a second, just like that.

Pulling his knees up, Hordak stretches his arms out onto them, giving a heavy sigh.

Entrapta rotates a bit, brushing his hair out.

“Entrapta?”

“Yes?”

“Can you check?”

Without further question, Entrapta moves forward, inspecting his back first. She notes the perfect coloration of his body, from neck to fingertip. Drawing aside the covers, she makes similar mental notes from his hips down to his feet. She looks up at him, smiling, “You’ve never looked better!”

Hordak sighs, relieved.

Entrapta lays her cheek on his forearm, “And I do mean that.”

He meets her eyes, and she wiggles her eyebrows.

Hordak laughs, allowing the anxiety to leave him, “You’re a pervert.”

Entrapta’s grin widens, “Can you blame me?”

Hordak leans forward to kiss her forehead. And she tilts her head back so their mouths can touch. Her hand caresses the side of his cheek, and he relaxes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers, after a good while.

“Don’t worry about it,” Entrapta says. She pushes him onto his back, brushing her thumb along his mouth. “You’re not alone, you know.”

Hordak nods, staring up at the ceiling. Entrapta lays next to him, and she taps her chest.

Without a word, he turns, burying his face into her collarbone. Warm and inviting.

Her hands play with his hair, humming quietly. Stroking her fingertips down his neck, careful of the port located there. Entrapta doesn’t stop until he’s taking measured breaths, long and deep; once he does, only then does she fall back asleep.

                                                              -

Hordak steps out into the bright outdoors. Everything is in place. From the new construction in the trees, to the bustling shoppers around him, and, below, he knows Imp and Emily are taking ownership of Odessa’s lab while she’s away, as they tend to when she’s absent. Her friends are missed as well, and he will admit to himself, it’s good for her to have them.

Tristan’s general apathy tends to keep him anchored, but it lifts away as soon as he knows she’s back home, becoming more involved and energetic. Hydrangea’s eagerness to keep peace always stays in place, but she defers to Odessa’s knowledge and skill more often than with anyone else. Hordak knows that there could be no better allies to his daughter than those two.

They’ve been her friends since childhood, and they gravitated toward one another in a manner he found interesting. Despite being born a clone, he knows who he is, and he tends to keep to himself, save for Entrapta’s presence. His brothers tend to be more gregarious, which baffled him at first on how willing they were to interact with Etherians, and he surmised that, even among replicas, he stands out as incredibly reclusive. There are a few who took to his more stern and introverted nature, of course, he isn’t unique to averting social events, but he continues to have the shortest temper, if pushed enough, and is withdrawn. Talon is one of those individuals to match it, as he tends to be around his wife alone, but he doesn’t mind the spotlight, and that’s their difference.

Hordak’s gotten better at being around others, but he finds it exhausting after a while. Entrapta says that’s okay, and she wouldn’t change that about him and has outright stated to prefer it. Large groups are only ‘fun’ to watch, not be part of.

Odessa, meanwhile, enjoyed company, and Tristan was the first person she brought home. Hydrangea and Odessa liked each other very much, which delighted Entrapta and Scorpia; however, Tristan’s addition caught them by surprise. Mermista wasn’t the warmest woman when it came to who associated with her son. Hordak knows that his actions from the past were to blame, but she hasn’t done anything to damage his child’s relationship with her companion, so he says nothing.

Hydrangea’s mother, Perfuma, is no different, though she tends to have a lenient grip. Which he knows is due to her bohemian attitude, rather than an acceptance of Odessa. She wouldn’t stifle her child, as she has asserted that children should be allowed to do as they please and grow up how they will. It’s not a sentiment he disagrees with—he gave Odessa all the freedom she wanted. Entrapta was the one to spoil her, and he took on the disciplinarian role, for when it needed to be done, but overall, he and his wife encouraged Odessa’s desire to do what she wanted. Sometimes, her strong personality could be overpowering for others, but she’s not a bad person.

Despite what others may think.

“How are you doing, hon?” Entrapta asks, getting up to his level.

“I’m doing fine,” he responds. “Did you need something from me?”

“No,” Entrapta smiles. “You always ask that.”

“Ask what?”

“If people need something from you.”

He pauses in his tracks, “Do I?”

“You usually ask that when I’m looking at you, or wondering how you are,” Entrapta states. “And when I say people, I mean just me. You don’t do it with others.”

Hordak looks at the ground, silent.

“That’s not a problem, Hordak! It’s an observation,” Entrapta assures him.

He doesn’t question it further, for now.

“Oh, hi, guys!” Entrapta says.

Hordak faces behind him, finding Glimmer and Bow waving at him. For a flash of a second, he’s stricken with concern, but remembers that they’re supposed to be here today. That must be why they were in his dream, and it has nothing to do with premonitions of impending doom.

“Hey! Hope we’re not late,” Bow says.

“You’re right on time!” Entrapta replies.

Glimmer smiles, “Good! I hope you don’t mind—we brought Aurora today.”

Hordak looks past them, their daughter standing near the portal. Utterly disinterested. Without thinking, he says to Glimmer, “Was it wise to bring her?”

She looks at him, surprised, before waving her hand and laughing, “Oh, Hordak, she’s fine! She’s a big girl. Aurora, come here please!”

Aurora’s expression belies her unwillingness to be present, a polite smile on her face.

He doesn’t want to be rude— Well, that’s not true, he wants to be rude. It just isn’t prudent. Aurora isn’t a person who tends to be engrossed in what’s going outside of her social circle.

