#There are already some of these AUs on Ao3

[ginnyw-potter]

please please please recommend some good hinny fics I literally cannot find anything 😭😭

Oh my god anon there are so many good fics out there. I don't know what you like so here are just a few and all those writers nearly all have multiple fics that are also so so good so you should have plenty to read.

WIPs:

Already Gone by @takeariskao3 (memory loss) arrive at its destination (full of hope) by dhpanya10 (Regency) In the Flat With the Blue Door by little0bird (Notting Hill AU) Made To Be Broken by StarlingFlight (there is only one bed) Quidditch Is For Losers by @fizzyginfizz (this is on my tbr and I've only read bits but obsessed with this Ginny) Spring Fever by takearisk (omegaverse) Ginny Weasley is a Slut by @four2andnew (Drunk texting AU) Seeking you by Startanewdream (Quidditch AU)

Completed:

heaven knows i've tried by @lanaturnergetup (Quidditch fic) I heart ? by @starlingflight (secret dating) Ginny's Very Serious Investigation by @tedwardremus (humour) like passing notes in secrecy by @nuatthebeach (mutual pining) Fallin' All In You by StarlingFlight (HBP) An Appropriate Gift for a Wizard by TedwardRemus (Post-DH) before the moment's gone by @gmwpluvr (HBP) The Big Bad Betrayal by @startanewdream (HBP) loml by @corneliaavenue-ao3 (text fic) confessions should be better planned by takearisk (text fic) Bewitched by StarlingFlight (Halloween AU) JSYK ILY by @brightlybound (text fic) The Night of the Brown Bananas by @evesaintyves (Coming of age) Trust Him Like a Brother by CorneliaAvenue (Flirting and more)

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 43

Chapter 43 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie begins to work through his internalized homophobia with Bosko, unsure what if he can go home. He doesn’t know how. Buck is trying to keep Chris’s spirits up as they wait for him to find peace with himself and find his way back. To just talk to Buck again.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: internalized homophobia, insecurity

~~~

Chapter 43: The First Step Is Admitting It

Bosko sits with Eddie as he cries for the life he wants and partially has, but that was never his to keep. It feels like he’s crying for hours. His head hurts and his eyes are aching and puffy. It’s very not charming and he’s glad he doesn’t have to go into work tomorrow, because he’s not sure how to explain the traces of tears that are bound to still be visible then.

She softly tells him that it’s okay, that he is allowed to love Buck, that he’s not failing him or anything else he’s internalized.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, because I didn’t think so either, but you’re going to be okay. You’re good too. You’re allowed to feel all the things people told you you’re not supposed to. You’re allowed to exist, Eddie. You’re allowed to be you,” she says intently as she shakes him lightly to make her sure her words sink in.

It’s the first time anyone has ever told him that so bluntly, he thinks. Buck made him feel like that, Chris too, but no one else ever did. Papi doesn’t like who he is, mom certainly doesn’t and he’s pretty sure Shannon stopped liking him the moment she got to know him better, but by then it was already too late.

Eddie has felt shame for as long as he can remember. It clings to him like a second skin and trying to believe what Bosko is saying, feels like skinning himself.

He’s a mess.

At some point, he stops crying, just retreats into himself. Bosko leads him to the couch and he curls into himself, while she makes them some tea. Mayo still hates his fucking guts (and he can’t blame her), but Butter nudges his arm until he lets him sit on his lap, cuddling into him as he mindlessly buries his hands in his fur.

Bosko comes back with two mugs, handing one to Eddie, before plopping down next to him on the couch. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, feeling a bit embarrassed about his breakdown. She must notice, because she says: “If it makes you feel any better, I cried all over Ronnie and he’s my Captain.”

Eddie shudders at the thought of ever letting Bobby see more than a glimpse of this side of him. He could have gone to the others maybe, but Chimney truly can’t keep a secret to save his life and Hen��� Well, she’s nice and he trusts her. Maybe he could have gone to Hen, but she would have tried to help and he couldn’t have accepted that. Plus, she is just as nosy as Chimney is. They all are, honestly.

He loves them, but this would not have stayed personal. The only person he would have trusted is Buck and he can’t exactly go to Buck about this, now can he?

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, suddenly overcome by gratitude. “I know I’ve been a dick, so thanks for still being here.”

“Yeah, you are a bit of a dick, but I like you anyway,” Bosko says with a smile. “And Butter likes you, so you’ve been vouched for.”

“Mayo hates me, though,” Eddie points out, though he feels slightly better about it anyway.

“Mayo hates everybody,” Bosko laughs and Eddie manages to laugh too.

They drink their tea in silence, both letting the comfortable moment wash over them. After a while, Bosko breaks the silence by asking: “So, I know bits and pieces, but how did you come to marry Buck when you’ve only just realized you love him and kind of spiraled about it? Wouldn’t you have spiraled before?”

“I mean, I guess I should have, but it was never like that,” Eddie sighs. “I always swatted the thought away, because it wasn’t like that, I wasn’t like that. People who commented didn’t have the whole story anyway and I’m not homophobic, why should I care what people think even if they’re wrong, you know?”

Bosko snorts, then says: “Sorry, too soon?”

Somehow, it’s kind of comforting, so he grins: “Nah, not too soon.”

“Good, because that is hilarious, Diaz,” Bosko laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at my pain,” Eddie faux-complains.

“I’m allowed, I put up with your shit,” she informs him happily. “Anyway, you never answered the first part. How did you two end up married? With a kid, no less.”

And Eddie just tells her. He’s been struggling with thinking about how the two of them came together, didn’t even want to hear about it, but now it comes pouring out. He’s let himself look his past in the eyes, openly and honestly, has let himself think about Buck and has acknowledged that he loves him. He said it out loud and there has only been kindness in return, even if it’s mixed in with Bosko laughing at him.

So, he tells her about a young teen desperate to prove something, though he never knew why. How that got a girl pregnant and how that girl always knew he didn’t love her and how he ran instead of trying to love her, because on some level he knew that too. How they divorced and how she moved on and how he was secretly glad, but also didn’t want to face it, until he was forced to face it, because she ran just like he did.

He tells her how he came face to face with Buck and for the first time, how it felt like someone believed in him, like he knew what he was doing. How Buck is his first friend, his first actual friend. One, who stayed by his side and didn’t run when it would have been easier. How he only got closer and closer, until Eddie didn’t know how to live without him.

As he talks, Bosko listens closely, nodding along and making noises to show she’s still listening.

The mood drops as he finishes off: “So, yeah, uhm, that’s how we got here. And now I fucked it up and he probably hates me and I’d be lucky if he even wants to be my coworker anymore. I’m gonna have to leave the 118 when he is good to work again. Think the 136 wants me back?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bosko says, swatting at him lightly.

“What?” Eddie exclaims. “I’m not being an idiot. Didn’t you hear what I just told you? I’ve been creepily in love with him and forcing him to stay married to me for years and now I’ve abandoned him for weeks. Of course he hates me now.”

“He didn’t want to divorce you, dumbass. The two of you literally fought because he didn’t want to divorce you and he’s picked you over and over again. Didn’t you just say he always stayed by your side and didn’t run even if it would have been easier?” she reminds him. “You’ve been going through something, figuring yourself out is fucking hard. If you tell him, he’ll get it. You two can work through this.”

“Then I have to tell him, I can never do that,” Eddie immediately says.

“Because then he’ll know you were ‘creepily in love with him and forcing him to stay married to you’?” she checks, looking mightily unimpressed.

“Yeah! Exactly.”

“Eddie, it is homophobic to say that.”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie frowns. “It’s true that it’s creepy to be close to someone when you have a crush on them and think things about them while they don’t know.”

Bosko pinches her nose and curses under her breath, before straightening herself back out and looking at Eddie again. “Okay, let me phrase it like this; was it creepy for Chimney to befriend Maddie, even though he liked her?”

“I mean, I guess not, but that’s different, he didn’t marry her.”

“Forget about the being married for a second,” Bosko groans. “You and Buck are friends, right?” He nods. “You got married as friends and you’ve only ever acted as friends, correct?” He nods again. “And you’ve never made an advance on Buck that was unwelcome, just thought about how great he was and how you wanted to kiss him and shit.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Eddie blushes heavily. “And of course not! I don’t want to do anything he doesn’t want me to.”

“Then pray tell, how it is creepy that you are friends with a guy, who wants to be your friend, by the way, and how that is any different from Chimney and Maddie?” Bosko asks.

Eddie thinks about it for a moment, then realization dawns on him: “Oh my god, it was homophobic.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Bosko repeats, this time less ‘I told you so’ about it. “Homophobia is a bitch, internalized homophobia especially. It’s gonna take a while until you can stop that.”

“Internalized homophobia?” Eddie says confused. She used the term before, but he’d been focused on other things then. Now, it registers and he has no clue what she means by it.

“Oh shit, you truly are a baby-baby gay,” Bosko says, slightly horrified. Eddie also doesn’t know what that means, so she spends some time explaining both terms to him, as well as expanding on internalized homophobia with some examples about her own life.

Eddie feels uncomfortably seen by her and it begins to settle in what it means for him, now that he has accepted he loves Buck. Now that he’s no longer running. The things he has to get used to and work through.

“I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet,” he confesses softly. “I- I can’t- I need to process all this, before I can face him.”

“Okay,” Bosko nods simply.

“Okay?” Eddie repeats, unsure if he heard right. He expected her to push back, push him to face Buck like she’s done for most of the evening.

“Yeah, okay,” she confirms. “Processing all this can be a lot and with your complicated mess of feelings and life, I’m not going to force you to live a domestic life with your crush when doing that pushed you to start punching people. You can stay on my couch until you’re ready.”

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says gratefully, so relieved she is going to let him stay.

She hold up her finger, then says: “But, only if you call him. You got to at least tell him that you’re okay and working through stuff. You don’t have to specify what, but talk to him.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” A phone call still feels impossible, but Buck deserves more from Eddie. He deserves to have Eddie try. For them. For their family.

He can break his own heart to let Buck go, but he can’t let himself break Chris’s. Chris deserves to have his daddy and his papi in his life. He isn’t going to fuck that up. He can be a good father. He can be… gay and a good father.

Bosko looks at the clock and says: “Though maybe not tonight. It’s already 2:00 AM. Are you not exhausted? How long have you been awake?”

“Uh, around lunch,” Eddie replies, starting to feel the exhaustion now that she mentions it.

“Bedtime it is then. Get your ass off this couch so I can put some bedding on it. Do you want to borrow a shirt to sleep in? No offense, but you kind of reek.”

“That would be nice,” Eddie says sheepishly. He came her straight after that fight and never changed or showered. It is pretty disgusting.

Bosko ends up herding him into her bathroom, lending him some of her boxers and a shirt, before telling him to not use her conditioner, because it’s expensive. Eddie has never used conditioner in his life, so that’s easy enough.

While he showers, she makes up the couch into a makeshift bed. It’s not as comfortable as his own couch, but it will have to do. So he thanks her before they bid each other goodnight.

He tosses and turns the whole night, trying to figure out what to say tomorrow, until he finally falls into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, his own nerves wake him. Again, Bosko is still asleep and he is glad for that as he sneaks onto the balcony. Butter follows him, settling on his lap when he takes a seat. His purrs soothe Eddie as he gets out his phone with shaky hands, before pressing call.

“Eddie? Oh my god, are you okay? Where are you?” Buck greets him as he picks up, sounding relieved, but also like he doesn’t fully believe it’s real.

Guilt floods Eddie’s system at the words. He should have never doubted Buck’s ability to be worried about him. “I’m okay. I’m at Bosko’s place,” he answers quietly, subdued.

“Bosko’s place?” Buck repeats, a weird tinge to his voice.

“Uh, yeah, I worked with her at the 136? You met her at the shield ceremony,” Eddie reminds him.

“I know who she is,” Buck snaps, the anger he is right to feel coming through now. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s so important about going there that you couldn’t come home or even pick up your fucking phone.”

Eddie winces, he deserves that. “I’ve been running, kind of.”

“Running? From what? Should I be worried here?” Buck asks, still pissed off, but now more in the worried territory again and slightly more calm.

“Uhm, I- I don’t think so? I just-” Eddie makes a frustrated noise. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. “I’ve been working through some things. Well, I need to work through some things, because I had been working through them, but not in a great way and-”

“Eddie, slow down,” Buck cuts him off. He’s been so relieved Eddie called, then worried, then pissed off and now he’s worried once more. Eddie isn’t the rambler, Buck is. Right now, Buck needs to know what’s happening, needs to know what the problem is, so he can fix it. So, he needs Eddie to be calm and focus. “Tell me slowly; what’s been going on,” he instructs. Over the line, he can hear Eddie take a deep breath.

Butter is purring loudly with how nice Eddie’s stressed petting is. It’s nice, makes him feel like he’s not as much of a monster as he thinks. That helps him swallows his nerves, before he confesses: “I’ve been street fighting.”

“What,” Buck chokes. Out of everything, this was pretty low on his list of possibilities, so low, it wasn’t even on there to begin with.

