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[damienthepious]

lizur kissnn. chewsday. more sage!damien!!!!!! the boy is still in the water.... 😔

the water that fills me (chapter 2)

[read on ao3]

[misc-obeyme]

unchained - chapter eleven

masterpost read the chapter on ao3

recommended music: All My Days by Alexi Murdoch word count: 2873

GN!MC x Arsenios [demon OC] a/n: The date chapter! We learn some things about Arrie in this chapter, too. I'm going to be posting a special smut scene that comes directly after this chapter in a couple of days and then chapter twelve will be next Wednesday as usual. Chapter twelve is the only chapter that Arrie isn't actually in, so please bear with me. It was needed for plot reasons! Warnings: none, this is the fluffiest and cheesiest chapter~

Arsenios watched the way your eyes lit up as you took in the view of the Devildom Botanical Garden. It was meticulously maintained - a stunning outdoor space overflowing with the most unique and beautiful flora the Devildom had to offer. Trees and flowers, even a lovely stream and a small waterfall, paths lined with twinkling lights like stars.

When Arsenios realized you had never gone on a real date with him, he had thought deeply about where to bring you. In the end, he had settled on the Devildom Botanical Garden. It was a peaceful place full of beauty and he thought you might appreciate seeing so much of the Devildom's nature in one place.

Arsenios couldn't deny that it was one of his favorite spots, too, and he wanted to share it with you.

You walked beside him on the garden path, stopping to read the various plaques detailing which flowers and trees were growing nearby.

Arsenios watched you fondly, the desire to reach out and take your hand making his fingertips tingle.

Every time you looked at him, every time you smiled, his chest twisted.

He wanted to be with you, to spend this time with you, to stay by your side. He wanted to kiss you again.

And yet, he could feel his own fear bubbling just below the surface of that heady crush.

Deep down, Arsenios knew he should leave you alone. He knew he shouldn't have invited you out this evening. He knew he should stop texting you. He should stop singing the song that filled his heart whenever he thought of you. Even though everything you did made him feel light, he was still tethered down by the anchor of danger and fear.

These thoughts were running through his head when you turned around and smiled at him, banishing everything but your face from his mind. He couldn't help but smile back at you.

Arsenios had been lingering behind you, arguing with himself about how close he should get. He stopped thinking about it when you fell into step beside him and took his hand yourself.

"You like flowers, don't you?" you asked.

Arsenios shrugged a little. "There are a lot of beautiful ones in the Devildom."

"I saw the fresh bouquets you had in your apartment," you said. "Though I thought one of them looked like peonies… do you have those in the Devildom?"

"No," he said. "There's a flower market near my place that sometimes sells human world flowers. They're expensive, so I only buy some if they have peonies."

You squeezed his hand briefly as the two of you continued to stroll through the garden. "You spent a lot of time in the human world, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Arsenios said. He ran his free hand through his hair. "Actually, it was humans who taught me the most about music."

"Really?" you asked, looking over at him. "But don't you have your own music in the Devildom?"

"Of course," Arsenios said. "But Devildom music has always been heavily influenced by human world music. And it's because of demons like me - making pacts in the human world and carrying some of the culture back with us. I learned to play different instruments from humans. I encountered different genres at human performances. I wouldn't be half the musician I am now if I didn't spend that time learning from humans, demonic power or no."

You seemed enraptured by what he was telling you. "Did you… did you ever feel bad about eating human souls?"

Arsenios stopped walking and turned to face you, dropping your hand in the process. He put his fingertips on your cheek. "If I said I didn't, would you be afraid?"

You snorted. "Not this again," you said. "It's just like that night when Caligo showed up. You think if you're just scary enough that you'll scare me away."

"Maybe there's a reason for that," he said.

"Tell me the truth," you said. "Tell me about all the terrible things you've done. I'll judge for myself if it's enough for me to walk away."

"Humans taught me so much," Arsenios said, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "They shared their culture with me. And I stole their souls. I ate some of them, yes. And others I sold. Many of them died early because of their pact with me. I didn't feel bad. I'm a demon. It's what we do. I made deals with countless humans, knowing it would kill them in the end, and then taking their souls for myself."

You reached up and took his hand away from your face, pulling it down and turning it to make his tattoo visible. "I know you don't want to talk about whatever happened to you. But is there anything else you can tell me? I feel like even if you talk for hours, I'll never know everything. Tell me something important."

Arsenios flexed his fingers against your hand. "Caligo has my grimoire."

It was the first time Arsenios ever said this out loud to someone else. Each word felt like a knot in his throat. An implication of something so much deeper, something that shattered him into a million tiny pieces.

You gasped a little and grabbed at his hand. "What! But that's so much stronger than a pact. Did you really trust him enough to give it to him?"

Arsenios sighed and closed his eyes, unable to look at you any longer. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't mean to get close to him. We were working together and it was supposed to be strictly business."

"But?" you asked tentatively.

Arsenios opened his eyes again, forced himself to look at you. "But I'm an idiot, that's all."

You shook your head. "I don't understand. What do you mean, you were working together?"