Glimmer looks up at Hordak, “I brought her because as future queen, she needs to participate in what’s happening throughout Etheria. You and I are working on this together, so I figured she would benefit from learning how things work with other kingdoms outside of a council meeting!”

Hordak nods in understanding. Makes sense.

Entrapta looks at Aurora, “Hello!”

“Thank you for welcoming me,” Aurora curtsies.

“What’s first on the agenda?” Bow asks.

Entrapta laughs, “We’ll go up into the trees first! We’ve designed a mode of transportation that takes us all to the top!”

Hordak silently walks behind the group. Entrapta leads them to a lift that operates when people enter into the rectangular container, made of nearby materials, predominantly the wood and bark of trees, as they’re the sturdiest thing at the moment. It’s in its rudimentary stage, Entrapta explains, and hopefully it will be changed into solid metal soon, since they didn’t want to waste resources at once. They had to see if it worked first, and they needed to design a glass case to hold it. All of them are elevated toward the top, allowing them a view of everything below.

Glimmer looks over the side of the box, “Wow, where did you come up with the idea?”

“Remember Horde Prime’s ship? He had this sort of thing aboard. We figured it would help get people around easier,” Entrapta says.

“So, you took the contraption of someone deplorable and used it for yourself?” Aurora asks.

“Yep!” Entrapta says.

Glimmer stares at her child, and Bow’s brows rise an inch.

Hordak’s arms remain folded, glaring at the back of Aurora’s head. Not liking her tone.

She doesn’t approve of it. And while he may not like owing Prime anything, it isn’t conducive to advancement as a group to ignore advantages simply because it came from a heinous individual. Good people have bad ideas, and bad people have good ideas, it depends on how it’s used.

“I don’t see how this is sensible of your time,” Aurora says.

Entrapta laughs, “Not everyone can teleport like you and your mom! We have people who can’t jump and climb the way we can.”

Aurora gives a delicate sniff, unimpressed with the explanation.

Glimmer claps her hands together, “Well, I think it’s a phenomenal idea. Prime was a monster, but his ship was incredible.”

“Mama—” Aurora begins.

Bow points at the distant grove, “Oh, look, pookas! Aurora, these were the animals that I met with Adora while looking for Entrapta.”

“The very things that would’ve eaten you all, and my grandpa, alive. You don’t say,” Aurora dryly answers.

“They’re friendly now!” Entrapta corrects, hair morphing into a hand with a forefinger pointed up.

Aurora grimaces when a pooka chitters at her, stepping away.

Hordak comes forward, unable to deal with it any longer, “Perhaps, it would be better for Aurora if she went and explored on her own. There is a plethora of activity in the market, and the main thing we would all be discussing is infrastructure.”

Bow turns to him, “Oh, I don’t think it’s necessary for her to leave.”

Glimmer nods, his suggestion more than welcome, “Actually, he might be right. Sweetie, why don’t you go down and check things out?”

“Thank you, I will,” Aurora says, giving another polite smile. With that, she teleports to the ground.

Entrapta yells over the side, “Byyyeeee!”

Bow and Glimmer share a long glance at one another. Aurora is a pleasant young woman, and now at eighteen, she should be engaging with more outside of Bright Moon. Neither Glimmer or Bow could imagine not wanting to go out of their comfort zone, whether it’s irritating or boring. But Aurora had never been quite as easy with ventures toward the unfamiliar.

Aurora is a creature of habit and routine, so she tends to stick with people that she knows, which is why they gave Marlena and Clawdeen the day off, both to allow Aurora to expand her horizons on her own, while giving their goddaughters well-deserved rest. Adora and Catra serve, too, as Aurora’s respective godparents, for they had all promised to be the guardians of each other’s children. And it’s why they decided, when Aurora asked if she could visit her extended family on the outskirts of the Whispering Woods, they pushed her to join them on this trip to Beast Island.

Aurora’s behavior since arrival was troubling Glimmer; she’s sure it wasn’t obvious, but her daughter radiated displeasure. Aurora is normally so genteel, with impeccable manners, which were inherited from Angella, and nurtured more by Bow and his relatives. Glimmer, even as she gets older, could never get rid of her fire to engage with every little aspect of life as much as she could. There was so much to do and see and experience, and she likes to believe that Aurora’s the same, even with her personality being softer than her own: mellow, caring, even shy. She knows her daughter is a good person.

Everyone always says so.

Bow and Entrapta have gone ahead, chatting animatedly about inventions and the latest in revolutionary designs. Addressing Hordak, Glimmer murmurs, “I’m sorry about Aurora.”

Hordak looks at her, “I don’t see the need for an apology. She doesn’t have to hide her disdain.”

Glimmer pokes him lightly in the arm, teasing, “Why? Because you’re the same?”

“Exactly,” Hordak replies, giving a light chuckle.

Sighing, she holds up her face with her hand, “Still, I don’t know why she’s upset today. I know kids don’t like to be with their parents after a certain age, and want to be with their friends—I was definitely that way—but I thought maybe she would have fun, you know? Engaging with the people, the mix of culture. Beast Island is so grand now!”

“I’m glad to hear you approve of what we’ve accomplished thus far,” Hordak says.

“That lift contraption is useful, but nothing will ever overshadow the day we got indoor plumbing in the palace.”

Hordak smiles, letting himself relax in the easy conversation.

                                                              -

Aurora walks through the throng of individuals bustling around. She didn’t expect so… many clones. She knows this is one preferred habitation, along with the kingdom of Dryl, and they are sporadic in other parts of Etheria. But to have so many of them present is a sight to behold.