“It was just a friendly thing at first to cope with the stress, but, uhm, then it got out of hand and it- it got bad, Buck. I was scared to go home,” his voice is small and he’s ashamed of it, but here, alone on this balcony with only Buck to hear, he lets himself feel scared and small. He’s safe. Buck might be mad at him, but he knew the second he heard his voice that he was safe.

Indeed, Buck doesn’t disappoint, asking: “And are you okay where you are now?”

“Yeah, Bosko caught me at one of my fights, I- I realized I fucked up. She offered up her couch while I sort myself out. I’m quitting, so I, uh- I’m kind of staying here now. While I do that.”

“You’re not coming home?” Buck asks and Eddie wants to crawl into the feeling he gets when Buck says the word ‘home’ and stay there forever, but also crawl out of his own skin at the disappointment in Buck’s voice.

“Not yet, no. I’m sorry. I- I know I should have been home, I know I haven’t been, but I- I don’t know how to be home right now.” To his horror tears start to form in his eyes. His first instinct is to push them down, but then he remembers where that got him, so he lets them flow. Silently, they drip down his face.

“Do you- do you know when you’re going to be ready to be home again?” There is something fragile in Buck’s voice too.

“Uhm, no,” Eddie says, because he doesn’t. It feels like the wrong answer, it feels like he should be going home right now and embracing Buck and begging on his knees to be forgiven, to be loved, but that is exactly what he can’t do. He’s ruined enough, he can’t ruin it more by dumping this all on Buck before he figures himself out. Before he’s safe.

“Chris misses you,” Buck tells him and it doesn’t feel like a change of topic, but like an attempt to persuade him.

“Yeah, I- I heard your voicemail,” Eddie replies, voice thick. He feels horrible about not seeing Chris, about abandoning him too.

“Oh…” Buck is quiet for a moment. “Can you not see Chris or can you just not come home?” The underlying ‘can you just not see me’ hangs unspoken in the air between them. “Maybe you can pick him up for school tomorrow? Before your shift.”

Eddie is still scared about doing something to hurt either of them, but it also feels like he released some of the pressure by talking about it. Butter isn’t scared of him. He hasn’t hurt this fragile creature. He’s been gentle. Besides, he’s no longer angry, he’s just exhausted. Exhausted and confused and not ready. He’s just not ready.

However, just being not ready isn’t a good enough excuse. He’s never been ready to care for Chris and he has already failed so many times, but by god has he always tried and like hell is he going to stop trying now. So with a hoarse voice, he says: “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Good, good. He’ll be thrilled to hear that,” Buck says and Eddie can picture the wobbly smile that’s on his face. He wishes he could make it better, but he doesn’t know how. Buck is the one who is good at fixing things, Eddie only breaks them. “Want me to wake him so you can talk to him?”

“No. Uhm, no, it’s okay. He needs his rest and I- I’ll see him tomorrow,” Eddie says. He feels like a mess, he doesn’t want Chris to see this part of him. He needs time to pull himself back together.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Buck agrees, while clearly disagreeing. “What do you want me to tell him? He needs some sort of explanation, he knows you’re not working.”

They talk a little more about the logistics of it all. It’s stilted and uncomfortable, a lot is unspoken between them. Eddie feels a longing to say more, but he can’t bring himself to do so and Buck probably knows that there is more. It’s like there is glass between them. Eddie hates feeling so distant from Buck, but he doesn’t know how to bridge it.

When he hangs up, he feels vaguely hollow. He knows he did the right thing by calling and that it worked out in the end, but a small selfish part of him wished Buck had been more angry, instead of this quiet, sad understanding that Eddie doesn’t fully grasp. It feels uncomfortable to not understand him, he’s always understood Buck. It’s one of the many things he has broken.

He has no clue how he’s going to come back, if he can even come back to this family he had, the one with Chris and Buck. But that is something for him to figure out. It feels like a new start and he doesn’t know of what yet. It’s scary, but also a little exciting.

The following two weeks continue on in this weird limbo.

Buck explains to Chris that Eddie is helping out his friend, like Buck had to help out tía Maddie, so he can’t be home as much as they want him to. Chris is clearly not very pleased with it, but he lights up when Buck tells him Eddie will be bringing him to school.

He doesn’t see Eddie when that happens, since he’s in the kitchen, while Chris goes to meet Eddie at the door. It absolutely sucks to know Eddie is so close, but not being able to see him or talk to him. Not being able to assess what’s wrong.

Eddie needs space for figure himself out. Space away from Buck. It’s tearing him up inside, but he puts on a brave face and manages. Eddie is clearly going through something, he heard that much in his voice, and it’s something Buck can’t help him with. It’s going to be something he has to get used to when this all ends, might as well start now, even if his heart tears itself apart over it.

Hen texts him asking if it all worked out and he texts her that it’s all okay, Eddie just had a flat tire and they’re good now. Neither of them feel like letting the team in on this. Buck might not have all the details, but it feels private, sensitive. He understands not wanting the 118 nosing about while having to work with them each day. Buck is even a little glad he’s not back at work yet now that this is looming over him.

So, yeah, Buck manages. He hands the phone over to Chris at night so daddy can be there for bedtime and stays in the kitchen when Eddie drops Chris off or comes to pick him up.

Meanwhile, Eddie is trying to figure himself out. To create a place for himself where he is at peace with who he is and where he stands in the world. Not fighting people is hard, but he and Bosko spar one time and it doesn’t feel out of control. It feels just nice. Like a work out would. Not like anything special.

Eddie goes to a gay club, kisses a guy and it feels great and like he wants to throw up. It’s right, but it’s wrong. He wants to do it again, feel something close to what he felt. But the guy is okay looking, yet not attractive to him. Not really. Not like Buck is…

He learns a bunch of new terms, like demisexual, which makes him feel at home. And he meets a bunch of queer people from all walks of life. Listens to stories that resonate deeply, allowing him to lose a bit of that anger and the shame. Allows him to let go of the idea that these feelings are something he has to control, something he has to beat into submission.

Beyond that, he briefly gets to meet Heather and Kelsy when they drop of Tubs and he and Bosko spend all night analyzing what their interactions were like and if they have faith in the relationship while Eddie falls in love with Tubs.

He finds peace with himself, releases the pressure that had been building inside him in different, healthier ways, until the urge to punch someone has dissipated. Until he feels safe again. Both for himself and for others.

However, finding peace with himself, doesn’t mean an answer to the Buck conundrum appears before him.

The time spend away from him only confirms what Eddie already knows; he is deeply in love with Buck and it’s not a fleeting thing. It’s not going to go away, not anytime soon at least. It lingers in every quiet moment and fills the space between his organs until it is everywhere and he doesn’t know how to be himself without it.

Bosko tells him he should just rip the band aid off and tell Buck, face the rejection or embrace the possibility that Buck might love him back. But Eddie isn’t so sure.

Having the rejection might help him move on, but it’s also too painful to even think about. If he never tells, Buck never has to know and maybe he can fix this and go back to how they used to be, learn to live with the torch he carries for Buck silently. Keep him close and never let him go.

It’s an utterly selfish thing to do and he knows it, but he wants to. He wants to keep Buck. Wants to keep his friend. His person. If he just gives himself more time, maybe he can work out a way to be forgiven. To make it right.

The idea that Buck might love him back is too ludicrous to Eddie to even consider.

As the second weekend comes closer, it becomes clear that Eddie isn’t coming home soon. Chris returns with a good grade for his project and Eddie congratulated him in the car much like Buck did when Chris got home. However, Chris doesn’t seem happy with it.

While the two of them eat dinner, Buck asks: “What’s wrong, Superman? An A might not be an A+ like you hoped, but it’s still incredible. You did really well. What got you so down?”

Chris shrugs and pushes the food on his plate around. “I thought that if I did well, daddy would come home to celebrate, but he’s working this weekend and staying with his friend.”

Buck’s heart breaks for Chris, but there isn’t much he can do. Eddie is working through something and that’s important too. Not to mention that he’s actually working, not running like before. He can’t change that for Chris, even if he wants to.

“That does suck, buddy, but we can still celebrate,” he says, trying to inject enough cheer to convince Chris. “What do you think about the two of us going to check out the pier this weekend? We can try to win some cool prizes, maybe win a big one to make daddy jealous for missing it.”

It’s not perfect, but Chris lights up at the idea. “Can we, papi?”

“Of course,” Buck smiles back. He might not be able to fix what is going on with Eddie, but he can fix this. Going to the pier together sounds like a great idea. A bit of fun, it’s just what they all need to get their minds off everything.

~~

A/N:

wave emoji, wave emoji xp

Y’all I have discovered the glee of subjecting everyone to this, people calling me evil in the comments is fueling me >:3

[bitethedevil]

A House of Hope (Modern!AU Raphael x Tav): Chapter 2

Read this fic on AO3

Last Chapter

Fic summary: Tav lives at her mom's place after a tough break-up with her former boyfriend. Rent isn't cheap anywhere, but one day her mom finds her someone online who presents a tempting new living situation that won't break her bank account.

Tav moves into the Haven estate and becomes a part of Raphael's House of Hope project: a project that helps unfortunate souls to get back on their feet. Although, something is not quite right about the house and her fellow tenants. That's not to mention her odd landlord who seems to be hiding something...

AN: Raphael, our dear problematic landlord, is playing it safe in these first couple of chapters, but he will get so fucked up later on. For now we are setting the scene a bit more. NSFT stuff in the next chapter as Haarlep is properly introduced.

Tav yanked on the window to her bedroom. She pulled it closed but the handle would just not go down and let her keep it closed.

She had finally found something wrong with the apartment. She had been expecting toxic mold to hide somewhere behind the furniture, so she supposed that a broken window was really a minor fault.

She gave up on the stubborn window and instead felt the need to explore her new surroundings a little bit. She folded the map of the estate that Raphael had given her and put it in her back pocket.

When she opened the door to the shared entrance, she stepped out into a cloud of smoke. She blew it away and then looked for the source of it. A blonde, middle-aged woman who looked a bit worn out by life stood to the side of the doorway puffing on a cigarette.

“Sorry honey. Didn’t see you there,” the woman said in the hoarse, croaky voice of someone who had smoked their entire life. “You the new one?”

Tav nodded.

“I’m Tav,” she greeted. “Nice to meet you.”

“Linda,” the woman said curtly. “I live next door. Now…”

A beat of silence came as Linda took another long drag from the cigarette between her boney fingers. Tav looked at her for a moment and a smile tugged on her lips from the slight awkwardness of the pause that was just a moment too long.

“I won’t stop you from listening to loud music,” Linda continued after letting out a trail of smoke. “but I’ve got a heart condition, so be considerate of that. No blasting loud music out of nowhere. Turn the volume up gradually, you hear?”

Tav nodded again with a polite smile.

“I’ll remember that.”

She watched Linda’s bright turquoise nails tickled at her nose as she took another deep drag from the cigarette, all while she was watching her skeptically through her matching turquoise eyelids.

Tav’s eyes lingered on the cigarette for a moment. She cleared her throat.

“I know it’s not nice to test the hospitality of my neighbors from the get-go, but could I maybe borrow a cigarette?” Tav asked.

Linda blew out a cloud of smoke and slowly retrieved her pack from the maroon fanny pack around her waist. She opened the lid so she could take one. Tav placed it in her mouth and then looked from Linda’s face to her fanny pack.

“Could I borrow a lighter too?” Tav asked when she made no move to hand her one.

Linda fiddled with her bag at the same slow pace before pulling out a lighter and lighting the cigarette for her.

“Are you capable of smoking it yourself or do you need assistance with that too?” Linda quipped.

Tav grinned and took a drag of the cigarette. The nicotine made her body relax immediately.

She could already tell that she would like Linda. She knew her type because her old neighborhood had been filled with Lindas. She always had a weakness for those no-bullshit, chain-smoking ladies who you could see from the first glance had seen some shit in their life.

They should not be underestimated. They were always brutally honest, and they always had all the gossip.  

Linda looked her up and down and narrowed her eyes in thought.

“Yeah, you’re a pretty one,” Linda mused. “It won’t take long, no…Not long indeed.”

“For what?”

“For the master of the house to try and get in your pants,” Linda answered casually. “If he can get his cock out of Raha for even a second, that is. She’s a nympho. Watch out for that one. She’s one of those bisexuals or what you call them.”

Tav’s eyes widened, and she grinned at the candidness of her words.

“Yeah?” Tav said, a bit lost for words. “Interesting. Raphael a bit too old for me, I’m afraid.”

“He’s too old for Raha too but that doesn’t stop him,” Linda said with a huff and put out her cigarette. “Have you met with the others yet?”

Tav shook her head and took another drag of her cigarette.

“I’ve seen you and someone named John,” she said. “That’s it.”

“John has dementia,” Linda said bluntly. “He doesn’t talk much anymore. You haven’t met Raha and Oscar then. Raha is the nympho, Oscar is…”

She put her finger to her head and made the universal sign for craziness.

“I see,” Tav said. “Are you all close?”

“You’ve got to stay close in this madhouse,” Linda sighed. “We meet in the chapel usually. I’ll take you there.”