"Caligo was doing something he shouldn't have been doing," Arsenios said. "When I made a pact with a human, he would use the pact mark it left on me to trace where their candle was located. He manipulated the candle and that ended their lives much faster. I was able to gather twice as many souls as I would have on my own. And I gave some of them to him. That was our deal."

"But he betrayed you…" you trailed off, obviously confused about this part of the story.

But Arsenios couldn't tell it to you. Not in full. "Yeah. By then I was in too deep. It wasn't… it was bad from the start. It never should have happened. I never should have agreed to even work with him."

Arsenios abruptly pulled his hand out of yours. "I'm sorry, MC. I didn't mean to bring everything down by talking about this. I brought you here because I wanted you to see how beautiful the Devildom can be."

"Don't apologize," you said. "I was the one who asked."

You took Arsenios's hand again and he let you. You resumed walking together, now in a slightly awkward silence.

The path wound around beds of flowers and stunning trees. At a point where the path crossed with another, there was a large wooden trellis that stretched over the crossroads. It was covered in vines and twinkling with lanterns, the Devildom stars mirroring the blinking lights above.

Arsenios stopped. He held both of your hands and looked into your eyes.

"I'm a demon," he said. "Unlike the brothers you spend so much time with, I've always been a demon. My reason for existing was to tempt humans. A lot of them have suffered because of me. But I've also learned from humans. I've shared love and friendship with them. They taught me their music. It's a duality I'm always going to carry inside me. I understand if you can't accept this about me. I'll understand if you decide to walk away."

Arsenios waited as you studied him. His stomach was twisted around itself. Not just thinking of Caligo and the betrayal, but knowing that he was giving you more than enough reason to cut him out of your life. Your song filled him, it sang through his limbs and vibrated through his veins. It would hurt to lose it, but he would rather feel that emptiness now than struggle with it later.

You sighed. "I don't care what you've done in the past," you said. "So you're a demon. You're also the one who sang me to sleep. You're the one who makes a point of trying a little angel's pastries. You play the piano like you're pouring out all of your love with every note. You love flowers and macarons. I don't care what you've done or what you've had to do. I like you."

Arsenios squeezed your hands. He felt the relief flood through him, his body relaxing, letting go of the tension he'd held since the two of you started talking.

Arsenios let go of your hands and cupped your cheeks. "MC, can I-"

"You don't have to ask," you interrupted.

Arsenios kissed you. All the bright flowers around the two of you seemed to disappear as Arsenios felt himself full of nothing but you. Your song filled his mind, his heart.

One hand moved to cradle the back of your head as you took a step closer to him, your bodies pressed against each other. His other arm encircled your waist, your own arms on his shoulders, the heat of your lips against his as they opened eagerly.

It was just as intense as the first kiss you'd shared in his apartment, perhaps even more so. Arsenios let it consume him and for a blissful moment, he imagined that this was all there was. That things could be this simple. He let your song block out everything except your touch.

-

You could have gone straight home. In fact, Arsenios had been prepared to escort you back to the House of Lamentation himself when the two of you left the garden. But you tugged on his hand, pulling him in a different direction.

"I'm not ready to go back yet," you said. "There's a new food stall down this street I've been wanting to try. Will you come with me?"

Arsenios couldn't have said no even if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. He wanted to stay by your side for as long as you'd let him.

"Lead the way," he said.

You started off down the street, guiding him along by the hand. He kept pace with you, staying beside you even as he followed you.

Arsenios watched your face, your expression focused as you looked for the food stall you had in mind. The lights of the city brightened your eyes and he couldn't stop thinking about the way you felt in his arms when he kissed you among the flowers.

He was reluctant to look away from you, but you had arrived at your destination.

It was a new crepe stall. Your excitement was evident from the way you grinned at him. You pointed out the items you wanted to try, telling him what you had heard about each one.

In the end, you both ordered the same thing. The way you talked about the stall's signature offering made him want to try it. They were crepes made with matcha from the human world covered in bloodberries and shadow oranges. It was a unique combination of flavors.

The two of you settled down on a bench to eat and you leaned into Arsenios as you took your first bite.

He had to hold in a laugh at the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

"Mm," you hummed. "This is delicious."

Arsenios smiled. "I didn't realize you could be so expressive about sweets. Have you ever made that face when you tried something Barbatos made? You'll give the guy ideas."

You rolled your eyes again, but this time in mock exasperation. You nudged Arsenios playfully. "Just try it!"

Arsenios did as he was told. It was quite good. He tried to school his expression.

You grinned at him. "See? It's good, right? And anyway, don't put Barbatos on your level. He would never get ideas like that."

Arsenios nearly choked. "He's not as prim and proper as you think he is," he said when he was able to speak again. "And what do you mean by my level?"

You finished another bite of crepes before replying. "You haven't been able to keep your eyes off of me since we left the garden," you said. Your voice was teasing, but there was a blush on your cheeks.

Arsenios felt a fluttering in his stomach. He almost laughed. It was such a sweet, tender feeling that he hadn't experienced in so many years, he didn't think he still could. And yet here you were, setting off butterflies he thought were long dead.

"Can you blame me?" Arsenios asked.

"Yeah," you said between mouthfuls. "I can. Quit staring!"