She doesn’t approach any of the shops, but watches closely. Etherians, too, are wandering from stall to stall, store to store, and she ponders why any of these citizens would want to leave their kingdoms. Do their leaders not provide enough for them that they feel the need to come to a place still in development? She has heard of Beast Island’s many, many changes from childhood to adulthood, but she doesn’t see the appeal of coming to a location that isn’t as established as the rest of Etheria. New Chelicerata is an exception, since restoring a ruined kingdom isn’t a simple task, and that was in no part thanks to the Horde destroying the land and water.

To add on top of that, Aurora notes the strange carts being driven around the area. Compact metal transportation vehicles that are hovering above the ground, or whizzing through the canopy. An invention from Entrapta, no doubt. She tends to be the mind behind the majority of the designs. Those cannot possibly be safe.

Aurora treads lightly along the ground, a little dash of levitation magic that she’s been practicing. A gaggle of children, both Etherian and mixed, run past her, and she sidesteps out of the way. None of them are paying attention to where they’re running, almost doing the same to a couple of people. She quietly shames their parents for not teaching them respect better.

“Hey! You all have to slow down!”

She recognizes the voice, stopping in her tracks.

“Aww, but we wanna run!” chime youthful voices of reckless abandon.

Her eyes shift back and forth from either side, not risking looking behind herself, wondering if she can slip into a nearby building.

“You want to run? Go that way into the woods and return after a while. Whoever’s fastest wins and gets bragging rights.”

“What if one of us gets lost?”

For a moment, she wonders if she could master the invisibility spell this very second—

“Your parents didn’t tell you, but that’s the price of being fools running around without a care: you didn’t get to learn map reading. It’s a curse, so it’s inevitable you’ll die in the jungle.”

The children laugh, “What? No way!”

As the conversation turns to protest, Aurora darts behind a wall, letting out a breath. Crisis averted.

“You know, I heard that if you run like mad back to your homes, and don’t get lost, the curse is lifted! But you can only try when the moon’s half full.”

A gasp comes from one of the children, “Oh my gosh! It’s half full tonight!”

“I guess you kids better practice for this evening!”

Aurora peers around the corner, listening to the children fall for the outlandish lies, while unable to see anyone.

She’s startled when the next sound is that of quick steps coming her direction, darting past her—

Instinctively, she teleports, narrowly avoiding collision with a child. She closes her eyes and sighs.

Why can’t she go home?

“Aurora? What are you doing here?”

She tenses.

She didn’t plan where she’d wind up.

Slowly, Aurora tilts back her head, giving her signature smile, “Eon. I didn’t expect to see you.”

Peering down, Eon quirks a single brow, “You didn’t expect to see me where my family is? Do you not know how visitation works?”

Aurora withdraws, realizing with embarrassment how her head had been resting on his chest. He stands there, nonchalant, several stacks of flour levitating above his palm. He wears Mystacoran attire, deep, noble colors of purple with the usual white or gold accents replaced with his signature black.

Standing out as much as her, if she’ll admit anything. She attends any event wearing dresses, colored soft pink with whites trimming her sleeves and the hem of her skirt. She smoothes out her outfit, looking at the fabric, “I know how visitation works. Normally, you’re locked up in your room.” She side-eyes him. “Doing nothing to better yourself.”

Eon gives a cocky grin, “At least I don’t fake being busy to drown out the monotony enveloping my life.”

Decorum be damned, Aurora’s expression turns mocking, “I happen to like monotony. Schedules keep things together.”

“Another way of declaring you’re uptight,” Eon retorts, sauntering past her.

Aurora emits a light scoff, teleporting beside him, “I am not uptight! I appear that way to the lethargic. It wouldn’t hurt you to make an effort.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Eon replies, spinning on the ball of his foot and giving a small bow with his head. “I forgot that commoners like myself need your example to show us how we could improve ourselves.”

Aurora tosses back her hair, “That’s part of being a princess—leading by example.”

Eon rolls his eyes, continuing his path, “Of course. I wouldn’t want to contradict you.”

“But I would contradict you,” Aurora replies. “I don’t understand why you’re carrying the sacks like that.”

“Like what?”

“Magic isn’t something to do menial tasks with. Did your muscles atrophy from being bedridden?”

“I happen to enjoy using my magic for all my needs,” Eon says. “If it makes things easier, why not do it?”

Aurora shakes her head.

“So, what are you on the island for? Did your family finally admit you were found among the beetles, and that’s why you have those wings?”

“Are you insinuating I’m a pest?” she questions, annoyed, folding her arms.

“Beetles happen to serve a very good purpose,” Eon tells her. “I wouldn’t imply such malicious concepts about you.”

Aurora gives him a pointed glare, “If you must know, I happen to be tagging along with my parents. They wanted to check on how construction is going for your people.”

“Ah. That’s nice,” he says, sincere.

“For you, maybe.”

Eon resumes being distant, “Well, I thank you for showing you care. Your presence graces us.”

“I suppose this will do as I’m waiting for them to be done,” she replies, looking around with annoyance.

Eon stops in front of his destination, setting the cargo carefully on the ground. He waves at an uncle, who nods his thanks before continuing to help a customer.

“Why don’t you take it inside?” Aurora asks.

“They know where it is.”

“It’s nicer to put it inside,” Aurora insists.

Eon grunts in annoyance. Levitating them back up, he goes around the corner. He halts, turning to her, hiking a thumb in his new direction, “Are you coming?”