They went to the chapel. It was a piece of beautiful architecture, but it was very clear that it had not been used as a chapel for quite some time. Some of the benches had been arranged around tables that had been pulled inside from elsewhere.

Except for the fresco on the ceiling, the stained glass on the windows, and the cross on the wall, the chapel just looked like a well-used room for socializing and shared activities.

The three other residents were already in there.

John that she had met earlier was there, eating a pastry of some sort with shaking hands. Next to him sat a younger man in his thirties, who she guessed was Oscar.

Oscar was nervously biting at his nailbeds. He was brown-haired and looked up at her with the most beautiful and vivid green eyes she had ever seen. His eyes flicked over her.

Next to Oscar sat who could only be Raha: a gorgeous young woman with olive skin, dark hair and even darker eyes. She was playing with Oscar’s hair, which he seemed quite uncomfortable with.

“Everyone, Tav,” Linda said and gestured to her. “Tav, everyone. Come sit with us. Sit next to John. He doesn’t bite.”

Tav sat down and John turned to look at her with slight confusion.

“Maria?” John spoke quietly in a hoarse voice, his eyes lighting up a bit.

Linda gave a sympathetic sigh.

“Maria died, John,” Linda said in a loud voice so that the elderly man could hear her better. “This is a new one. Tav.”

“Tav…” John mumbled before returning his eyes to the pastry in his hands.

“Maria had your apartment before,” Linda explained and lit another cigarette. “Nice girl. She was about your age, which is why John’s confused. Tragic what happened to her… Aneurysm. It can even happen to the young ones.”

Tav noticed how Oscar’s eyes narrowed at that statement for some reason. He looked at Tav. His eyes flicked just above her head for some reason. He stared for a moment. Instinctively, Tav fixed her hair, expecting to find a leaf that had landed on her or something, but there was nothing. Oscar looked her in the eyes again.

“Did you already sign?” Oscar asked quietly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tav answered. “Signed just about an hour ago. I’ll live next to Linda.”

“A pity,” Oscar mumbled in a dark tone.

Linda rolled her eyes and then looked at Tav, as if to tell her not to take him seriously.  

“What do you do, Tav?” Raha asked in an almost sultry tone. “Are you going to work here with us?”

“Uh, no,” she answered. “I already have a job, so… I have lectures to go to, so I can’t really avoid going into town anyway. My workplace isn’t far from where I study.”

Raha smiled and nodded. Her canines looked unnaturally sharp as she smiled. Her eyes trailed down to look at Tav’s cleavage. Tav pulled up the neckline of her shirt a bit and cleared her throat.

“Do you all work here?”

“Yes,” Raha said and reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Tav’s tits. “We all have our duties around here. Oscar fixes things and takes care of the garden, John is an assistant of sorts, Linda cleans…”

“And you?” Tav asked.

Raha’s gave her another toothy smile.

“A bit of this and a bit of that…” she said in a suggestive tone. “Mostly I just keep the master of the house happy.”

“Mhm,” Tav said with a nod and quickly changed the subject. “So…why is it that you all meet out here? I thought I saw a meeting room for the tenants on the map…”

“He doesn’t come here,” Oscar quickly said. “Raphael never comes out here.”

“That’s not to say that we hate the boss,” Linda quickly added and looked at Tav. “But he can be a bit controlling and nitpicky at times. Sometimes it’s nice to have a separation between church and state, so to say. A space where you can get away for a bit.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Tav mumbled.

“Speaking of churches,” Linda said and pointed to the corner of the room. “If you are religious there’s a little altar and some candles over there. No one but John really uses it, but he can share.”

Tav looked to where she was pointing and then nodded. There was a table with some candles and a small cross on it. She had never been particularly religious, so it didn’t matter a whole lot to her.

Linda checked the turquoise watch around her wrist.

“I’ve got work duty,” Linda said and took a final drag of her cigarette before putting it out. “Oscar, can’t you take care of the new one? Walk her back to her apartment and keep Raha away from her.”

Raha moved her hand to her heart in mock-offense at her words.

“Don’t be jealous, Lin,” Raha purred. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Linda huffed at her before walking out. Tav looked at Oscar and gave him a polite smile. He sighed before getting up from his seat.

“Come on then.”

“Hey about what you said earlier,” Tav said. “What did you mean by that? That it was a pity?”

Oscar was taking her through a huge garden. It was a different route than the one Linda had taken her on. The gardens were just as perfectly kept and beautiful as the rest of the house.

Oscar gave a small shrug.

“I’m not supposed to say.”

“Come on, now,” Tav urged. “Did I make a mistake by signing?”

Oscar looked at her with those green eyes of his. There was a tinge of sadness in his eyes and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighed. “There’s no way out now anyway.”

“Please. Give me something. Moving brings enough anxiety in itself. I just want to know what I’m walking into. Is this all a scam? I had a feeling that it was.”

Oscar gave a long, tired sigh and shook his head.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. Please.”

He considered her for a moment. Their surroundings were beginning to look familiar now, meaning that they couldn’t be far from her apartment.

“Would you believe me if I said that you will never escape from here again?” Oscar said in a hushed tone. “That I’m not as crazy as the others make me out to be…that there is something seriously wrong with this place and…him.”

“Raphael?”

“Yes,” he said in an even quieter tone. “He’s not human, and I mean that in the most literal sense. Something is wrong with this place.”

Tav gave a sympathetic nod. She had dealt with people similar to him before. She had seen people with drug-induced psychoses. Drugs sometimes made her feel a little crazy too. Hallucinations, auditory and visual, and the delusions…

She was trying to determine what kind of crazy Oscar was.

“I see,” she said softly. “What is he then?”

“He’s not from here,” Oscar muttered and then looked at her with growing defeat in his eyes as he watched her expression. “You don’t believe me,” he said with a sad smile. “That’s alright…Just…take care. Your apartment is over there.”

Oscar pointed at her front door and then left before she could say anything. Now she felt terrible. She had not meant to be patronizing, just understanding. She sighed and walked in.

There was a letter stuck to the door of her apartment. She took it off before walking inside. It looked very official with a red wax seal and everything.

She opened it. It was an invitation to have dinner with Raphael.

Tav was led into the grand dining room of the estate by John who had greeted her at the door. The dining room was as lavish as the rest of the house. There were candles lit everywhere, shining their orange light over the gold and red furniture of the room.

The table was already set. It seemed that it was just going to be Raphael and her. Raphael lit up when he saw her. She self-consciously adjusted her clothes.

“I feel severely underdressed,” she said with an embarrassed chuckle. “My things haven’t gotten here yet, so…”

“Nonsense,” Raphael said. “You look fine just how you are. Please, sit.”

She sat down. Raphael took his seat at the head of the table.

“This is simply a little tradition we have here,” Raphael explained. “I find it useful to get to know who lives underneath my roof. Don’t feel nervous, dear. It is not an interrogation. Just dinner.”

“Just dinner,” she repeated with a nod. “Well. I’m an open book.”

Raphael poured a glass of wine for her and then himself.

“Let us get the unpleasantries out of the way, hm?” he said. “I was curious about this former boyfriend of yours. Your mother told me of his unsavory occupation. I trust he won’t be an issue for us?”

“No, no. It’s done and over with. He won’t come here or anything.”

“Good,” Raphael said with a smile. “His presence may prove difficult for one of our tenants. I won’t gossip, but you are not the only one who has had trouble with narcotics.”

“Okay,” Tav said with a tight smile and held up a hand to stop him. “I want to explain myself, because I feel like my mom might have filled your ears with her usual overexaggerated stories. I’m not really a drug addict.”

“No?” Raphael asked and took a bite of his food.

“No, not really,” she continued. “I did drugs, yes, but I wasn’t…’addicted’ to cocaine or to weed or to LSD or whatever. I just needed a little escape from reality every now and again, that’s all. I distanced myself from it when I felt like I was losing control over it. I’m clean now.”

Raphael gave a thoughtful hum and swirled the wine in his glass. He looked her over and a smile tugged on his lips.

“You would not say that a continuous craving for an escape or distractions is an addiction in itself?” Raphael challenged.

She bit the inside of her cheek in slight annoyance with how he pressed the subject. Also, in annoyance with how truthful that statement had described her former problems, but she would never admit that. She forced a small smile.

“I suppose,” she said with a shrug. “What can I say? I get bored easily and I have a hard time dealing with it. That’s all it is.”

She had always felt that way. She needed to be fully engaged in something interesting for her to feel like she was even alive. She needed something to obsess over. When she did drugs, everything was interesting. It was a nice replacement for a while, but at some point, even that became boring.

“Well, I can assure you that you won’t be bored here,” he said with a smile. “What were you trying to escape from, I wonder? Your boyfriend, perhaps?”

She shook her head.

“Just life, I suppose,” she said with a sigh. “No, Luke was fine. Nicest and most understanding boyfriend I have ever had, actually. I told him I couldn’t be with him because he did drugs. The truth is that I couldn’t be with him because I did drugs. He was a bit of a pushover, so telling him not to sell to me when I asked him didn’t really work, unfortunately.”

“Sounds like a painful separation,” he said.

“It was…” she said. “But it’s all over now. The relationship and the drugs. Things will be very different…”

She didn’t understand why she was telling him all of this, but still, she did. She felt as if she constantly needed to explain herself these days. It was as if she had a big brand on her forehead that said ‘addict’ and it was her new life’s purpose to explain that to everyone.

She cleared her throat.

“What about you?” she asked.

Raphael raised an eyebrow.

“What about me?”

“Who are you?” Tav asked and took a bite of her food. “Other than a very charitable landlord, I mean.”

Raphael leaned back in his seat and swirled the wine in his glass with a smirk.

“Your new neighbors haven’t spoken to you about me? I find that difficult to believe.”

“Only very little,” Tav said. “I’m sure your answer is different from theirs, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he purred. “Though I am still very curious about what they have said so far.”

Tav took a long sip of her wine, which gave her a moment to think about what she could say without getting her fellow tenants into trouble. They all worked for him, after all. She didn’t want to jeopardize anyone’s livelihood or living accommodations by accident.

“Well,” Tav finally said and cleared her throat. “I got the idea that you are pretty close with your tenants. Other than that, it was mostly sort of confusing statements. Oscar believes you’re an alien or something, which wasn’t super helpful information.”

He let out a hearty laugh at that. Tav smiled and laughed along with him.

“He’s a very imaginative boy that one,” he said in an amused tone. “I believe he thinks I’m the devil. That is the usual warning he gives to newcomers.”

“The devil? Wow,” Tav said with a chuckle. “What did you do to earn that title?”

Raphael gave an almost coy shrug and sipped his wine.

“I pride myself on my ability to help people, but it is hard to do so when someone does not want to be helped. I suppose I might have lost my temper once but believe me when I say that it was only because I cared about what happened to our dear Oscar.”

Tav nodded in understanding as he explained.

“He is a very sweet and smart young man…whenever he remembers to take his medicine, that is, which is less and less these days. Though you will have no trouble with him. Even when he is off his medication, he has never been known to be violent or troublesome.”

“I see,” Tav said. “You still haven’t answered my original question though.”

Raphael gave her another shrug.

“It is a difficult question to answer,” he said. “I am many things, and I have my fingers in many pies, as they say. There is no set job description, but I can assure you that the most important work I do, I do here. Nothing is as rewarding as seeing my residents just…blossom.”

He smiled at her. There was something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A glint in his eye or something. She wasn’t sure. There was definitely something up with this man, she felt. She brushed it off for now.

Raphael poured her more wine and continued their chat for a while before Tav headed home to sleep her first night in her new home.

It was getting dark outside. Tav was making her bed when she heard an odd noise. She paused her movements for a moment, but it seemed as if the noise disappeared the moment she did so. She shook her head and wrote it down as her being jittery over sleeping someplace new.

She tried closing the troublesome window again. She grabbed the handle and pulled it shut, but it would still not go all the way down. She tried yanking harder on it, but nothing happened. She pulled harder on the handle, but then it would not go down at all.

She sighed and once again gave up.

She pulled her pants off and got under the covers. She gave a small sigh of relief as she lay down on the bed. It felt as if her spine aligned for the first time in months. The mattress was the perfect balance of firm and soft against her back.

She turned off the light. The moment she did, the noise returned.

It seemed to come from outside. It was a low, windy, moaning sound. She didn’t feel like getting up, so she squinted and looked out of the dysfunctional window. She could see on the trees and bushes of the barely lit garden, that there was no wind that was making the noise.

She was too tired and too comfortable to care at that moment. The house was ancient, after all. It was bound to make weird noises every now and again. She brushed it off and closed her eyes.

She quickly drifted into that state between being awake and being asleep. The noise became louder and clearer. She could have sworn that it suddenly sounded like a thousand people wailing and wheezing in despair.

Sleep quickly seemed to swallow her whole regardless.

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{My contribution to the fandom. The obligatory "everyone lives together in one big house and they kiss kiss kiss, and they love love love each other.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 4 : Weirdos

You set an alarm for early in the morning, wanting to beat Zayne. Getting ready felt weird in the spacious bathroom, and it took you longer than you’d like to figure out what to wear. 