Arsenios finally laughed, unable to hold it back this time. He took your empty plate and left you sitting on the bench while he threw away the trash in a nearby can.

Then he came back and offered you his hand. "I think I could use a little tea after something so sweet. I have just the thing at home, if you don't mind staying with me a little longer."

You looked at his hand, then up into his eyes. He had to control his breathing, to prevent himself from sucking in a breath at the tumble of feelings he saw there. He waited.

You took his hand and let him pull you to your feet. He kept your fingers clasped in his as he walked home with you.

-

Arsenios moved behind the island counter of his kitchen, ready to start making you some tea. He was thinking about the last time you were here - the first time he had felt your lips against his.

You didn't sit at the counter like you had then. Instead, you leaned against it idly, your gaze on the back windows.

As Arsenios looked around for some mugs, he saw you moving out of the corner of his eye. He stopped what he was doing to watch you.

You crossed the room toward the piano, moving past it and stopping with your gaze fixed on the corner of the room.

"Is this a cat tower?" you asked.

There was in fact a dark grey cat tower in the corner you were looking at. Arsenios knew you hadn't seen it the last time you were here.

You didn't wait for his response, instead getting closer and peeking inside one of the cubbies. You let out a soft gasp and put your hands to your mouth.

Arsenios shook his head and went over to join you. Inside the compartment, a sleek black cat was curled up in an unusual position, her soft body moving slowly up and down in her slumber.

"Don't worry," Arsenios said. "She's a heavy sleeper. We won't disturb her."

"What's her name?" you asked.

"Flower of the Abyss," Arsenios said.

You frowned over at him.

He shrugged. "It's my favorite flower. I just call her Abby. Now, come on, did you want tea or not?"

Arsenios started to move back toward the kitchen, but you caught his hand.

"Did you really bring me home to serve me tea?" you asked.

Arsenios experienced a splitting of himself in that moment. As he looked into your eyes, all he wanted to do was kiss you, touch you - he wanted to make you his. And yet, something held him back. There was something else, small but strong, deep inside, that yelled at him to stop.

You didn't wait for him to resolve this inner conflict and he hoped you weren't even aware of it. You stepped closer to him, put your other hand on his chest.

"Arrie," you said.

And that was all it took. Hearing you say his nickname like that, so confidently and yet so gently all at once, completely crumbled the last of his resolve.

Arsenios wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close before kissing you. He felt you return the embrace as you opened your mouth for him, easily granting access.

If your previous kisses had been hot and heavy, this was a volcano. An explosion of feeling, a bursting of pent up energy, aflame like magma. Arsenios's skin was on fire, every piece of him singing for you. His song was like the high pitch of several violins, strings straining against the bows, mingling with the restless sound of your desire.

Arsenios pulled back from you and it was like moving a mountain. "MC," he said, his voice low and husky.

His hand was on your cheek, his thumb running along your bottom lip. He couldn't help touching you. He couldn't stop, even when he was trying to.

Arsenios caught the sight of his own tattoo and his hands throbbed. He tried not react, but he was sure you could see something in his eyes.

You didn't say anything. All you did was wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into another kiss.

masterpost | chapter ten | chapter eleven and a half

taglist: back to normal as I've been told how to tag so everybody actually gets tagged! so here I go: @avalordream @lonely-north-star @expressionless-fr @featheredcrowbones @pumpkinsareamazing

@szired @bagofwetmice

as always, please comment or dm me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[actual-changeling]

(please do not send any asks with fundraiser links)

Hi, you can call me Alex or whatever variation of my username you'd like. <3

I'm in my early twenties, use mainly they/them pronouns, and there is a lot wrong with my brain (both affectionately and in a decidedly not fun way). I have memory issues, so I can and will forget things, including replying to messages. You are ALWAYS invited to send me a reminder—please, please do, I will not be offended, pinky promise.

This blog is 90% fandom, 5% personal shit and 5% misc posts that I like. My DMs are open, so feel free to message me and interact however you like! Asks are currently closed due to spam. If there's something you want me to see, I don't mind getting tagged in posts either.

Please don't be an asshole. I'm incredibly bad at judging my own tone, so if I come across as overly intense or upset, chances are I am actually not—I'm just passionate about the things I enjoy.

Agatha all along is the lesbian dream plus Scully has also taken over my brain and body, and I don't think they will leave me alone ever again.

I will be tagging spoilers for any newly released shows and episodes. If there is something you would like me to tag spoilers for, just shoot me an ask or dm!

Currently following and tagging for:

Agatha All Along: alex watches agatha all along

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Doctor Who: alex watches doctor who, dw spoilers

(PJO The Series: pjo spoilers) show is on hiatus

The Magnus Protocols: alex listens to tmagp, tmagp spoilers

I write fanfiction both here on tumblr and on ao3 under actualchangeling. Requests or ideas are fine, though I cannot make any promises.

Wanna chat with other people about good omens? I have a discord you can join, mostly angelfish focused but we talk about all our beloved idiots.

My other misc current active special interests are Doctor Who and Good Omens, but I dabble in a lot of other fandoms, too. Among those are Marvel/Iron Man, Lucifer, TLOU, The Magnus Archives, Welcome to Night Vale, Prospect (2018), and many more.