Blinking, Aurora glances behind him. “This job doesn’t require two people.”

Eon leaves the sacks floating, pivoting around, “If you’re going to make demands of me, the least you can do is watch me do it.”

“But—”

He gestures to the building, “Would you rather loiter outside this public establishment?”

Aurora concedes, following him to the back door. She supposes it’s better than being out in the open.

                                                             -

Hordak lets his mind wander as his companions take rein of the conversation.

The nightmare threw him off more than he’d care to admit. He has had this sort of dream before, however, he was shaken to his core with this one. It was the most vivid he had ever experienced, and an aspect of slumber he’d care to not go through again.

Bow and Glimmer head to a group of his brothers who are in the midst of adding beams together.

He took it upon himself to take a break in a home that was under development. It needs a little more work left, but it’s otherwise complete and ready for furnishing. No one will bother him here.

Entrapta looks into the house, noticing his posture. He’s staring out a window that overlooks the trees, the drop going straight down, hands behind his back. His thinking position. She swings over to where he stands, closing the door behind her, “Are you still holding up?”

Hordak’s brow twitches. He doesn’t tell her that it’s a poor choice of words, because he knows he’s a little more sensitive to this matter than usual.

But Entrapta touches his shoulder, “Oh, I’m sorry! I meant to ask if you’re fine.”

“That is not something you need to concern yourself with. They’re mere words.”

“Words that are insensitive,” Entrapta replies. He doesn’t give a reply. She sits on her hair, gazing right at him. Unmoving.

Hordak’s eyes flick over to her for a second. He continues to stare straight ahead. “Entrapta, you needn’t apologize or feel responsible.”

“I believe you when you say that,” Entrapta says, not removing her eyes from his features. Suddenly, she gives a bashful smile, “I just care about you.”

Heart twinging, Hordak stiffens. He knows that her concern is sincere, and he appreciates it. He raises a hand to her cheek, brushing it, “I know.”

Entrapta flushes, his gaze intense. She can’t help but look down then, soft giggles leaving her lips. His finger traces the shell of her ear, and a shudder snakes along her spine. Body growing warm from the attention. He always knew how to make her feel special. After Prime’s defeat, Hordak had layers of emotion to sift through. He had been angry for many years, and she knows there’s parts of that residual rage underneath the calm. But one aspect of his nature that blossomed was a sensitivity that left her speechless. Hordak doesn’t believe it, but he can be very romantic by simply being honest with her.

“Hordak,” Entrapta whispers, touching his hand.

He tilts his head, “Yes?”

“You know I love you,” she says.

“Yes, I do,” Hordak replies, surprised. “And I love you too.”

Entrapta gives a breathy laugh, turning her face into his palm, hiding. She peers up at him with one eye, “Really?”

“More than you could comprehend,” Hordak tells the truth.

“Aww!” she coos, pressing his hand into her cheek, slightly muffled as she buries her face into his palm again.

A light blush tints his face, and he gives a soft laugh, “Entrapta, what’s this about? Are you upset that you cannot help me with my problem?”

“A little,” Entrapta holds his hand in hers, kissing the inside of his wrist. “I don’t know what to do sometimes, and I don’t know if me being around helps at all.”

“You’re a great help,” he assures her, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Don’t doubt your affect on me.”

Entrapta grins, “I know some of the ways I affect you, silly!”

Hordak steps closer, smile widening along his lips, teeth flashing. His voice lowers, “Do you?”

“I like to think so,” Entrapta teases, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, fingers moving into his hair.

Her lips touch his, and he pulls her close. Her body curves against his, and even after decades of being near her, he’s always amazed at how she feels. Hand angled behind her head, his other one shifts down her back, sliding down her thigh.

Entrapta moans into his mouth, and she realizes that she’s been wanting to do this all day. His breathing grows ragged, moans interspersed with her name, sounds that she never gets tired of, because he only makes them with her.

Hordak pushes her against the wall, and he feels her hair slacken through her frame. Her legs wrap around his waist, allowing herself to be held up by his hands. Entrapta gives a soft groan, pulling him close. Her mouth caresses his neck, causing his body to shiver. Her hands glide down his back, grazing over exposed skin.

His hand snakes up her frame, and angles between her legs. Against the fabric, he begins to rub her clit, and Entrapta gasps in welcome surprise. Grinding against his fingers, she gives a small bite to his ear lobe, hot breath tickling his skin.

Hordak presses harder with his fingers, and he knows she’s growing damp. He captures her mouth with his, swallowing a moan she emits, flushed and excited. She grins against his chin, giving a small chuckle.

Encouraged, Hordak stops petting her. He looks at her, “Entrapta, remove your clothes.”

“Ooooh!” Entrapta does as he says, discarding everything but her shirt.

With ease, he lifts her back up, pushing her securely upon the wall and placing her legs over his shoulders. He has no hesitation as he leans in, breathing in, and glides his tongue up slick folds, rubbing over the clit with the end of his tongue.

Entrapta gasps, closing her eyes in pleasure. His tongue moves slowly, taking his time. It moves through the sides, around, teasing the clit, but never going in. Entrapta’s hands caress his hair, brushing through dark blue locks. His moans vibrate into her skin, mouth burning hot on burning flesh.

Hordak’s tongue suddenly darts in, and Entrapta’s back arches, mouth parting open. Groaning deep in her throat, Entrapta’s fingers grip his hair harder. Hordak pushes her legs further aside, nails digging into tender skin. He pulls away, giving her a brief glance, as his teeth graze along the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

“Hordak…” Entrapta whispers.