Maybe you would get a uniform…something practical like some overalls or coveralls. 

With your coziest sweater and simple dark pants, you scurried downstairs, hoping to make breakfast to impress your childhood friend and prove that you would do a good job.

The common area was quiet and empty, and you kept the lights to a minimum because 1) the sun was barely risen and 2) you couldn’t find the light switch. You wouldn’t be surprised if a place like this had a remote to control it all– or voice controls. You were tempted to try it, but the embarrassment if there weren’t voice controls wasn’t it.

In the oversized but poorly filled fridge you found a few eggs in a carton in the back and a half eaten loaf of bread in the pantry. Some sugar, milk and cinnamon later and you had some French toast.

You heard ruckus down the hall and then footsteps, turning with a smile you expected to see Zayne but instead found Xavier. He was already dressed in his hunter’s uniform. You had wondered about it when you saw him last night– what rank was he? His white uniform was completely different from the hunters you knew. The long grey mauve gloves and neatly folded lapels were more formal than practical. Elegant instead of utilitarian. 

Overcoming your momentary surprise, you smiled and placed two slices onto a plate. “Good morning! Off to work?”

Xavier seemed just as surprised to see you if not more so. His blue eyes a bit wide as he walked over to the barstool and the plate you slid towards him, “Good morning…I have patrol in the morning. Then I have to catch up with my reports.” 

You gave him an understanding smile, “Yikes, those are always so tedious. How far behind are you?”

Xavier blinked, staring down at the simple plate in front of him like he couldn’t believe it was there. “Three weeks.”

“That’s not so bad.” You try to assure, “The reports are always my least favorite part and— between us?— I ask Patrick on the fourth floor to help me. He prefers desk work.”

The blond man looks up at you and the galaxies in his eyes sparkle. A hint of a smile appears on his face and without another word he begins to dig in.

Zayne appears in a mild rush, examining his watch on one wrist while his other hand holds his phone. His hair was neatly groomed and he smelled like soap and mildly of mahogany cologne. 

“Good morning!” You greet as you finish the next pair of toast for him. “Extra syrup?” 

Zayne’s face is stuck in his phone but he glances at the toast and frowns disappointed, “I’ve got an early surgery scheduled. They posted it late last night, I have to go.” 

His phone buzzed a few times– messages arriving in rapid sequence. His thumb tapping away furiously, he barely seems to notice himself walking over to you, placing a hand on one side of your head and pulling you over to place a quick kiss to your hair. A soft squeak leaves you, and your face blooms with heat. 

Hurried steps take him away from you, and he pauses by Xavier at the bar and does the same to him. A hand on one side of his head and a chaste kiss on the other side. Xavier, unlike you, seems prepared for the action and leans into it. 

“I’ll be back around six.” Zayne mumbles in goodbye as he rushes away, the ding of the elevator signaling his escape. 

A soft chuckle pulls your attention back to the living world and you find Xavier resting his chin on his hand and elbow resting on the counter, “You look startled.” 

You shake your head, just barely catching the toast before it burns, “He was in a hurry. He probably just wasn’t thinking.”

The blush on your face feels here to stay as you finish making the last plates and the clean up. 

Xavier takes his time eating and then puts his plate in the sink, sidling up next to you with his scent of fresh cotton and teak.

“Do I get one too? Miss housekeeper?” Xavier’s voice in your ear makes you shiver and your breath hitches.

“I’m sorry?” You blurt looking down at the hand he has braced on the counter next to the sink.

“A kiss goodbye? Was that part of your contract?” 

You scowl, “No, that’s not part of my contract. And I don’t like what you're insinuating.”

Xavier hums and shifts to lean a little further away from you, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve heard that a kiss goodbye is good luck. Make sure the one leaving returns home safely.”

You set down the plate you were rinsing and then look up at him, “That’s usually only for couples.  Not for…us.” 

Xavier blinks and you think you see an asteroid in his starry eyes. A shimmer of stardust that sparkles with mirth at you, “Maybe next time then.” 

His tone is yielding and he steps away and out of your personal space. He thanks you for the breakfast and bids you goodbye, much more than you thought you’d get as a housekeeper.

Alone again, you deflate with a heavy exhale. That was too weird. Zayne had never been physically affectionate before, and never done something like that. A kiss on your hair could hardly be called scandalous but it burned you like stoking embers with a handful of dry grass. 

It was hard enough finding Zayne attractive and staying platonic. You didn’t think your heart could take even that little show of affection— you’d burst for sure.

Not to mention Xavier. What was his deal? If you didn’t know any better— and being honest you don’t— you’d think he was jealous. The sharpness in his eyes as he asked for his own goodbye kiss. He’d gotten one from Zayne, was that not enough?

That too… the puzzle of this strange living arrangement was becoming a bigger and bigger mystery. More pieces showing up and too many corner pieces to decipher the shape of it,

Was Zayne in a relationship with Xavier? Or were they just friends? It wasn’t out of the question for Zayne to swing that way, and you weren’t going to judge him for it. 

You supposed it was the mystery of it that bothered you the most. What was the deal here? 

Rafayel woke up a bit before noon, and you heard him scuffle about above your head while you finished the living room. Fluffing the pillows on the couch and folding the throw blankets.

The artist dragged himself downstairs, yawning and wilting. You watched him mild amusement at his theatrics, as he walked to the kitchen and laid his head on the counter.

“Hungry….” He whined softly more so to himself than to you.

You couldn’t help but sigh and take pity on the man, “I made French toast for breakfast.” You tell him as you finish folding the last blanket and place it into one of the compartments in the coffee table. “But you missed it.”

He responds with a groan, muffled into the countertop. 

The living room and dining room were done. After some exploring you had found the trash chute in the pantry and had been able to dispose of the boys’ collection of take out containers. The stale smell was gone and replaced with the lemony scent of wood cleaner and the sharper ting of window cleaner. 

You pick up your remaining cleaning supplies and turn to return them to the closet, but instead find yourself facing a wall. The ‘wall’ being a moody artist with his attention on his phone but his body too close to yours.

You jump and step back, a harsh comment at the tip of your tongue but Rafayel’s voice stops you, “Do you have a coat?”

The quip you had loaded disappeared and you scowled in confusion, “A coat?”

“Yeah, a coat. You know, a outerwear garment that keeps you warm–”

“I know what a coat is.” You hiss, “It’s upstairs, why?”

“Go get it.” Rafayel orders, looking at you and tilting his head, “I wanna get some lunch but I’m not going alone.”

“And you want me to go with you?” You hear the incredulity in your voice and know you must be looking at him like he’s insane. 

Either he’s oblivious to your stare or he doesn’t care because he nods, “I’m a public figure. I need a cover if I go out. So~” He sing-songs, motioning to you, “Go get your coat. I’ll pay, don’t worry.”

Your shoulders sag, “You need someone to go with you? Are you five?”

“No. I just know there’s no food in this house and I want to eat something yummy.” Rafayel slides his phone into his pants’ pocket and places his nimbl;e hands on his hips, “No, go. Or I’ll fire you.”

You can’t help the disbelieving gasp that escapes you, “Are you serious? You’ll fire me if I don’t go to lunch with you?”

“Yup.” Rafayel’s lips pop on the last p, and while his eyes swim with amusement you know he’s not joking. You have a sneaky suspicion that the quick turnover of housekeepers might be Rafayel’s doing. 

A heavy sigh escapes you and you give in. “Fine. Give me five minutes to put this away.”

“I’m hungry. You get two.”

If this were a different situation, you think you’d clock him. Send one good jab to his gut and knock the wind right out of his billowing, cocky sails. 

Free lunch did sound good, and surely you were allowed a break during work, right? God only knows the real reason why Rafaeyl wants you to come with him, because you're certain he’s not being honest.  

You fiddle with your hair for a moment in your bathroom mirror and spritz a little perfume to hopefully hide the cleaner smell. You don your coat as you scale the steps back to the main floor and find Rafayel waiting at the elevator in a knee-length overcoat with a cherry red scarf neatly tucked into it. His hands are covered in cozy wool gloves, and he wiggles his fingers at you in a wave when he sees you approach. 

You smile at him, the boyish look on his face hard to resist. However, his smile fades.

“Where’s your gloves? And scarf?” His tone is harsh– harsher than it should be for a simple lack of winter accessories. 

You glance down at yourself and your coat, “I don’t have any right now. They must all be in storage.”

Rafayel huffs, “How are you supposed to protect me if you can’t even take care of yourself?”

He turns over to the sideboard near the elevator and opens some of the drawers with a stern expression on his face. He pulls out a long cream colored scarf and some charcoal gloves.

“Okay, ouch.” You wince, “But is that what this is? You’re bringing me to protect you?”

“It doesn’t match,” Rafayel notes as he wraps the scarf around your neck and tucks it up to cover your chin, “And the gloves probably won’t fit, but you won’t lose fingers at least.”

“Are we hiking in the snow?” You joke as you slide the gloves on. They’re a little roomy, but worn enough they’re perfectly soft. “I’ll be fine.”

Rafayel just hums to disagree. “We’ll take my car. It’s not far.”

Alright, so not answering your questions then. Rafayel punches the button for the elevator and enters it, raising his brow at you to beckon you to follow him. You sigh and follow him, wondering if this is some game he plays with all the housekeepers, or if there is something particularly fun about tormenting you.

Rafayel’s car is a deep silver two seater with deep red and black interior. It’s more compact and sleek than Zayne’s more broad and cozy sedan. Rafayel grips the wheel like one grips the reins of a horse and he drives like it too. 

Once you arrive at the secondary location, you pull out your phone to text Zayne. A quick little heads up that ‘Hey, one of your weird roommates has brought me somewhere. If I don’t return, you know who did it.’ 

Rafayel keeps his head low as you scurry through the parking garage and down the street of the bustling city center. Wherever he’s leading you, he seems truly concerned that someone might recognize him. 

He ducks into a little cafe nestled between two larger businesses, and you follow behind him. 

Shaking the flurries from his hair, he sighs in relief. Like making it from the car to here without something happening was like dodging a bullet. 

“Are you a celebrity or something?” You blurt, as a hostess and finds you a seat. Rafayel doesn’t reply, too busy rejecting the first and second table the hostess offers before finally accepting a spot near the back near a window.

Rafayel sits across from you and settles in his seat, taking off his scarf and gloves. You mimic and set the garb aside, a small pile on the windowsill. 

“I’ll order for you.” Rafayel says before you can even look at the menu.

“Really?” You reply, a touch disappointed. You’re not necessarily picky, but letting a stranger order for you could end in disaster.

“I’m very good at predicting these things.” Rafayel assures as he glances at the menu before tossing it aside, “Like how I know you’re not really a housekeeper.”

His jab doesn’t land the way he intends, as you only roll your eyes, “Pretty sure I am. Signed a contract and everything.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Rafayel says with a wave of his hand, “I mean you’re not a housekeeper by trade. What did you do before this?”

That lands a little closer to its mark, and it takes you a second to find the words. “I was a Hunter. I am a Hunter. I’m just…exploring other options.”

“Uh-huh…” Rafayel drawls looking unconvinced. “I knew you must be something combative. Just the way you hold yourself– housekeepers don’t do that.”

You narrow your eyes, “What does that mean?”

The waitress comes over and pours some water into the stemmed glasses in front of you. Rafayel waves her off when she tries to take a drink order, and you hear her scoff of irritation when she walks away.

“It means you stand like you’re ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Or like something might jump you.” Rafayel sips at his water and then motions with his head to yours– silently telling you to drink.

You do, but only so you don’t argue reflexively to his statement. “You’re generalizing people too much. Housekeepers need to be on their toes too.”

“Yeah, sure, but you’re not really a housekeeper.”

You sigh, “If you have such a problem with it, then I’ll stay away from you. I made a deal with Zayne, that doesn’t need to affect you.”

“Hey, come on cutie, I’m just trying to get to know you.” Rafayel sits up a bit straighter, “How does a hunter become a housekeeper?”

The perpetual lump in your throat that’s lived there for months returns, and you have to look away. Look at the softly drifting flurries as they scatter among the manicured trees along the street, and sparkle between pedestrians. Winter is so beautiful in Linkon, but all you feel is the cold. 

“I don’t–” You’re not sure where that sentence was going to take you, but the waitress gratefully returns and asks about your order. 

Rafayel huffs like a diva being asked for an autograph and curtly tells the poor woman an order. She doesn’t linger– quickly jotting it down and walking away.

For some reason, Rafayel doesn’t press about his unanswered question and instead leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “I named that color, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask a little hoarsely, quickly taking another sip of water.

Rafayel’s eyes watch you closely, and you wonder if there’s something on your face. His multi-colored eyes follow the line of your throat as you swallow and the movement of your fingers as you set the glass down, “Yeah, I named it bond.” 

You’re only gone from the house for a little over an hour, but you already feel guilty for slacking. Rafayel relinquishes you back to work as he retreats to his studio– mentioning something about inspiration from the cafe. 

Rafayel is confusing. One moment you’re sure he’s finding a reason to fire you, and the next you think he might be trying to befriend you. Maybe both? Probably neither. 