My tag system for original posts applies to all fandoms I am currently actively engaging with and follows the same patterns. I tag spoilers when I remember to for about a week, so consider this blog to be very much NOT spoiler free.

alex talks x -> meta, analysis, interpretation, or opinion posts

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Any personal posts that are not fandom related are tagged as following; feel free to block them if you're just here for the fandom madness!! I really do not mind.

alex yells at the void -> misc personal stuff

alex gets personal -> potentially triggering discussions of my trauma or mental health, vent posts

Last but not least, the tag for my queue is I’ll follow queue anywhere you go. It's a TLOU reference for those who are curious.

[sickficideas]

Hiya! May I request sick Chuuya and the flags take care of him?

ANON !!! I FINALLY GOT A GOOD BIT INTO STORMBRINGER...i got WAYYY too attached oh my god i love them all so much. i hope you like this fic i had fun writing it!!!

just a dream || chuuya + the flags sickfic (+ skk)

ao3! 5k words, sickfic, stormbringer light novel spoilers - please refer to the link for additional tags!

"I'm comin' in. Hide your girlfriends."

Chuuya groans, holding a pillow over his head. It's far too early in the morning for this. The morning light hasn't even fully flooded his room yet. He’s not entirely sure how Albatross got into his apartment to begin with, but either way, he wasn’t invited.

"Or boyfriends! I don't discriminate. You know, me and D-"

"Stop! Stop, I don't wanna know," Chuuya exclaims, loud enough to drown out the rest of Albatross's sentence in case he decided to keep going. He had plans with Albatross this morning, he thinks. Something work-related that he can't quite place right now. But they were supposed to meet at work.

Chuuya got up at some point in the middle of the night to throw up. He hardly remembers it at all, but he just barely made it to the toilet. He remembers making a few texts about not being able to come into work this morning, and one of those texts apparently went to Albatross.

"Wake up! A hangover never stopped any of us," Albatross exclaims proudly, his voice suddenly sounding much closer. Chuuya's arms are weak, he doesn't have the energy to hold the pillow over his head, and he doesn't care enough to use his ability. Albatross takes the pillow and uncovers him, and clicks his tongue at the sight. "Oh, shit, kid. You really did it this time, huh?"

"I'm not hungover," Chuuya groans, reaching an arm back out for the pillow. Albatross hands it back, but only lets him tuck it against his chest. Chuuya holds it close to him with a weak groan.

"Could'a fooled me," Albatross jokes.

"I'm serious," Chuuya grumbles, letting his eyes travel up to Albatross's face. "It's - a cold, or something."

Albatross still looks suspicious, landing a hand on his hip. He leans forward and reaches for Chuuya's forehead with his free hand.

"Sheesh, kid. You're really runnin' a fever there," he says with a click of his tongue. He pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head, giving Chuuya a rare glimpse at his eyes. He really wishes he’s put them back on. He doesn’t like how concerned he looks. "How long you been feelin' sick for, huh?"

"Just…just since last night," Chuuya murmurs, dropping his gaze. He doesn't see the point in lying to him. He doesn't even really remember feeling sick the night before, it really only hit him that time he woke up.

"You stayin' home today?" Albatross asks.

"Uh-huh," Chuuya murmurs. He only looks at him for a second but he can't handle the worry on his face. It doesn't look right. He's never seen him make that face. "Told everyone I needed to already."

"Good. Cause it'd be crap to work when you don't feel good," Albatross says, sounding relieved. "I'll call Doc for ya. I'm sure -"

"No, please - please don't," Chuuya murmurs. "Don't tell anyone."

Albatross tilts his head.

"I just…it's not a big deal. I'll be fine tomorrow," Chuuya huffs, turning his face into his pillow. He hopes Albatross will just leave Chuuya to sleep this off, but he's not sure he'll get too lucky this time. His body betrays him and forces out a few coughs that are muffled by the pillow. He can’t tell if that’s part of his illness or if he’s just starting to feel nauseous again.

"Alright, alright. I've gotta call someone if you don't get better, though, got it?" Albatross tells him. “Lemme get you some water. You gotta stay hydrated, kid.”

Albatross disappears from Chuuya’s bedroom, and Chuuya groans into his pillow before he turns his body around, facing away from the door.

He hears Albatross talking to himself in Chuuya’s kitchen, which isn’t unusual at all for him - the guy has a hard time keeping things to himself, no matter the content. Chuuya thinks he hears his name at some point, but now that he’s starting to wake up some more, he’s starting to feel nauseous again.

The saliva starts to pool in his mouth and he groans at the feeling, starting to panic just a bit. He doesn’t want Albatross to see him throw up. He doesn’t want anyone to see him sick at all, it’s humiliating enough as it is, but this would just make things so much worse.

He's swallowing saliva, something he can’t do much longer because he feels his stomach pushing up and trying to get something up his esophagus. He knows he's going to throw up, but he can't move. He's so sore and achy. He tries to force himself to sit up, but he can hardly keep himself propped up with his weak and shaky arms.