“Hmm?” he hums, mouth covering her clit, sucking hard.

Her moan escapes in a staccato, trembling. Biting her lower lip, Entrapta forgets what she’s supposed to ask. Lost in the sensation of his mouth on her clit, tongue dragging along swollen lips. His fingers squeeze the sensitive flesh of her backside, his ears twitching when she says his name. Soon, she’s soaked, unable to think or speak, overcome by physical touch. His arms, once the most obvious area of his defect, don’t waver from the weight, keeping her steady without qualm.

She would love him no matter his appearance, but she’s happy that he has the body he lost before. It brought him so much pain and agony, leaving him enraged and bitter. Entrapta would watch him suffer every day in the Fright Zone, even with her modifications. He felt inadequate, pathetic and alone. She would never think of him this way—he was the most brilliant mind and kindest heart she’d ever met, valuing her for who she was. Loving her despite her own imperfections. She never gave a thought to her physical appearance. What she always worried about was how her mind, her personality, her feelings would be perceived.

He accepted all of it.

And she wants to help him overcome whatever fears remain in him. That the imperfections of his body wouldn’t ever be the only thing of him she’d accept—it would be the doubts, the worries, the anger. He was her friend and husband. He, and he alone, would always be enough.

The heat in her stomach spreads throughout her body. Growing feverish, sweat shining on her skin, her toes curl into his back. Hordak’s ministrations are relentless, breaths muffled as his tongue moves back in, deeper than before, making circular motions within her body.

Shaking with incredible force, it bowls Entrapta forward, clamping her hand over her mouth. Eyes shut closed, brows knitting together, she trembles from the orgasm rocking through her every nerve and muscle. Slowly, her eyelids open, finding him staring up at her.

“Wow…”

Hordak smiles, pleased at such a reaction.

As he wipes up his chin, Entrapta brushes aside his hair, tugging strands over his temple. “Oh... I remembered what I was going to ask…”

“Yes?”

“I was going… to ask… if you think anyone will notice us gone…”

“Perhaps. But I don’t believe there’s a problem, so long as we begin going back now.”

Entrapta gives a gentle pat to his shoulders, and he sets her down. Beginning to dress, she grins, “I think this house is ruined.”

“Nonsense,” Hordak returns, waving a hand. “We need only open a window.”

Cackling wildly, Entrapta leaps up into his arms, nuzzling his neck, “You’re so bad!”

Hordak kisses her cheek, “I try.”

“I can be bad too,” Entrapta says, leering down at his groin.

“I don’t think we have the time,” Hordak replies, arm wrapping around her waist. “As favorable as that outcome would be.”

“Awww… You don’t want to make an attempt?”

“I believe, unfortunately, we have been gone long enough to arouse suspicion.”

“That’s an understatement,” Entrapta replies, wiggling her eyebrows, hand stroking over his clothes. “We definitely can’t hide that.”

A boyish grin and light blush changes his normally stoic demeanor. The expression staggers her mind to a halt, mystifying her on the rare moments it occurs. He’s so pretty...

“Entrapta?” he asks, smile still in place.

Finally recalling what needs to be done, Entrapta moves toward the door, grinning, “I’ll go on ahead, okay? You take your time!”

He nods, and she blows him a kiss that he, on reflex, pretends to catch.

Squealing at his playful attitude, Entrapta bounces out the door.

Hordak hears her voice grow distant, and he notes the faint replies from their friends. Hordak looks back out the window, catching his reflection in the glass. He looks down at his arm, touching it where he can remember missing bone and sinew. He takes in a breath, feeling the air move through his nose, into his chest. The power in his body undeniable.

It’s an odd feeling. Being afraid of nothing.

                                                             -

Aurora follows Eon throughout the market. He, apparently, was needed today. His magic lent significant help to his people, restoring broken objects, fixing machinery, and taking deliveries to several places. She won’t admit it, but it was a welcome relief from simply milling about by herself. Granted, these are tasks servants would be doing, but it made her feel normal, like she was accomplishing objectives at Bright Moon.

Eon looks down at her, “Don’t you have other places to be?”

“If I did, I would’ve left,” Aurora replies.

“Are you bored?”

“No, not at all,” she shakes her head. A little surprised she means it, too.

Eon takes her word for it. He hadn’t expected her to trail after him the entire time, and he would catch her standing by, occasionally offering unwanted critique, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. Early on, he certainly did. But the day has been long and he’s hoping to rest soon. She always does what she wants.

“Are you almost done?” Aurora asks.

“Yes,” he replies. “This is my last spot.”

Aurora looks at the sparse appearance, not even a sign put outside. Eon opens the door, singing its soft chime, and Aurora steps in after him. She’s struck to find rows of jewelry arranged along the four walls, painted navy blue, with cases planted into the middle of the floor. Though empty, they are meant for future displays.

Eon heads over to the case closest to the back door, tapping a bell resting on top.

Aurora joins him, “Is anyone present?”

“Should be,” Eon replies, turning around to face the front. He puts his hands in his pockets. “It’s not an issue if no one is—I can come back later.”

Aurora peers at the glass case, looking at dazzling necklaces, bracelets and rings aligned on vermilion velvet stands. She didn’t expect a store of this magnitude on Beast Island. The quality of the items are beautiful, with delicate designs.

Eon watches her from the corner of his eye. Her expression is intrigued, perusing the case with calm interest. He closes his eyes, waiting for the merchant to arrive. He listens to the faint tread of Aurora’s feet on the ground, the soft tap of her fingers on the surface of glass. He lets his mind wander in peace, glad to have a moment to himself.