You decide to head to the gym and get started there while your mind wanders. If it were nicer, you’d open a window but the snow is picking up again and you’re not fond of frostbite.

As you pick up the discarded towels that reek of sweat and musk, you come to the conclusion that Rafayel is a classic eccentric. He probably doesn’t have a goal at all, only following the whims of whatever desire strikes him at the moment. He had wanted to eat, and he didn’t want to go alone– you were there. That was that. 

There wasn’t any use in thinking about it further. 

Tomorrow is Friday, which means you have another day to get through before shopping on Saturday, but maybe you can talk to Zayne about going early? Or maybe you could order some groceries ?

By the time five o-clock rolls around, the gym is in much better shape. The equipment has been wiped down and sanitised. The floor swept and mopped, and even the free weights were put back where they belong. 

You find yourself eager to see Zayne. It’s such an odd sensation, this little fluttering of excitement that’s only riled up further when you recall his little slip this morning. 

Before, you’d see Zayne once a week– if you were lucky? He was busy and you were busy and so it was rare that the both of you had the spare time to find one another. Now? Now, there weren’t plans to be scheduled and agendas to be juggled, he could just come home and you would be here. 

It tickled something deep and domestic in your tummy. You were one step away from a rom-com, but that train of thought had to be quickly pushed away. Entertaining outlandish fantasies of “Honey, I’m home!” and welcome-back-kisses would only drive you further into insanity. 

You retreated to your room to clean up and change before anyone else got home. You knew you smelled at this point, disinfectant clinging to your sleeves and your knees damp from kneeling on the wet gym floor. 

The bathtub still called out to you, but you ignored it. Sunday. Sunday you would spend at least four hours in that bathtub. 

Once clean you went back downstairs and found Rafayel laying on the couch, tapping on his phone while Zayne stood in the kitchen. He had brought more food again, which was a relief. The containers were bigger and smelled like garlic and oregano– Italian? You wondered if they had a schedule. Thai one night. Italian the next.

“Welcome home.” You call, pulling Zayne’s attention from where he was unpacking the bags. He smiled softly, his eyes almost imperceptibly creasing.

“What about me?” Rafayel said from the couch, “Don’t I get a welcome home?”

You can’t help but laugh, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve one.” Rafayel is downright pouting now and in favor of avoiding a further headache you walk over to him.

“Welcome home.” You say thick with sarcasm, but he smiles smugly anyway. 

“I couldn’t remember what you favored,” Zayne tells you as you enter the kitchen, “I hope bolognese is alright?”

You nod, “Of course. Thanks for thinking of me. I really appreciate you feeding me too.”

Zayne shakes his head like you’re silly for even saying that, but he doesn’t outright argue with you. 

“Oh, I was going to ask,” You say as you remember, “Where is the laundry room? I haven’t found it and the towels are piling up. “

“It’s downstairs,” Rafayel says loudly before Zayne can answer. 

“It’s near the elevators,” Zayne says, “I’ll show you after we eat.”

You nod and sit down, digging into your food and pleased when Zayne sits beside you again.

After a moment, Rafayel joins you, sitting on your opposite side, and starting up a conversation about how aggravating it is when his manager orders him the wrong mixing mediums. 

You finish eating, and retreat to the couch deciding to linger a bit longer than you did yesterday. After spending the beginning of the day cleaning it, it feels only right that you enjoy the clean living room now. 

Zayne finishes his meal and hangs his coat up near the door. You’re nearly asleep on the couch when he comes up behind you, cold fingertips against your shoulder, “Let me show you the laundry.”

You perk up, “Right! Show the way.”

Zayne grins and motions with his head, leading you back to the elevators and down to the bottom floor. The floor with the sex dungeon and the storage.

It’s a door tucked away right next to the elevators, and you kick yourself for not noticing it before. It’s a decent sized laundry, with a large washer and dryer and plenty of counter space for folding. There’s a stack of used baskets on one side, and three filled baskets of awaiting laundry on the other. 

Zayne closes the door behind you as you exit and you peer down the hall towards that room.

“Hey Zayne?”

“Hm?” He hums, low and almost sleepy. 

Even though there’s no one here, you still cup your hand to speak behind it, “Why do you have a….sex room?”

Zayne’s head jerks back from where he’d leaned forward to listen to you whisper, and you watch as red rises to his cheekbones and ears. “W-what?”

“You have a sex dungeon!” You tease him more, keeping your voice at a whisper but relishing in the startled beet he was turning into.

Zayne glances up, looking down the hallway and then back to you, “T-that’s not– I mean.” He practically pants, “That is Sylus’ room. Not a– a sex dungeon.”

“Oh?” You press, not really believing him, “Then why were there whips on the wall?”

Zayne’s fully red at this point, but that’s all that gives away his flustered state. He places a hand to your mid back– not pushing but guiding you down the hall and to the bedroom. 

He opens the door and lets it swing open, “There are no whips on the wall.”

You giggle and turn, examining the darkened bedroom and its very sex-dungeony vibes. The red velvet and overstuffed leather furniture. The dim lighting and four poster bed still aren’t convincing you that this isn’t a sex-dungeon. 

You point to the other wall where five long handled weapons were displayed, “Look! See? Whips.”

“Those are ceremonial weapons from a tribe in northern africa.” A darkened voice coos from behind you, “The whips are elsewhere.”

You turn and freeze. The silver-haired man hovering just behind you and Zayne. He’s not much taller than Zayne, but there’s something in his gaze that’s so very predatory that you can’t help but shiver. 

“Welcome back.” Zayne greets, bypassing the comment his roommate had made. “She believed your room to be some kind of fornication den–”

“Sex-dungeon.” You blurt.

Zayne’s eyes find yours and you feel even more like a butterfly pinned to a board. Had he ever been that piercing? That utterly provocative? You’d only been joking– sort of– but you felt like you tipped the first tile into a domino effect. 

A pair of hungry wolves crowding into your space, leaving you nothing but a fragile, bleating lamb.

“How presumptuous,” Sylus drawls, mirth laced in his voice like a drug in wine. 

“I’m sorry,” You say lamely, caught in the headlights of their eyes and unable to move. 

The hand Zayne had placed on your back moves, trailing upward to linger in between your shoulder blades. You notice Zayne’s expression turn away from you to Sylus, the playfulness fading into something unknown. Something guarded.

“It’s late.” Zayne remarks, his guiding hand drawing you closer to him and away from the doorway. You step away from the darkened bedroom and find a spot next to Zayne at a respectable distance– too much closer and you’re sure he’ll hear your hammering heartbeat. 

Sylus chuckles, something low and rumbling as he watches the two of you. “So, I take it you don’t want to come inside?”

“She’s tired.” Zayne replies for you, and you're so stunned by the iciness in his voice that you let him. 

“Some other time then.” Sylus replies, adjusting the coat on his shoulder and stepping into the room.

Sylus closes the door behind him, and you’re led– a little starry-eyed — back upstairs. Zayne makes sure you go all the way up to your bedroom, not pausing even for a moment when you spy Xavier in the kitchen, the microwave running and the sharp tang of something burning in the air. 

Once at your door, Zayne stops and you turn to him.

“If any of them bother you,” He begins, voice soft.

“They’re alright.” You say quickly, holding your hands out, “Sylus is a little scary and I think Rafayel might hate me, but it’s not bad. I’m not bothered.”

“Don’t let them push you around.” Zayne’s voice drops a little lower, “I brought you here. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Zayne..” You can’t help but whisper his name, unsure of why that sentence has struck you so severely. 

This was supposed to be a temporary fix. A few weeks until the colder months passed and you could convince Jenna to let you come back. You felt bad for pressuring Zayne into this, but he was taking it so seriously.

But that was just how he was, wasn't it? Zayne wasn’t known for taking things lightly or letting things slide. Perhaps he felt obligated as not only your friend, but your doctor to care for you. It made you feel shameful and opportunistic. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“I appreciate everything you do for me.” You reply to him, “I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position.”

Zayne shifts until you're pressed against your closed bedroom door and he’s crowding you there, “You wouldn’t let me do anything else.”

Though you can feel his body heat, you feel more at ease seeing his faint smile, “No, I didn’t. But you can still end this, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Zayne seems to debate his answer for a moment and very lightly he brings up his hands to brush the backs of his fingers over your jaw, “No. It doesn’t. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

This cannot be good for your heart– is what you almost reply. His hands are always cold. Shimmery with his Evol that remains at the forefront almost all the time. This close to your face, you can almost feel the brisk air of it– the threat of frost like standing in front of an open freezer. 

But his cold fingers ignite like flint against steel. Sparks flying against long-awaiting kindling and you’re a helpless fool eager for it to burn. A rational part of you tries to talk some sense into the rest of you. He’s just a friend. Just a good man looking out for you. It doesn’t mean what you think it means. 

But oh, what if it did?

Zayne bids you goodnight, and you feel wound too tight to reply. Retreating into your bedroom with a knot in your belly and drumbeat between your legs that goes in time with your hammering heartbeat. 

The lock on the door can hardly get switched fast enough and you're stripping off your clothes for bed and tossing them to the ground. The cool air of the room eases the fire under your skin, reminding you of the contrast more than soothing it. 

It’s just been a long time. You try to reason with yourself as you go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. You aren’t some lascivious virgin turned on by a brush on the cheek!

But god, you might be?

A knock on the door comes only ten minutes after you and Zayne left, and Sylus assumes that the curious little cat had returned. 

He’d already changed out of his outerwear and into something more comfortable, but for the sake of your red-face and hammering heart, he puts on a sweater before answering the door. 

Only, you’re not there. No sight of your flustered face and the sound of your heartbeat he could tap along to. Disappointed, and visibly so, Sylus leans against the doorframe and frowns at the other blond that stands there. 

“Can I help you?” Sylus asks with a single raised brow. 

They’ve overcome the majority of their differences, but he and Xavier aren’t the closest. For the most part, Xavier just avoids him– only seeking him out when matters that only he would know about come up.

“Have you met the housekeeper?” Xavier asks, his airy voice sharp and low. He looks downright grumpy, which is odd considering you’re nothing but a ray of sunshine. 

“I have.” Sylus replies, standing up and crossing his arms, “Why? Not to your liking?”

Xavier levels him with an icy stare, edging into the ire and hatred he used to stare at him with not very long ago. The blond man’s jaw is tense and his voice is quiet like he’s worried someone might hear, “She looks familiar.”

Ah, so that’s it. Sylus thinks.The disappointment on his face dissolved, to be replaced with amusement. Xavier was unsettled by your uncanny appearance, and maybe even connected some dots? 

“She does? How so?” Sylus says instead of being upfront. It’s clearly taken some courage for the previous prince of Philos to come to him, but Sylus isn’t keen to bend to his whims so easily. 

Nothing has been confirmed. No suspicions made clear, but Sylus knows what Xavier means. Unlike the others, only Sylus and Rafayel have the senses to know for certain. Rafayel’s sense of smell is better than his, but Sylus beats him in other ways. 

Zayne, the poor bastard, is probably completely oblivious. Blindly following some gut instinct he doesn’t understand. 

“Don’t play games,” Xavier hisses, “Have you noticed it or not?” 

Sylus blinks, suddenly seeing the truth in Xavier’s eyes. The thinly veiled desperation he was trying to hide behind anger. Confusion for what he felt to be true, but wanted to deny.

“It could be a coincidence.” Sylus says, offering an out in pity for the prince. They’ve all been torn up, chewed up, and spit out in one way or another– all for love. Xavier’s been alive a long time, and sometimes Sylus forgets that. “She looks like a lot of people. If it makes you feel better, I could have Mephisto run a facial recognition search?”

Xavier deflates, turning on his heel to face back down the hall. “No. No. I– I’m just seeing things. Things that don’t exist.”

Sylus hummed, head cocking to the side, “We don’t know for certain she doesn’t exist–”

“We know.” Xavier’s voice is deadly. “We agreed that we wouldn’t search for her. We would attract attention by seeking her out. Especially since she doesn’t exist here.” 

The words are harsh, but they’re not for Sylus. He knows that Xavier’s trying to convince himself. Remind himself of a mantra that’s gotten him this far. Held him upright when the ache in his chest got too much. 

“It’s late for you.” Sylus says a bit kinder now. “Go to bed. Don’t worry about such things.”

“If you notice something,” Xavier bites out, “You’ll tell me.”

Sylus debates that for a moment. “Sure.” He decides to allow it, if it gets a grumpy Xavier out of his face, and soothes the disgruntled prince, why not?

[poparthuriana]

I had the same thought! I told @cotrk-events about it and am happy to say that Fantasy Island AUs are included in the Children of the Red King fandom's Bad Fic Bingo challenge. It will be glorious.

I've been watching some Fantasy Island lately, and I think the Fantasy Island AU needs to be the next hot fanfiction trend. It's perfect! Contrive some way for your blorbos to end up on Fantasy Island (Mr Roarke does this all the time), put them in their own fantasy or someone else's, and teach them a lesson or let them be happy, who knows. I want to read it.