Chuuya's stomach lurches without time for him to better prepare and he feels something splash into the back of his throat. He gags, hard, all the muscles in his abdomen contracting to bring something up, a thin stream of pale, digested contents from his stomach. He groans, his free arm wrapped tight around his middle, eyes screwed shut. It hurts.

“Shit, Chuuya…” he hears from behind him. His stomach twists and he starts to breathe heavy, hoping that getting more air in will somehow quell his nausea, but it only makes it worst. He’s just a billion times more anxious now with someone watching him and now he can’t get anything else up. He wants to cry, but he can’t imagine doing that while he’s already puking.

"Just get it up, kid. Sheets are super easy to clean," he feels the mattress shift as Albatross climbs on next to him with a gentle hand on his back. "Don't breathe so hard. Breathe gentle and it'll come up."

He tries, he really does, taking deep, calculated breaths through his mouth, trying to not focus on the fact that he’s not alone right now. Just a few breaths later, a wave of Chuuya's partially undigested dinner comes pouring out of his mouth. Chuuya coughs and gags through it, eyes screwed shut.

“There ya go,” Albatross says.

He leans over the puddle that’s started to pool in his sheets, hoping that anything else will make an appearance quickly so he doesn’t have to struggle much longer. He burps a few times in some effort to get more up, and one particularly wet belch brings up another wave of pale vomit, followed by a pained whimper.

From there, his stomach calms down just a bit. He still feels nauseous, but not enough to puke again, at least for the time being. He doesn’t remember it hurting this much last night, but maybe he’s already sore from that incident.

He groans, wishing he could just melt into the mattress and disappear. He really doesn’t feel good. He’s glad his fevered middle-of-the-night brain made the right call and decided to not come to work.

"You're gonna have to let me call somebody to bring you some meds," Albatross says as he slides the soiled sheet off of Chuuya’s bed, clearing him to lie back down. "I don't have nothin’ and I doubt you do either."

"Fine," he murmurs quietly, curling in on himself and taking that same pillow from before to hold against his aching stomach. The pressure does help a little bit.

“You got extra comforters anywhere?” Albatross asks, and Chuuya barely manages to lift up an arm to point toward a closet at the corner of the room, where Albatross wastes no time in finding something to cover Chuuya with. He feels a shiver take over his body even after Albatross lays the comforter over him. The last thing he needs is to deal with the chills.

Evidently, though, throwing up tired him out so much that he starts to fall asleep before he can further agonize about his situation.

…

"Special delivery!" Chuuya hears. He doesn’t pay much attention to who it could be at first, but it’s not Albatross. It’s further away, far from his bedroom door. He groans, wishing he had stayed asleep. 

It's Pianoman's voice, he thinks. He starts to tense up at the realization that someone else is here now, and his stomach starts to cramp again. He's gotten used to Albatross seeing him ill, but now he's going to have to be okay with others, too.

He decides his best course of action is to pretend to be asleep, not that it will be too difficult. He’s starting to realize he feels worse than before. His stomach hurts from the nausea but the soreness too, and his head swims and spins at the slightest movement.

He hears their footsteps come closer. There’s a third set, too, so it’s not just Pianoman. He curls up tighter in the center of his bed with a pained groan, tucking his face back under a pillow. Go home, he wants to tell them. He’s fine. He just needs to sleep it off. He doesn’t want anyone’s help.

"I think he's asleep. I'll give it to him when he wakes up," Albatross says quietly right outside the bedroom door, and Chuuya sighs in relief, thinking he’s avoided a crisis for now.

He wonders what time it is. It seems Albatross has pulled down the blinds, so any sunlight to tell him the time of day is blocked out. He’s tempted to get up and see, or at least reach over to grab his cell phone, but he really doesn’t even have the energy to do that.

He lies still for a few moments, but with the way his stomach is turning, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to fall asleep any time soon. He’s hungry, but too nauseous to even think about food. That’s the worst kind of feeling.

"Hey. I know you're awake, Chuuya," Pianoman says, his voice suddenly beyond Chuuya’s bedroom door. His voice is gentle, not accusatory, so Chuuya doesn’t feel as anxious - but he still doesn’t want anyone to see him. "I think it'd be better if you took this medicine sooner rather than later with how you're feeling."

Chuuya doesn’t move. Maybe he can trick Pianoman, but he quickly realizes that’s a foolish thought. He couldn’t ever trick Pianoman.

He hears a plastic bag rustle, and Pianoman sits on Chuuya’s king mattress. “I have some nausea medicine for you too. Albatross told me your stomach’s been bothering you.”

Chuuya doesn’t like that Pianoman knows about that, but at this point, he would rather get his nausea under control than worry about his image. He begrudgingly turns over so that Pianoman knows he’s not hiding anymore. When their eyes meet, he watches Pianoman’s brow furrow.

“I know I look like shit,” Chuuya mumbles, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounds. He hasn’t been coughing all that much.

“I wonder how you caught this,” Pianoman says, taking three medicine bottles out and setting them down on Chuuya’s nightstand, along with two cups of water that he apparently brought with him. “Two of these are liquid, sorry. But they tend to work better, I’ve noticed.”

Chuuya doesn’t care much, as long as they’ll help. He forces himself up, and Pianoman reaches out an arm to help him - the touch makes Chuuya freeze up. “Relax. I’m just trying to help.”