Aurora eventually returns to his side, “Are you sure they’re here?”

“Yes,” he answers, not opening his eyes. “If you prefer, you can go find your parents.”

Aurora turns around, skirt slightly shifting about her feet. She stares up at Eon, debating whether to take him up on the suggestion or not. Her parents might be done, but if they’re not, she wouldn’t be able to leave again as smoothly as before. Staring at each side of the room, she says, “This is rude.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This wouldn’t happen in Bright Moon.”

Eon gives an exasperated sigh, “No, of course not. Nothing bad ever happens in Bright Moon.”

She ignores it or doesn’t hear. Aurora boasts, crossing her arms, “Right! Glad you see it my way.”

“Your Highness,” Eon scoffs, turning to face her. “If everyone could see things your way, we’d have a greater need for service animals.”

She blinks, “Why is that?”

“Everyone would be blind,” Eon answers.

Aurora says, tone clipped, “Oh, what would you know?”

“A lot more than you,” Eon replies, feeling vigor return.

“I doubt you possibly could!” Aurora’s head tilts at an arrogant angle. “The only thing you’ve proven today is that you make an excellent mule.”

Feigning injury, Eon clutches his chest, “Ah! You hurt me. But I could’ve sworn that you were fine with loyal, hard-working creatures. Unless that only matters when it’s useful to you.”

Aurora crosses her arms, huffing quietly.

Eon has known Aurora his entire life. Aurora has proven time and again that she has an elitism that tends to push her away from most people. Her parents are open-minded, cheerful individuals, and together they tend to liven any situation. Aurora can be charming, but she lacks sincerity. While not brash, her keeping an absurd distance from the folks around them during his errands proved that she was around him because he was the one thing she knew, rather than any intention toward actual civility.

Aurora inspects her shoulder, finding a loose thread. She points at it, and it dissolves in the air.

“I thought magic wasn’t a toy,” he says, taunting.

“This isn’t the same,” she snaps.

Before Eon can retort, the door opens behind them. The two turn around and find a woman standing there. Full-figured, with brown hair, hazel eyes and pale skin, the merchant is dressed in Bright Moon garb. Silver arm bands go up to mid-forearm, and she removes a light blue cape to hang on a coat rack.

“Eon, hello! I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. My meeting ran late.”

“No worries. I thought as much,” Eon replies.

The woman stares at Aurora for a moment, stunned, then smiles, “Your Highness! Welcome to my shop.”

Returning the warm greeting, Aurora nods at her, “Hello, I’m pleased to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Minette, Your Highness. If I may ask, what are you doing on Beast Island?”

“Royal duties,” Aurora gives a dainty laugh. “It’s been lovely!”

“I’m glad to hear that!” Minette says, walking over to a desk.

Eon bends down, giving Aurora a deadpan stare.

Aurora shoos him back, returning it with a glare.

“So!” Minette begins, causing the two to stand upright before she can notice. “Eon, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“What is it?”

With an excited skip in her step, Minette returns to the chair behind the larger collection of jewelry, “I needed a model for some of my jewelry, and using you would be really helpful!”

“Really? That’s it?” he asks, a bit surprised. “I don’t need to patch a hole in your roof or magic up boxes?”

“Sorry! I understand if you’d prefer to do those things instead,” Minette jokes.

Eon takes his seat, a little relieved that this is the easiest job he’s had today. Aurora sits in a chair nearby, crossing her right ankle under her left, hands in her lap.

“Your Highness, you can scoot closer,” suggests Minette.

Eon gives Aurora a brief glance.

“No, thank you, I’m comfortable where I am,” Aurora says.

“Nonsense! You can try anything on too!”

Aurora is about to decline when Eon rises to his feet and stands behind his seat. He indicates to it with a quick motion of his head, and Aurora elects to accept it. He pushes the chair under her, before levitating the one she’d been in next to it.

Minette smiles, bringing out her first batch, “How is Nyxia?”

“She’s doing well,” he informs her. “She’s likely in a meeting herself.”

“Your mother isn’t usually doing business with other people, correct?”

Eon peruses the jewelry that she places out on the table. Picking up a silver-banded ring, a crimson gem laid in its intricate center, he says, “I suppose she isn’t. But she will occasionally meet up with someone. I think she had to discuss matters with the council on Mystacore.”

“No doubt causing a stir of some sort,” Aurora adds, slipping a white bracelet onto a delicate wrist.

Eon glances at her, “You would know how to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Aurora gives a demure grin, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Playing coy only works on the dim, Aurora," he tells her with a smirk. "But I don’t blame you for being outside of familiar company that you think it’d work on me.”

“Ha ha.”

Minette watches with curious fascination, beaming at them, “You two must be good friends.”

Aurora and Eon turn to her at the statement.

“Am I wrong?” Minette asks, unsure now.

Aurora gives an awkward smile, a little odd on her lips, “Oh, it’s not that! We’ve known one another for years.”

“For how long, if I may ask?”

“A long, long time,” Eon replies, trying on a bracelet as well, shining black. “My mother knows her aunt.”

“Ohh, I see! I wasn’t aware that you knew the royal family, Eon.”

“Not many do,” he answers.

“How do you know Eon?” Aurora returns the question to the other woman.

“He lived near me at Bright Moon,” Minette explains. “I was a resident of the complexes there.”

“Really?” Aurora asks, shocked. “Why did you move here?”