[teafromthemicrowave]

Yeah I've been mildy obsessed with this AU

So obsessed that I wrote chapter 1 of my fic in two days. Help

PLUS. HERE IS THE BOYKISSER PLAYLIST I PROMISED! it's not exclusively goth, there are 4-5 other songs i thought would fit :)

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.

[shyalia]

Happy One Year Anniversary

to The Day the World Broke by @saladmix!!! She deserves all of the recognition for writing such an incredible and in-depth story, please go show her some love!!

To celebrate and show my immense appreciation, I spent the last two months working on an animatic for it. It's not perfect, but the vision is there and I'm honestly proud of myself for completing a major project like this. 100+ frames later (not all of them made the cut, unfortunately) it is finally complete just in time for the anniversary!

I'm about to ramble, I apologize in advance lol. Feel free to scroll down to the next blue text to see the animatic, please mind the spoiler and trigger warnings!

This fic is so important to me and holds a special place in my heart. I came across the first chapter the day it was posted, so early that it didn't even have any hits or kudos yet. The title and little description intrigued me so I clicked on it, and I'm so glad I gave it a chance because I was hooked from the first paragraph. Little did I know how much it would impact me that evening after raving about it to my best friend, during and after reading it. I'm not kidding when I say it has been on my mind every day for a full trip around the sun. Its AU is so unique that I haven't read anything like it before. The writing is beautiful, the storytelling is captivating, and the characterizations of the boys are so in-depth and relatable and a joy to read, the plot is insane and every chapter blows my mind... I could go on about it forever!!

I've read that first chapter more times than I can count, and the rest of it several times as well because even at 300k+ words, every single word is worth the time and energy. I'm always finding subtle details that are easily missed in earlier chapters that come up again later and I have a "WAIT HOLD UP" moment, like @saladmix is a genius I swear. When going back through chapters to locate details for my artwork to make it as accurate as I can, I always find myself getting lost reading because it just pulls me in, even though I already know what is about to happen... it's just that good.

Honestly, I can't get enough of this story, it means sooo much to me. It has inspired me to become a better artist, to have the courage to write my own stories, my enjoyment of reading has been rekindled, and most importantly, it brought friendship. @saladmix is such a kind person, she is so supportive and funny and a pleasure to talk to, I'm thankful to have her as a friend. Keep on being awesome, girl!!

Okay, I'll stop rambling and let y'all see this animatic that I worked so long on! xD

Please be forewarned that it contains spoilers up to and including chapter 23, so if you have not read that far and want to avoid spoilers, save this to watch at a later date!

TW for brief images of knives and guns, and for light sensitivity as some very bright frames come up. I apologize if you're sensitive to those types of things!

[miraclesnail]

kk, I'll just start posting the work here. I have about 41-ish chapters already written

Title: (still working on one), chapter 1

chapter: 2 3 4, 5, 6, 7 8,9,10,11, 12,13,14,15, 16,17,18,19, 20-28, 29-41

When you think of Travis Stoll, what comes to mind?

Powerful? Important? A main character in the grand scheme of things?

No, right? 

Weak, insignificant, and a side character is more like it, right? 

That’s who he is. A minor character, someone who doesn’t get quests, whose contributions barely make a ripple, who barely did anything in both wars, and only remembered as that one guy who likes to prank. 

So why — why, why, why, why, why — is he being chased by a man in stupid black sweatpants and a stupid black turtleneck in a stupid black motorcycle helmet holding a stupid, blood-stained, 13 inch knife?

This is something Percy gets into. Or Nico. Or Jason.

But not him.

Never him. 

Travis leaps over rubble, feet catching on the granite, and tumbles forward. He curses loudly, but rights himself and continues running. He doesn’t dare look back (he heard the stories. You look back to see where the killer is and you end up tripping and dying and Travis very much would like to live), so he keeps his eyes trained up ahead to the not quite darkness, but close enough darkness that objects are just a dark fuzz. 

Rain is pouring thunderously outside, a drumming so loud it’s like a waterfall. The occasional lightning gives him a clear snapshot of his surroundings and those few milliseconds where he could see the rubble, he engraves in his mind. 

A fallen cabinet, a broken desk, shattered computers. He’s in an office. There’s a houseplant, a family portrait, cracked tile floors, a hole-ridden hand hanging over a toppled swivel chair— 

Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope. He did not see that. That is not what he thinks it is. That has to be a doll or a mannequin. Something fake and plastic. Not real and made of flesh, because if it is then that means there’s something wrong! Something is killing people! (plague, monsters, aliens) And Travis don’t have time to think about that just yet. 

There’s a turn up ahead. Left? Right? Right is always right so right it is. 

He slows only a little bit, if only to make sure he doesn't crash into the wall, before running full speed again. He prays to his dad that there’s no rubble in his way. 

And like his prayer is answered, lightning flashes, thunder booms and Travis skids to a stop, sneakers barely gripping the wet tiles that otherwise would have sent him careening over the edge of the crumbled building wall. He clasps his shaking hands together and takes a deep breath, commanding his pounding heart to calm down, that no, you did not die. You almost died, but you didn’t. So stop beating so fast.  

He takes in the surroundings, noting the clouds first. They’re dark gray and expand as far as the broken, tilted buildings allow him to see. It blots out the sun and explains the darkness even though just a few minutes ago, it was as sunny as Camp Half Blood could be. His eyes lower to the horizon, to the rows of buildings, all with broken windows, missing sections of bodies, and most tilted too precariously to be considered stable. He lowers his eyes even further and gulps when he can't see the bottom. A heavy fog permeates a couple feet down that not even the heavy rain could dissipate. For all he knows, the fall could be 20 feet or 150 feet.

Is there a way to get to the floor below him? Maybe if he just clings to the wall and — nope, the moment his hand touches where the wall meets air, it crumbles. There’s no way he can descend to the floor below. 

This is a dead end. 

If he’s fast enough, maybe he can head the other way before the guy blocks him. He turns around, fumbling and tripping over his untied laces, but freezes. 

Someone is turning the corner. And the glint of that wicked knife in their hand tells him it’s not Chiron dressed as Santa Clause. 

Cheese sticks, he’s trapped. Maybe he could hide before the man sees him and wait till — the man turns to the aisle towards him and walks right in the middle towards him. 

Oh holy sandals. Travis takes a step back and his heel pushes the rubble off the ledge, a grim reminder that there’s no exit behind him. He glances behind him, a who-knows-how-high-drop into the abyss, then back to the front, a cynical man with a loose grip on his knife. 

Which is the better chance? Should he just jump? Does he even know if the man is dangerous? 

He has a knife and it’s stained with blood! Of course he’s dangerous! 

If Connor was here, he would know what to do. 

The man is drawing scarily close now, close enough for Travis to see the black, tight-fitting sport shirt with long sleeves and collar up to his chin. Close enough for him to see his belt ladles with all sorts of pointy objects. Close enough to see the brand of his black Adidas joggers. Close enough to see black, well-worn, hiking boots and definitely close enough to see the ocean blue of his eyes past the tinted shield of his motorcycle helmet.

They’re cold, terrifying cold. 

If Travis wasn’t so scared for his life, he would ask the man where he shops. He’s sure Nico would like to know. 

He glances over his shoulder to the abyss again and stiffens. He can’t survive a high fall. He’s not Percy or Jason. There’s no way he could buffer his fall either like how Nico does with the skeletons, but he’s a good talker. He’ll talk his way out of this like he always has with his pranks. So he snaps his eyes back forward and steels himself for the biggest debate of his life. 

“H-Hey!” 

AH NO his voice cracked! 

“Pal, buddy, amigo, friend, I don’t know if this is your idea of a joke or a prank or just a very elaborate plan to get me to pee my pants, but you did it! I’m terrified! So can you please stop?”

The man didn’t even falter, didn’t even miss a step. 

“Look, I applaud you. Your dedication to your role is amazing, like your costume is some A+ design.” 

Oh gods, he’s still coming. And he’s actually tightening his grip on his knife! 

Dad, Hermes, I’m begging you, if you really love me, then please bless me with some +1 charisma and speech skill right now. 

“Unless you really are here to kill me, to which I say, please don’t. I don’t even have a weapon to protect myself! That’s not fair, you know?! Don’t you care about making things fair?!” 

Crap. 

Nothing’s working. 

He’s going to have to fight his way out and Travis so does not want to do that. Not when he’s in this much of a disadvantage. 

But finally, finally, finally, the man stops walking towards him, only standing two arms length away. He raises his free hand and Travis jerks his body into a defensive position, but the rising hand only rubs the man’s neck. He raises his chin and talks, voice muffled through the helmet. “Are you done, Connor? I don’t have time for your jokes.” 

“I’m Travis.”

The response is automatic, years of being called the wrong name ingrained this reflex in him. It’s natural to him, something he doesn’t even think about.

The man falters and so did he. 

Most people have never heard their voice before, most probably can’t identify their voice. But Travis hears his voice every day and before he left for college, every second of his life. They all said he shares everything with Connor, even their voices are the same apparently. 

“You… have the same voice as me,” Travis says hesitantly. 

The man isn’t advancing, his wide eyes train on Travis. He could see shock, surprise in those eyes. Or maybe it’s mania. It’s hard to differentiate emotions when all you have is the eyes. He stares for a few more seconds, looking up and down his entire body although his stare linger most on his Camp Half Blood shirt. 

“You’re… not Connor?” he whispers.

There’s no mistaking it. That’s definitely his voice and there’s only one person Travis knows who shares the same voice as his. All tension, all fear and worry leaves his body and he sighs in relief. 

“Connor, this has got to be the least funniest prank you ever pulled. You really scared me!” The man — Connor — freezes at his words, but Travis doesn’t really pay much attention to that. More importantly, this is the last time he’s eating the last Goldfish crackers without buying a replacement pair. Lesson learned. A very hard lesson learned. 

Still though, isn’t this a bit too much? To go this far for some measly $3 snack that they can literally buy at any grocery store? Like, Travis knows Connor loves his snacks. But this is going way too far. He kicks the rubble which definitely seems real. 

“But I have to admit that the special effects are really cool. You went all out for this, huh? Who did you bribe to help you set this up? Hazel? Lou Ellen? Percy and Annabeth? This place is so realistic. You really outdid yourself. And your costume is so cool. Did you get it from Nico?” 

He walks in front of Connor with ease, but his grin falters. Something is off. Connor is backing away from him. Through the visor, he can see … trepidation? Confusion? Fear? But Connor fears nothing. 

“Connor?” Travis asks, worry creeping into his voice. He looks behind him. Maybe there’s a monster coming towards him. But there’s nothing outside other than the rain. “What’s wrong?”

Faster than a blink of an eye, Connor kicks Travis’s feet out from underneath him. There hadn’t even been time to react. Which is bizarre. Connor was never this fast. If anything he’s the faster one by a mere second or two.

Either way, Travis is falling backwards and he hits the ground hard on his back. And before he could process what the heck is happening, there’s a dagger in his face just inches from his eyes. That’s not celestial bronze, he thinks. 

The hand holding the dagger that’s looming dangerously over his face is shaking. Shaking rather badly actually. Like, shaking bad enough that it can drop. He wonders if he could ask Connor if he could just move that dagger out of the way a bit so it’s not over his eye in case it does slip. 

“What—” ‘Connor’ says in what is definitely Connor’s voice except it’s trembling even worse than the hand, “What game are you playing, Connor?” 

“...I’m Travis, not Connor,” he says meekly, still eyeing the dagger that’s now a bit closer than last time. Travis clenches the bracelet over his wrist. He can probably block it if need be. But this guy in front of him is… fast. A lot faster than any opponent he ever faced. What if he doesn’t? Gods, he hopes it doesn’t end up poking his eye out. Will can fix a lot of injuries including something as delicate an organ as the eye, but that doesn’t mean he wants to experience what a stab there feels like. 

Mr. Dark and Mysterious and maybe-not-Connor stays silent for a moment, hopefully not contemplating about poking his eye out. The face is entirely unreadable underneath that helmet. But after an eternity, the guy removes the dagger from his face and steps back. Travis gets to his feet uneasily and eyes the dagger still in the guy’s hand.

“So… are we—” Travis begins. 

But Mr. Helmet cuts him off sharply. “What were you doing before you got here?”

Before he got here in this weird, gray dystopia? He shrugs. “Nothing much. I was doing my usual morning jog around the camp perimeter.” 

Mr. Helmet’s hand squeezes the dagger. “Camp? As in Camp Half Blood?”

“The one and only,” Travis says with a smile and a finger gun. 

It did not lighten the mood like he hoped. 

“And Camp Half Blood is okay? It’s still standing? There’s people there? It’s not flooded at all?” 

Travis blinks at the weird barrage of questions. 

It makes no sense actually. Flooded? Still standing? Okay? At what point was Camp never okay? Sure it came close to being destroyed like a billion times, but it always pulled through with the power of teamwork and Percy Jackson. 

Mr. Helmet/Maybe-Connor must see the confusion in his eyes because he’s digging through a pouch on his belt. Travis stiffens and grabs his bracelet again at the sudden movement, but the guy just pulls out a large four leaf clover. 