Chuuya groans and lets him. Pianoman props up a few of his pillows at the headrest and helps Chuuya lean against that, that way he’s sitting up but still comfortable, and he’s grateful for Pianoman’s thoughtfulness, but he keeps his eyes low. He’s hoping that avoiding eye contact will make him forget about this faster.

“I feel like this one always gives me awful nightmares,” Pianoman says with a huff as he hands Chuuya a cup of medicine, which he takes like a shot with no issue. The taste is artificial fruit and bitter, but if he imagines it’s more like alcohol, it’s not as unbearable. "Do you get nightmares?"

"No," Chuuya murmurs. "I don't dream at all."

"I thought I heard you say that before. Might be a good thing, then. A lot of people get bad nightmares when they have fevers like you do, even without medicine," Pianoman says. "Lippmann does."

That seems like an intimate detail to know about someone, especially to share with others, but he doesn't say anything.

“We’ve all seen each other sick. You don’t need to hide from us,” Pianoman assures him. Chuuya realizes that’s the point he was trying to make, but he still can’t meet his gaze. He just takes the next cup of medicine and downs it, but this time, his stomach twists. This one tastes much worse. He thinks this one might make him vomit even if he wasn’t ill. He presses a hand up to his mouth and Pianoman is quick enough to recognize the situation - he’s holding a trash bin under Chuuya’s chin, allowing him to choke up the medicine he just swallowed, that never had a chance of staying down at all.

His stomach still tries to get more up, even though he’s sure that the only thing left in his system was the medicine he just swallowed. The way his abdominal muscles squeeze together against his sore stomach hurts so much he can hardly take it. He’s ashamed. He’s dealt with injuries far worse than a little stomachache, but this hurts so bad that tears prick at his eyes.

"It's okay. I know it hurts," he tells him gently, tucking Chuuya’s hair behind his ears as it threatens to get caught in the saliva that’s starting to form strings from his mouth. "You don't have to hold back your tears for any of us, Chuuya."

“But, I…” he starts, cut off by a pained groan. He spits up the salvia that’s gathered in his mouth.

“I know. Your whole body’s sensitive right now ‘cause of that fever you’re running. And throwing up with nothing in your stomach hurts. Trust me, I know,” Pianoman tells him. “I don’t blame you at all.”

Chuuya lets his tears fall, and he whimpers from the pain he’s in.

He seems to only get worse from there. He doesn’t have enough energy to hold himself up properly anymore, even with the propped-up pillows, so once he thinks he’s done gagging, Pianoman helps him lie back down. He can’t stop his tears, they darken spots on his pillow. He feels so sick. He wishes he could just fall asleep again. He doesn’t want anyone to see him.

He quickly finds out Lippman was the third person who entered his apartment, and the concern taking over his face as soon as he sees Chuuya from the doorway is too much for him to handle. He can’t imagine how awful he must look, especially now that he’s been crying. He’s so pathetic.

“Albatross, that’s far too wet to put on his forehead. You need to wring some of that water out,” he hears Lippmann say after Chuuya stuffs his face back into a pillow to avoid being seen. “Here, let me see it.”

“Always stealin’ my thunder, huh, Lippmann…” Albatross says, clicking his tongue.

“This isn’t thunder. This is a monsoon,” he says, supposedly waving the soaked cloth around.

Soon enough, he feels a hand gently turn his head so he’s looking at the ceiling, and Lippmann lays a cool, folded washcloth over Chuuya’s forehead. It feels incredible. For just a second, he feels like he’s cured, but of course, it’s never that easy. He lets his eyes fall shut and tries to take the opportunity to relax.

Lippmann smooths down Chuuya's hair, something he would normally be greatly opposed to but it feels nice. Lippmann's hands are always ice cold. He thinks Lippmann is sitting beside him on the bed, which for some reason, he’s not opposed to. He’s trying to relax. Every breath makes him more sore. He groans from the pain and turns his head to the side, only to be turned back up by Lippmann.

"I called Doc. He should be on his way soon," Pianoman says as he enters the room. Chuuya didn’t even realize he was gone. "Definitely wouldn't hurt to get some IV fluids in you. I'm sure you're dehydrated."

"Poor thing," Lippman says with a sigh, a hand of his on Chuuya’s clammy cheek. "Let me see a thermometer, Piano. He feels much warmer."

“I couldn’t find one earlier,” Pianoman says. “I told Albatross to go look at his place. Let me go make sure he still remembers what I asked him to do.”

Pianoman disappears again too, but Lippmann stays, still smoothing down Chuuya’s hair. He tries to shift himself onto his side to get more comfortable, and he realizes just how much sweat is covering his body. The hair framing his face feels like it’s stuck to his skin.

Chuuya hears his phone buzz in the nightstand. It’s a buzz different from the normal notifications, because it’s Dazai. That son of a bitch gets his own special one.

“Lippmann?” Chuuya croaks, his eyes barely about to make it up to his face. “Can you…can you hand me my phone?”

“Of course. In the nightstand here?” Lippmann confirms and Chuuya manages a nod. He gently hands him the phone.