“I always liked to engage in the unusual,” Minette tells her. A happy smile grows on her face, “It was delightful having Eon move in next door. I had become acquainted with his family when they would visit, and they informed me that my designs might strike a chord with a different crowd too, so I decided to set up shop outside of Bright Moon. I’m going to live here permanently, but I’ll be keeping my place over there to be in touch with my family.”

“Oh, I see…”

Minette notes the slight change in Aurora’s disposition. She sets down a narrow container on the table, “Do not misunderstand, Your Highness! Eon and I had been neighbors for a good few years, and he talked to me about the changes occurring on Beast Island. It seemed like a good opportunity to try my business out here too and build a second location. I grew up in Bright Moon, of course, but a change of pace now and again doesn’t hurt, right? I love my home, but knowing that Beast Island had potential was exciting!”

Eon gives Aurora a brief glance, “Surely, you understand what she means.”

Aurora goes quiet, not wanting to look at him. The two enter a chit chat that doesn’t involve her, to which she finds relief. She doesn’t fully… understand Minette’s motivations. He, unfortunately, is correct. An overachiever herself, Aurora can comprehend pushing toward her goals. But her ties to her home are so valuable, that she can’t help but feel a little slighted that a subject of hers decided that it was better to live here, in an underdeveloped metropolis. She can’t disconnect that success is tied to her kingdom and all its facets. It figures that Eon would be capable of convincing someone that, an idea they’d never considered before, might be what they want. He was always good at that.

It has been… ages since they’ve been in each other’s presence. They don’t interact often, but when they do it can be rather... tense. Tense is how she describes her relationship with Eon. His personality is both sardonic and frigid, which can lead to frustrating discussions. He has been more than pleasant thus far—even with his tendency to argue with her. She attempts to be cordial when she can, but she finds his quips to cut to the quick bothersome.

Then he does things like hold out chairs for her, or open doors and allow her to enter first, and she’s a little confused how someone can hold her with contempt and yet high enough esteem to do favors.

Maddening is also how it can be expressed being around Eon.

Aurora’s curiosity rises when Minette pulls out another box, dark and smooth, with a simple crescent moon latch on the front.

“These are my latest earrings!” Minette says, opening it. An array of different sets are revealed, but Aurora’s eyes hone in on a simple pair: pink tear-drop shaped earrings, not looking like anything special, but they have a soft sheen to their color that’s appealing.

“Your Highness, you seem taken with these,” Minette pulls them out. “Would you care to try them on?”

“Oh! Um, yes, thank you,” Aurora holds them in her hands, delicately pinning each one through her earlobes. Minette places a mirror in front of her, and Aurora discovers that she not only finds them pleasing, but she’s enchanted by it. They dangle as she moves her head, and she smiles. Genuine and delighted. “These are beautiful.”

“Thank you!” Minette turns to Eon. “And what about you?”

Eon stares at Aurora, and he pulls himself out of his reverie before Aurora can turn to face him. He looks down at the velvety interior, checking the selection. He does find his eyes trained on a similar pair, but in lovely lavender rather than the rosy pink she chose, their diameter wider a bit at the tip before becoming more rounded at the bottom by comparison as well. He picks it up, staring at it for a moment.

“Try them on, try them on!” encourages Minette.

Eon does as she says, and he checks the mirror too. He gives a light chuckle, the side of his mouth tilting up, “You do know how to win a man over.”

Minette claps her hands excitedly, “Good! Do you two like them enough to get them?”

Aurora nods, beaming, “Yes, absolutely!”

“Yes, I definitely want them,” Eon begins. He reaches for his pocket, “How much is this, Minette?”

“Eon, you silly boy,” the older woman giggles. “Consider them a gift from me to the both of you, hm?”

Aurora waves a hand, “Oh, that’s sweet of you, but you should be paid for your work!”

Eon nods in agreement, taken aback, “It doesn’t feel right to have them handed over. I can pay for Aurora’s set as well.”

Aurora, a little flattered despite herself, coos, “Aww, really?”

“Yes, really,” he answers.

Minette wags a finger, “Ah-ah-ah! I won’t hear of it. It really is my way of saying thanks to Eon for helping out today and times past; and Your Highness, I’d be honored if you wore them!”

Grinning, Eon shrugs, reclining in his seat, “Well, who am I to turn down a free present?”

“Thank you very much, Minette,” Aurora says. She looks at the mirror again, enjoying herself for the first time today.

                                                            -

Glimmer stands next to Entrapta, looking over a couple of blueprints that the engineer created with a team of clones. The day has passed with little event, and Glimmer was glad about that. She addresses Entrapta, “How is Odessa, by the way? Will she be home soon?”

Entrapta nods, widening her smile, “Yes! She will be home in a month.”

“Ooh, that’s exciting!” Glimmer says. “I bet you’ve missed her.”

“I knooooow!” Entrapta flips in place through the air. “I told her if she found anything interesting to bring it back!”

“Where did she go again?”

“She went to visit our family in Inicos. It’s a long journey, but the return trip is much shorter.”

Glimmer nods, then glances at Hordak. She leans in, whispering, “Do you think Hordak is excited?”

Entrapta picks up the cue, and whispers back, “Yes! Hordak doesn’t show it, but he misses our baby too.”

“That’s so cute!” Glimmer says.

“I know!”

From where he stands, Hordak’s ears twitch a little, looking over his shoulder at the women. They simply wave at him, and he resumes conversation with Bow.