With a flick of his finger, the clover twirls in a spiral down to the ground. The air ripples as it descends, shimmering and distorting the space. The gray boring disintegrating canvas that is the wall becomes a patch of beautiful healthy green grass and the familiar tree trunks bordering the camp’s main area and the forest. 

“This. You saw this and ran inside?” Mr Helmet says, pointing a gloved hand at the distortion in an disbelieving tone. It’s not said but Travis can practically hear the accusation. You saw a strange, portal-like thing and ran inside like a complete idiot without investigating it first?

He can just hear Annabeth’s sigh of immense disappointment. Which is really unfair. He would never do it on purpose. Like all things in his life, it was an accident. 

“To be fair,” he starts off because all situations need context, “I was in the zone and was trying to break my personal best.”

Mr. Maybe-Connor blinks at him and stays silent, as if waiting for more. 

So Travis provides some more context. “And I might have not been looking at where I was going.”

More silence.

And alright, more context. “I couldn’t sleep and running always helps me with my nerves.”

“So, you did run through. You came from the other side. Then… that means… are you really— ” 

The whistle of air.

Like an arrow piercing through the sky.

They both hear it at the same time. 

Travis takes a wild guess and steps back instinctively, turning his head towards the source. And so does Mr. Maybe-Connor, the same exact motion as him at the exact same time. 

A feathered arrow snags Mr. Maybe-Connor’s shoulder, the speed and force of it pushing him back.

Pushing him back into the portal with pretty grass and sunkissed trees. 

There’s only enough time for their eyes to meet before Mr. Helmet completely passes through the portal and the shimmering canvas disappears. The man is gone. Travis is all alone sans for the crunch, crunch of boots stepping on broken tile. 

He hears a click. That’s his only warning before another click and the whistle of air again. 

Travis ducks this time, the arrow zooming over his head. 

He doesn’t get time to think of the next step. A third arrow embeds itself into his khaki while he is still crouched and pins him to the tile. He yanks it out just in time to feel the cold press of metal against his crown. He freezes at the touch and it’s enough of a pause for the stranger to yank his arms behind his back and shoves his face into the dirty tile. A knee digs into his shoulder to keep him in place and the metal goes back to resting against his head. 

On one hand, this is a bad situation. He’s dead for sure. No way is he surviving an arrow to the head. On the other hand, holy cow. What amazing marksmanship! The best Travis has ever seen! It’s enough to rival a hunter of Artemis. Enough to rival even —

“That was surprisingly easy, Travis. The hell?” 

Travis’s thoughts grind to a halt. That voice.

“Who was that second person you were with?”

His blood runs cold. That voice. 

“And what are you wearing?”

That voice, it’s him. It’s definitely him. But it can’t be. He died years ago. There’s no way. He’s imagining it. He’s hallucinating. There’s no way it’s him. But curiosity is eating at him. He wants to look. There’s a voice in his head yelling at him to Don’t do it! Stop! You’re being reckless! You’re going to get yourself killed! 

But he has to know. He has to. 

So he looks, tilting his face just enough to peek over his shoulder. 

He looks past the metal arrow inches from his face.

Past the body of the handcrafted mahogany crossbow.

Past the sleeved arm holding the weapon.

To the scrunched up face that’s gut-piercingly familiar. 

Not much has changed at all. His hair is still the same shade of black. His eyes are still the same shade of brown. He’s still short. Still 4’6”.  He’s still scowling. His face is still scrunched up like he stared down the shaft of his arrow for too long. 

Michael.

Michael Yew. 

It’s the same. Everything about this Michael is the same as the Michael he knows, is exactly as he remembers before Michael had sacrificed himself on that bridge years ago. 

Almost the same. Nearly the same.

The only difference is that the Michael he knows preferred a traditional bow, not a crossbow.

And that Michael never —

Travis could hear his heart hammering in his chest as Michael’s knee — warm and solid and definitely real — grinds and pushes harder against his shoulder blade. 

That Michael never looked at him with such a cold and conflicted expression. 

xxxxx

The arrow hooks the threads of the fabric on his shoulder. Not enough to touch his skin and break the vow, but enough that the momentum pushes him backwards.

The preciseness of it all still amazes him even after all these years. Michael is simply incredible. Then it strikes him that the portal is behind him. That he’s going to fall through the portal.

[Ground your feet.]

He can’t. 

Twist, lunge, don’t fall in.

[I can’t.] 

Summon some — [There’s no time.]

[grab something.] Like what?

His eyes meet the boy’s with the painfully bright orange shirt and they’re wide, clueless. 

[Him. Grab him.]

He reaches out, praying, hoping that his fingers snag on his.

But it doesn’t. 

And he’s falling.

.

falling 

.

falling.

.

The ground comes faster than he expected as his back collides with dirt. He scrambles to his feet, maybe the portal is still there and he can hop through. But it’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s— 

It’s dry. The air is dry. 

[It’s not raining.]

His breaths come faster and faster as he looks around him. 

Trees. Trees with leaves — actual green leaves — full and bustling and to the brim. 

His head tilts back and — something bright and painful blinds him and he hisses pulling his head back down. 

[The sun. That was the sun. And the sky, I can see the sky.]  

He stumbles forward on uneven legs. It’s too hot. It’s too warm. It’s suffocating. He rips the helmet off and tosses it aside. But it isn’t better. He can see more, hear more, smell more.  [The clouds, the wind, the birds, the chirping, the trees, the leaves, the soil] 

Someone’s breathing heavily and he spins around out of instinct, but only seeing more trees [pine trees, birch trees, willow trees]

It’s him. He’s breathing too loud and he stops gulping air, holding it in. And then letting it go. He can’t panic here. He needs to find a way back over. If Michael is there, then the others must surely be there too. He needs to get back now.

He fumbles with his thigh pouch [the ground, it’s so dry] his hands won’t stop shaking [The sky is so blue] he could see the inklings of the green clover among the black inside of his pouch [the sun feels so warm] and he grasps it in his gloved hand, pulling it out. 

Only for them to disintegrate into dust that the wind blows away. 

He stares at their remains, not comprehending, not understanding.

[Was that all of it?] That was all of it. 

[Then are we stuck here?] We’re stuck here. 

This is a dream. It has to be a dream. There’s no possible explanation.

His neck twinges, aches, burns and he rubs it. He digs his fingers in. He squeezes it until it hurts and the burning, screaming, aching dies down.

What… what should he do next? What is he supposed to do? [Let’s sit down and we can analyze the situation.]

He starts when a branch cracks behind him and before he could turn around, a man’s voice rings out,

“Travis! There you are!” 

A familiar voice. A not so familiar pitch. 

“Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you for over an hour.” 

A remnant of a memory from so long ago floats to the surface. 

“Come on, I have arts and crafts with your cabin. Tyson is stoked for it.” 

And he twirls around to see him. The one that haunts his dreams. That terrorizes his sleep and stalks his consciousness.  The one with black hair (caked with blood) that hangs over sea-green eyes (filled with bloodlust) and a grin (a glower) on his face with a 6 (6?) beaded necklace over a sickening bright, orange T-shirt.

Son of Poseidon, Perseus Jackson.

His blood freezes.

His heart stops. 

His throat closes. 

A hazy, belligerent red washes over him. 

I’m going to kill him. 

[Don’t. Don’t fight him. Not when we don’t know anything.] But he — 

[I know. But we need him and we can’t afford to lose another person.] But— 

[Don’t.] But—

“Travis? What’s the matter?” Perseus asks, his voice infuriatingly friendly, light-hearted.

Perseus takes one step towards him [don’t] and another and one more till he’s within arms reach.

[Don’t.]

[Stop it.]

[Just run away.]

[We need to figure out what’s happening.]

[Don’t do it. For gods’ sake, don’t—]

“Travis? You okay? You look like you’re out of it.” 

A hand touches his shoulder. 

He pulls the knife from his belt and lunges forward with every intention of stabbing Perseus’s face clean of skin, muscle, and bone. But his other hand grabs his wrist before he could get close.

[I said don’t!] 

Guilt roils in his gut but anger overrides that. 

Perseus leaps back a safe distance, yelling, “Hey! What are you doing?”

He shoots forward. The chest is just as good as the face. Probably more painful too. And the pain will last longer too. But his left ankle bumps into his right shin and he misses again. [Wait and listen to me for a second —]

“Travis! What the heck! What’s wrong? Hey!”

He doesn’t answer, to Perseus, to him. All that matters is getting his dagger into (unmarred?) flesh and twisting it free and thrusting it back in. Again and again and again. Till he’s dead as much as the others. 

And maybe Perseus sees that unreasonableness too. The son of Poseidon shoves him to the ground, turns tail, and runs. 

He follows, uncaring of anything else. 

“Crap, crap, crap!” 

He catches up in a minute, longer than he would have liked and only because he keeps tripping, but he manages to throw his dagger at the heel of Perseus’s foot so he’ll tumble to the ground. He’s on him the next second, pulling the flailing arm behind Perseus’s back and pushing the shoulder out of its joint. The hiss of pain that follows didn’t quench the red haze. He raises his knife. Perseus bucks and tries to throw him off and he nearly did, but he locks down more. A knife in the spine should stop his struggling. He tightens his hold on his handle, lift it higher and — 

someone rips it from his hand.

Another pulls him back by the shoulder till he’s off Perseus completely, pushing until he’s falling on his back. 

And a third is pinning his left arm down with a knee against his elbow and ordering the second person to get his right arm too.

He slips his dagger from behind his back and jabs the knife right above where the kneecap should be. He slices, digging the blade in and swiping out quickly. Blood splatters across his face and screams break out in multiple directions. One in pain. Several in terror. [Wait! That was a person you just stabbed! A real person! Not a zombie!] The knee retracts and he rolls out from under the restraint, spitting blood out of his mouth. 

Shit. Fuck. What did he do? 

[Are you done? Can we run away now and rethink?] Yeah. I’m sorry. I just— [It’s fine. It’s fine! Apologize later but right now, just get out of here.]

But a hand is already on his upper arm the next second. He grabs the owner’s arm and their ugly orange shirt, sweeps his leg out, and tugs down. The fourth person fell. 

But a fifth and sixth person already have hands on him and they shove his face into the dirt and pin his wrists behind his back. [This is bad.]

He struggles for all he’s worth, but there’s more hands and more force and more yelling. So he struggles harder. [This is so very bad.] 

“Shit. What the fuck is wrong with you, Travis!” 

He kicks a shin. [Should I—]

“Clarisse! Clarisse!! Oh my god. Oh my GOD!”

He bites a hand. [Do you want me to—]

“Get out of my way. I’m going to kick his teeth in!”

He headbutts someone in the balls. [I’m going to use—]

“Dude, calm down! Piper, charmspeak his ass or something!”

[Piper?] and he stops struggling. 

Hands are locking his wrists together. 

[Piper? But Piper—]

“Forget charmspeaking. Someone get Connor! Wait, I see him. Connor, get over here! Your brother lost his marbles.” 

“Travis.”

He raises his head an inch and stares at a monster. At the man. At the horse. A centaur. A familiar face. A face from before. What was his name? 

“Travis,” the man, horse, centaur begins with wary, uncertain eyes, “What is ailing you? Why are you attacking your fellow campers? Your friends?” 

What is his name? What is his name?

“Travis? Can you hear me?”

What was it? Chase? Chance? Camdyn? Caelan?  Charon? Chiron? 

“Do you understand what I’m asking, Travis? ”

Chiron. It was Chiron.

“Travis?”

Chiron Chiron Chiron Chiron Chiron. That’s Chiron. But Chiron abandoned them. Chiron sided with the gods and left them all. Chiron is dead so how, why, what?

“Tra… vis?”

And he traces the new voice to the source, eyes landing on the face he sees everyday. The ocean-blue eyes he has etched down to memory. The unruly, unbrushed brown hair he knows down to the last curl. But the orange shirt. The brown khakis. The 9 beaded necklace. That thin line of scarred tissue running across his left brow. The surprise, the worry, the unsureness, that’s all new. 

That isn’t his brother.

That can’t be his brother. 

The beads don’t match up. The scars don't add up. Something’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. 

Another man comes up beside Chiron. He looks familiar too. But he recalls his name in an instant. Dionysus. An Olympian. And alive too. 

He doesn’t get much chance to dwell on it before Dionysus waves a hand and his eyes fall shut without permission. 

[undertale-fic-librarby]

I have been searching day and night for fanfics were nightmare becomes uncorrupted and his gang just stays with him! At this point I don't care if there's ships or angst, I just need something!! Pls!

- gets on my hands and knees and starts crying -

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

The sweet lilac behind the cold cyan by Ehawee (Teen And Up, Complete)

What if the corruption that invaded Nightmare's mind after eating the apples disappeared? When he woke up after a long sleep Nightmare found himself in a place he didn't know. He couldn't sense his brother or mother anymore and was covered in some weird goo. The last thing he remembers was the fight he had with the villagers that wanted the apples. Will he be able to go home back to his family? Does he even trully want it?