Chuuya’s eyes take a few seconds longer than normal to adjust to its brightness, and Lippmann briefly leans over to turn it down for him while he’s still getting used to it. He groans when he sees the message on the screen, and he replies almost right away without thinking much of it.

He sees Dazai open the message, but to his surprise, he doesn’t get a reply. He groans. Why on earth would Dazai message him anyway? Why does it matter to him where he is?

“Is this the Boss’s kid you’re texting?” Lippmann asks, his head tilted. Lippmann knows that Dazai isn’t actually Mori’s son, but that's what the Flags call Dazai.

Chuuya just groans and nods. He closes his phone for a moment. Half of him just wants to block Dazai’s number, even though in his defense, he’s just asking a rather innocent question.

“I saw him very early this morning on my way to meet with the Boss. He asked me where you were. That was before Albatross called us,” Lippmann says. “It doesn’t hurt to tell him. Maybe that way he won’t bother you, if that’s what you want.”

Chuuya huffs. He’s not sure how he feels about Lippmann’s claim that Dazai would ask where he is. Would he even really care? Chuuya doesn’t think so, but it’s strange that Dazai would ask Lippmann that, and even directly text Chuuya on top of it.

He groans again, long and annoyed, before he opens his phone to send another message.

He lets his phone slip from his hands, and Lippmann takes it and puts it back in the drawer for him - and it’s not long until he hears the others come back too.

Chuuya really doesn’t feel well.

He can’t rely much on his senses at the moment. He feels himself cough every now and then, but it almost feels numb, like his body forces him to do it. The last thing he can clearly hear from any of them is his temperature - a hundred and three point one, only because Lippmann makes it a point to make sure Chuuya can hear him. Chuuya never measured his fever to begin with, but he know it wasn’t that high. That’s not good.

It feels as if he only shuts his eyes for a moment, but when he opens them again, Doc has entered his field of vision. It looks like he’s talking to someone else, but he can't hear anything.

He feels someone tugging on his arm, and another smoothing down his hair. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on. He feels his chest tighten up and he wants to get away. His body tenses up and he’s waiting for Doc to leave an opening for Chuuya to get away, but he doesn’t. He turns his head and makes eye contact with Chuuya, and smiles. Doc kind of has a creepy smile, and it’s difficult to tell if it’s genuine most of the time, but Chuuya finds this one reassuring. He relaxes.

No one here is going to hurt him. He’s safe with them.

…

When Chuuya wakes up again, he feels like a new person.

His ears feel clear. He can hear the mattress when he shifts his weight, something he would never imagine being grateful to hear. He hears someone else breathing, and somehow, he has the energy to push himself up.

Doc is leaned against the wall in a chair from Chuuya’s kitchen. Reading from some impossibly large textbook that Chuuya almost thinks must be too heavy for his frail arms, he doesn’t notice Chuuya’s movements, or he at least doesn’t acknowledge them.

Chuuya sneaks a hand into the drawer beside his nightstand to fish out his phone to check the time, and he sees a message from Dazai.

Chuuya wasn't expecting a sort-of-nice message from him. He almost thinks for a moment this isn’t really Dazai, but he’s distracted by movement from Doc.

“Heheh…good morning, Chuuya,” he says, lowering the textbook down to the floor. Chuuya knows it’s not really morning, now, his phone said something close to seven in the evening, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Doc was being serious. He doesn’t strike him as the kind of guy to have a good sleep schedule.

Doc stands up and drags the chair behind him over to Chuuya’s bedside, and Chuuya moves closer to the edge, assuming Doc’s intention is to check him over. Chuuya doesn’t want to make him stand, he knows he can’t do that for very long. Chuuya’s eyes follow Doc’s IV line up to a pole that’s standing beside Chuuya’s bed, with an extra bag of fluids on a line extending down to Chuuya’s forearm.

“We’re matching,” Doc says with his usual off-putting smile, meeting Chuuya’s gaze. Chuuya’s never asked him why he always has that thing, but maybe he’s more content with not knowing.

“Guess that thing’s kinda handy,” Chuuya says as he lays back. His voice is still pretty hoarse. He tries to clear it, and Doc offers him a glass of water that’s been on his nightstand. He starts to wonder where the others have run off to, and the door opens, revealing the missing Flag.

"You look a little better now," Iceman says to him as he walks over. Doc doesn’t turn his head, so Chuuya assumes he’s known that Iceman has been here. "Compared to what I saw when I got here."

"Where is everyone?" Chuuya asks before Doc slides a thermometer under his tongue.

"Passed out in your living room,” Iceman says bluntly.

“Albatross sent us all a photo of Lippmann and Pianoman sleeping together, heh,” Doc recalls with an amused grin before he takes the thermometer back.

“In my apartment? Ew,” Chuuya groans. “What’s it say?”

Doc had already laid the thermometer down on the table, and he leans over to refer back to it to answer Chuuya’s question. “One hundred point seven. Much better than earlier.”

Chuuya’s relieved to hear that. He was really worrying this was something he was going to be suffering from all weak, but Doc seems to have worked his magic on him. Chuuya wished he had given in to calling him over sooner.