Glimmer turns her attention toward the darkening sky. It’ll be about time to head back to the castle. She’s been enjoying herself since she’s arrived. Even with all the experience she has now, she cannot help but feel unsettled when she’s in the palace for too long, and it has been an overdue time in regards to going out. Beast Island may not be what individuals think of for relaxation and enjoyment, but without all the technology trying to kill you, it’s fun. Bow can attest to that.

The sound of the elevator is familiar by now that none of them turn to it. But a moment later, Glimmer hears, “Hi, Mama!”

She looks over Entrapta’s shoulder, and she rises to greet her daughter, “Aurora! Hi, honey. Did you have a good time?”

The princess gives a delicate shrug of her shoulders, “I suppose.”

“Are those earrings?” Glimmer asks, pointing to her ears. “You didn’t have them on before.”

Aurora touches one, “Oh, yes! Do you like them?”

“I adore them! They’re such a compliment to your face—” begins Glimmer, when her eyes slide over to the left. She lets out a loud gasp, “Eon!”

Eon continues his strides, giving a salute with his hand, “Hello.”

Glimmer, despite being dwarfed by the younger man, teleports over the remaining four feet and crushes him to her. “Oh my gosh, how’ve you been?”

“Not broken,” he remarks.

“Oh, I know you’re fine!” Glimmer laughs, releasing him. She holds his wrists in her hands, appraising him. “By the moon, you’ve gotten tall.”

Eon brushes his hair from his face, grinning down at her, “Thank you, it’s genetics.”

Entrapta bounces over, giving him an affectionate pat on the back, “And your strict diet!”

“That too,” he agrees. “I’d kill to have a slice of cake.”

“Were you with Aurora just now?” Bow asks, walking over to them with Hordak.

“She accompanied me all day,” Eon informs the couples. “She performed good samaritan duties.”

Glimmer can’t help her astonishment. She looks at Aurora, “Really?”

“He happened to be walking by, that’s all,” Aurora explains. “He worked, I watched.”

Bow holds his daughter by the shoulder, pulling her to him, giving her a happy shake, “You learned a thing or two though, didn’t you?”

“Sure, Papa.”

Eon leans down to Glimmer, “You know, she actually got dirt on her.”

“For once, huh?” Glimmer jests back.

Flushing, Aurora crosses her arms, “Mama, please…”

Hordak turns to Bow, “Will you three be returning to Bright Moon now?”

Bow nods, “Since Aurora is here, and it’s getting late, we likely should.”

Glimmer turns to the clone family, “Would any of you be interested in coming back and having dinner? The cooks don’t mind that!”

Entrapta shakes her head, “As much as I’d like to ask for tiny food from your chefs, Hordak and I have a previous engagement to attend to, so we’ll have to say no!”

Hordak nods at them, “Perhaps another time.”

“Got it!” Glimmer says, looking up at Eon. “What about you? You can have that slice of cake with us!”

“I got something to finish up here, but thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Eon, please, it’s Glimmer!”

“Sorry, Glimmer.”

Bow adds, “You should come by the next time you’re around!”

“Thank you,” Eon says, glancing at Aurora. “I’ll consider it some time.”

After a few more pleasantries, Eon bids farewell first. Hordak and Entrapta accompany the family to the portal about halfway before they veer off to their own place.

Glimmer stares up at her husband, “This was a great outing, wasn’t it?”

Bow stretches his arms toward the sky, “You bet! It’s good to get out of the stuffy meetings now and then.”

Aurora purses her lips, “I think we could’ve gone home sooner.”

Glimmer looks at her daughter, “Didn’t you have fun with Eon?”

“I had as much fun as one could while watching someone do menial labor,” Aurora replies.

“It’s good to get out regardless,” Bow says.

“I did always like that boy,” Glimmer tells them.

Aurora sighs, not understanding how he can win her parents over. He can be charming, to be sure, and he surprised her today by how useful he was to others. Even thoughtful. But he doesn’t have anything else going for him. She finds it to be a lucky thing that he enjoys being distant from her too.

Today was a fluke.

After all, he is a clone’s son.

                                                             -

Entrapta holds Hordak to her chest, brushing his hair as he falls asleep, “Did you have fun earlier today?”

“In the house or with our friends?”

“Both!”

Hordak smiles at her. His fingers slide up to touch her face, “I did enjoy myself.”

Entrapta leans forward, kissing the bridge of his nose. She puts their foreheads together, “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?”

“You can return the favor to me later,” Hordak says. “I’m comfortable.”

Entrapta continues petting his scalp, finding that she is also in a cozy position, and maybe they will just have more fun tomorrow. She yawns, voice getting drowsy, “Are you happy Odessa is coming soon?”

“Yes, I am,” he replies. “There’s much to discuss with her.”

“There is…”

Hordak’s eyes drift to his wife’s collarbone. Breathing in the scent of her skin, Hordak pulls her closer. His thoughts begin to pick up in the quiet of the room. Churning. Once his mind finds something to think about, he can have as much a difficult time letting it be as Entrapta could. And their daughter was, for better or worse, the same.

He asks, with unusual hesitation, “Is Odessa keeping something from me? She has a strong wanderlust, and she enjoys visiting family but... she doesn’t feel like herself. When she left, it seemed as if she was unsure of how to approach me. That she didn’t want to inform me of any event she experienced. Am I imagining it?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Entrapta?”

The question receives light snores as a response.

Sighing, Hordak kisses the column of her throat before settling into her chest, unable to stop thinking of his dream from earlier. The sense of unease he has balled in his chest.

He is curious what this odyssey would entail for his daughter and her friends.

And he is worried what the outcome may be.

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”