I Don't Care About You by The_Writer_0f_M3 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

I read I don't need you anymore, and I really want to write something about this because the concept is amazing. I would recommend reading the original work as I will just continue where it left off. I plan to work on this the most I can.

The New Guardian by undeified_disowned (General Audiences, Incomplete)

The Stars have succumbed to the darkness. But the twins have forgotten about the balance. We haven't. He has betrayed us in the worst way, and we will pay him back in kind. A new Guardian of P̶̺̈́̈̿͠o̴̠̝̲͆͂̽̈́͋s̵̪̦̮̝̤͛̑͛ͅì̷̗͇͋̽́͒ţ̷̘̭̠͇̽ḯ̷̛͕̱̣̯̾v̶̟̻̮͖̓̈̉̑̊̎͜ị̷̢̡͙̲̗̋͗̃t̶̠̙̜̏̏́ỳ̶̢̹̳̑ will suffice. (Originally posted on Quotev) [Fallen Stars Fic]

The Inevitability of Change by PerpetuallyTired_PT (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Change is a force that has toppled empires and left gods drowning in the seas of time. Many fight against it, only to be bitterly defeated. Others accept it and flow along the ever shifting tides. Nightmare and his gang are aware of both the good and bad that change can bring. They are the byproducts of irreversible change, and have come to accept their new lots in life even while they fight. But sometimes change is unpredictable and your current life becomes forfeit. Corruption flows and reveals ivory bones, but he was never given an opportunity to change, was he?

Passive skeleton tries to boss around his mass murdering Gang by StrelitziaMystery1097 (Not Rated, Complete)

Passive Nightmare post Dream becoming Shattered Dream tries to figure out wtf can he do to fix his brother. But he first has to figure out how to deal with his corrupted self's gang of multiverse murderers. Yay.

[wereh0gz]

Sonic au where everything's the same except the werehog was feral during unleashed. Nothing else abt the plot changes bc at his core sonic is still himself BUT he's more Creature. Bigger, fluffier, can't talk, overall more animal-isms. Yeah

[sofargoneao3]

can someone give me some jily fic recs please I’m in a slump and need something

[candyriku]

I unfortunately find myself unable to work on my current Soriku fic today due to my mental state, but I was able to make a bit of a teaser for the next big Soriku fanfiction that will be coming sometime after JTSYS is finished.

You can read it under the cut, but TW for blood, death, and uh, general misery. This has been cathartic for me to write but the whole idea of this fic is that things are impossibly doomed, so be warned - this is not the happy fun zone.

Blood. There was so much blood.

He had smelled it before even seeing it, the metallic scent thick in his nose before he had even rounded the corner. He had tried to convince himself that it was his own bleeding wound that he smelled, or maybe the blood of something else, someone else, but in his heart, he knew the truth. He picked up his pace, sprinting at top speed now, his sneakers splashing through shallow puddles on the wet pavement. 

When his eyes finally came to rest on the crumpled form at the end of the alley, the breath was knocked out of his chest as though someone had taken a baseball bat to his sternum. He knew, of course he knew, but he had hoped-

No. It didn’t matter what he hoped for. Hopes and wishes weren’t for people that walked his path. He had been denied the right to hope for anything ages ago. When he had signed that contract, signed away his soul, he forfeited all the cushy pleasures of a normal life. He had given up his chance of knowing peace.

But it had been worth it. If it was for Sora, anything was worth it.

Standing over Sora’s blood-soaked body, Riku tried to remind himself of that truth, the one thing that he had tethered his heart to all this time. It was worth it. Even if the chance of Sora making it out alive were next to none, there was still a chance. He could still fight.

One of these loops, Riku would get it right. He would figure out how to keep Sora safe, how to protect him from this accursed dimension where everything was designed to end his life. They would break out and live a normal life together, just the way they had always planned. 

There was a happy future waiting somewhere for the two of them. There had to be. Riku had gambled everything on it.

He crouched down, his shaking fingers gently brushing Sora’s tear-stained cheek. He could hardly stand to look at his face, but the sight of his broken, bleeding body was no better. The wounds were precise and lethal, and Riku was far too late.

No matter how many dozens of times he had watched Sora die, it never got easier. It never stopped feeling like his chest was a black hole caving in on itself, his heart squeezed until it was nothing more than dust. 

He couldn’t look. He couldn't look away.

Riku kneeled and placed both of Sora’s hands over his heart. He was about to speak and begin the incantation that would throw them both back to the starting point again, but Sora suddenly stirred, weakly reaching one hand up towards Riku’s face.

“Riku…” his voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“I’m here,” Riku said, the words catching in his throat. “Don’t speak. You can rest now. It’s okay.”

He hated to say it. He wanted to plead with Sora, wanted to beg him to stay. But if Riku had learned anything throughout the loops, it was that nothing came of begging. There was no one to answer his prayers; benevolent forces did not dwell here. At best, all it would accomplish would be making Sora sad in his final moments. At worst, future loops would be impacted by Riku’s words to Sora, twisting the knife further. He had seen it enough to know what to avoid now.

“I don’t want…” There was a weighted pause. “...Don’t want to leave you.” The pool of blood continued to grow. Riku knew - though he wished that he didn’t - that Sora wouldn’t be able to maintain consciousness for much longer at this rate. He could hardly believe Sora was awake even now. 

“We’ll meet again.” he assured Sora softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Don’t worry. It'll be okay.” 

“You…” This pause was longer, much longer, and Riku was all but sure that Sora would not speak again. Finally, with a wet cough, Sora continued. “You promise?”

“I promise.” Riku lied. He leaned forward and kissed Sora’s forehead, his lips lingering there for several long moments as he took steadying breaths. 

“Mm… ‘kay.” Sora managed. “Love you… so much.” 

“I love you too.” Riku said, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw popped. He wanted to scream. After taking a moment to compose himself, he sat up and offered his best imitation of a smile to Sora. Better for him to see that than to see how broken Riku really was. 

The all-too-familiar faraway look settled on Sora’s face as the last of his breath left his body. Riku collapsed over him, the tears finally coming, the weight hitting him all at once with the force of a tidal wave. Even knowing that he would see Sora alive and well again in mere moments did nothing to comfort him. 

It didn't matter how many times Riku had seen it. It never got any easier to watch Sora die.

[timdrake-yumm]

Would anyone read it if I started posting my Platonic Wrong Number No Capes Batfam (Jason and Tim) AU from AO3 on here? I just posted chapter 4 on AO3 today. I could also just… link it here or something instead of posting the actual individual chapters. Fair warning— they’re definitely OOC (at least I think they are, but people have commented otherwise?), and I only recently started writing it again after over a year hiatus

[red-n-ded]

The World According to Kris (reverse!au) 2/4

Chapter Two is finally out!!

Kris recalls a memory seven (earth) years ago his miserable life on Cybertron and how the Autobot brothers arrived on Earth. But when he wakes up in the Well of Sparks, he is determined to return home, concerned for his human-hating brother left in the aftermath of his death.

Or

Reverse Roles AU and basically Kris takes Bee’s place in RotB, killed by Scourge trying to steal the transwarp key before being revived, followed by flashbacks on Noah’s and Kris’ life before the crash that sent hundreds of Cybertronians to Earth.

Previous

Next (coming soon)

Ao3 Sneak Peek

“Hey, look,” K-008 starts, catching his brother’s attention, “The Supernova I know, it took him forever to join the military. He never gave up.”

Noah wants to either laugh or cry at his brother’s naïveté, “I'm not Supernova anymore, K-008. I’m not a hero.”

“I'm just saying, you'll get the next one.”

“There is no next one.” Noah almost barks, making K-008 nearly flinch at the sudden increase. Frustration leaks into his voice and forces it to raise in volume. “No one's coming to save us. We're alone in this.”

The two sit quietly, the silence following the hard truth making the atmosphere thicker than the sharpest blade could cut as Kris hands back the gauntlet. Yet, while still upset, Noah still takes it with a sense of carefulness. The soldier is frustrated, not at his brother but at the circumstances placed upon him. K-008 knew that but remained hurt from his attitude. Noah knew that too.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's alright.” Not even a beat after Noah’s apology, K-008 mumbles with a forgiving grin.

“No, it's not.” He grumbles from his vents, “None of this is.”

They sit in silence once again. The only noise was the winds of the ship sailing above the ground and the murmurs of the people around them. K-008 is left to think again, massaging his servos once the pulsing has faded and the rust inches out into his sight. The silence becomes unbearable so he tries to speak.

“When I get better,” K-008 says, startling Noah a bit, “I want to join the army too.”

Now Noah is truly startled. The image of his younger brother going through the same thing as him sends a true fear down his spine like any other. The idea of his little brother walking down the streets with bots yelling insults and slurs at him, hurts so much it’s unexplainable. He wishes to interject but at K-008’s hopeful look, the green soldier allows him to dream.

“I’ll train hard like you and get so strong, even the Prime would want to fight by my side!” A wide enthusiastic smile spreads across his face plate, bouncing on his seat and almost ready to leap out. “Then when I get my abilities, I’ll be unstoppable!”

K-008 sits up from his seat and his navy blue glass visor falls over his eyes and nose. “I’ll do missions, find the bad guy’s weaknesses and hit them where it hurts! Boom!”

Noah laughs as he attacks the air, narrating sound effects of each punch and kick before K-008 bumps into a grumpy Cybertronian and quickly apologizes. Noah pulls K-008 away but barely holds back a chuckle.

“Sorry! Sorry.” K-008 mumbles to the stranger before sitting back down.

He looked embarrassed, fiddling his fingers in silence but Noah gave him a nudge into his shoulder to encourage more of his rambles, wanting to learn more about his dream.

“Go on. Continue.” 

The prior excitement seems to have faded and K-008 just sighs, “I just…I just want to be a hero just like you.” He reasons as he gestures to his speechless brother, “I want to save people, go on deadly missions and get recognized. And everyone will start cheering my name…

Kri-ti-cal! Kri-ti-cal! Kri-ti-cal! Wooooo!!”

K-008 fakes an applause and whisper-yelling cheers. Noah laughs albeit a bit confused.

“Kritical? Where did that come from?” At Noah’s laughter and question, he quiets a bit and starts fiddling with his digits again. Noah quickly tries to backtrack, “Not that it’s not a good name! It’s really cool! I promise.”

K-008 remained quiet for a moment which is starting to worry Noah. The orange bot didn’t look sad anymore but appeared to be thinking before he finally found his words.

“The medics won’t treat me unless I’m dying or I’m important,”

Noah goes speechless, his brother’s words echoing in his audials and dread dropping into the bottom of his tanks. His digits start clench in rising anger, practically shaking to keep his rage from showing.

Does he not think he’s important? That his brother will not get any attention unless he’s dead? It’s a horrifying idea, especially for someone who’s as kind and forgiving as K-008.

“and that’s what I want to be. Important. Critical.”

The silence returns but it’s neither tense or comfortable.

Technically and unfortunately, what he said was true.

Everytime Noah enters any and every hospital, they won’t let him in unless his spark is flatlining at the moment. It hurts Noah every single time but the soldier hates to admit that he forgets how his brother feels about it as well.

Clearly, it was killing him as much as the disease.

The rage inside the green robot dies out. His fist relaxes from the sorrow growing inside him. Noah scoots closer to the orange bot, hugging him close around the shoulders and trying to make eye contact with the distraught sparkling.

“You don’t need to fight bad guys or die to be important. You know that right?”

“I know.”

“But if you do decide to go into the military, I’ll be there every step of the way, Kritical.” K-008, or Kritical, giggles at the sound of his callsign from another voice, wrapping his arms tight around Noah’s middle as he grinning into the metal. All Noah could do is hug back, both of his arms around the orange bot, “Home team?”

“Home team.”

BOOM!

[youchangedmedestiel]

The eighth chapter of my first long AU fic is now posted on AO3. I was able to post it on schedule after all, so it's a win.

Read the 8th chapter here!

Summary: THEN: Dean had felt bothered by the pairing Cas and Patience formed at the Bocce tournament, but it was soon forgotten when he touched Cas's hair and when he used Cas's jacket as a pillow while texting him.

NOW: Dean accepts the fact that he feels jealous, not just bothered, when someone is a little too close to Cas according to Dean's taste. Dean is questioning his feelings for Cas, wondering if he could love him as he deserves.

The tags: Alternate Universe ; Summer Vacation ; Summer Love ; Feelings ; Pining ; Pining Dean Winchester ; Possibly Unrequited Love ; Fluff ; Light Angst ; Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues ; Beach Holidays ; Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship ; POV Dean Winchester ; Other Additional Tags to Be Added ; Attempt at Humor ; Alternate Universe - summer holidays ; Poker : Football | Soccer ; Humour ; but like dean's humour ; well kind of mine since I'm writing it so don't judge please : Self-Esteem Issues ; Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel ; Dean Winchester Has Feelings For Castiel ; Jealous Dean Winchester ; Dean Winchester Dreams about Castiel ; Texting ; Trampolines