“We already notified everyone who needed to know that you’ll be off tomorrow, too.” Iceman tells him, wandering over to the window to open up the blinds and let some of the evening light in. Another one had already been opened up.

“Tomorrow? No way, I’ll be fine by then,” Chuuya grumbles, looking over to Doc for backup.

“I don’t recommend it. Unless you’re fond of fainting on the job,” Doc says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Just one extra day to get your energy back. You’ll live,” Iceman says. “You should take any days off you can get, Chuuya. Take it from us.”

Maybe if they’re all here, it won’t be so bad.

“I’m putting an injection into your fluid line here…might make you tired…” Doc says, pushing a syringe full of a clear substance into the line, and Chuuya feels the effects almost right away.

“Just don’t go anywhere…” Chuuya murmurs as his eyes start to fall shut. His mouth betrayed him by admitting thoughts he didn’t want to share with the room, but he sees faint smiles from both of them before he loses his battle with the drowsiness.

…

"You finally up?"

Chuuya wasn't expecting to hear Dazai's voice.

He forces himself to sit up, and he's in a different bedroom. He’s done so far too quickly, it seems, because his head swims and tilts his world sideways so much that he nearly faints, but he forces himself to stay upright on the bed.

Dazai is standing right at the end of it. He looks perplexed, and Chuuya can’t figure out why, but Chuuya’s even more confused. Dazai looks different. His eyes don't look so dark. He looks taller, somehow. He’s not wearing his usual getup. He’s wearing a bolo tie. Why the hell is he wearing a bolo tie?

"Where's…" Chuuya murmurs. He can’t quite remember what he was going to say.

"Where's who? It's just me here," Dazai says, the confusion in his eyes only deepening as he makes his way over to the side of the bed.

Chuuya's stomach drops. He doesn't understand what's going on.

"Hey, hey. What are you so worked up about?" Dazai asks him, and the tiny hint of concern in his nonchalant attitude is freaking him out. Dazai hadn’t texted him that he was coming over. Why is he here? Why would he show up?

"I was just…I just, um…" Chuuya starts mumbling as he scrambles to get to the edge of the bed he’s on, "they were all here. You were at…they…"

"Bad dream?" Dazai says, a hesitant hand reaching out towards Chuuya’s. That’s not like him. Why is he so confused?

"What…?" Chuuya starts, just then registering Dazai’s words. That's not possible. Chuuya doesn't dream. He's never had a dream. Chuuya swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up despite his head’s protests, and he’s relieved to see Doc’s face, back where he was, leaned against the wall.

But he hears blood dripping.

And when he lowers his gaze, just a bit, it seems his brain omitted the fact that the lower half of Doc’s body is missing. There’s nothing below his torso, nothing but a growing pool of blood.

Chuuya screams.

…

"You blacked out on me again," Dazai says. His voice is gentle, as Chuuya wakes up again, once again in a different room. It feels more familiar this time. He’s in a living room, and he thinks it’s his. “Your fever’s worse. I took you out here, it’s kinda warm in your bedroom.”

"Sorry," he mumbles. He can't muster up energy for much else. His body aches. He looks for any signs of the Flags. The IV pole. Lippmann’s hand on his forehead. The medication Pianoman brought home for him. None of it is there.

Was any of that real? Was he hallucinating? It’s happened before, when he gets high fevers, but this one felt so real. It was almost like he just experienced it, in real life, and then suddenly he fell asleep for several years - and now he’s back in the present.

Was it a dream?

"I wanna go ride," Chuuya murmurs. Dazai’s hand is on his cheek. He pulls it away and sits back on the coffee table, that same look of confusion taking over his face again.

"Your bike?" Dazai asks.

"Uh-huh," he says.

"No-can-do, buddy. You can barely stand up," Dazai reminds him with a half-smile, hints of concern still visible.

Chuuya’s head turns in his direction. His chest feels tight. "'S not my bike."

Dazai still looks confused. "Yeah?"

"'S Albatross's bike," Chuuya barely manages. He still feels his cold hand in his. He knows they’re all dead, it’s beyond him why he thought just a few moments ago that they were all still in his apartment. It takes everything in Chuuya to keep himself together.

"I know, Chuuya." Dazai murmurs, his expression falling. “What’s up with you today?”

Chuuya’s eyes start to flood with tears, only furthering Dazai’s concern. He kneels beside the couch and Chuuya tries to sit himself up, only melting into Dazai’s arms in his attempt to get up. Everything hurts. He doesn’t know why he’s so overcome with emotion. Maybe he’s just sensitive right now because of his apparent illness, but the feelings he holds are real.

Dazai’s trying to comfort him, but Chuuya can’t hear his words. He holds him close. It’s incredibly rare for him to be so sympathetic. He must know something isn’t quite right with Chuuya right now.

If it really was a dream, he wants nothing more than to go back.

…

“We can go visit their graves when you feel better. If you want to,” Dazai offers, sort of out of nowhere. Chuuya’s been silently curled up in his bed for a few hours. Dazai offering him water and bites of food he can hardly stomach every now and then, making sure he takes medication.

“It’s raining,” Chuuya murmurs. He’s mindlessly scrolling through old messages from his friends, on a cellphone he hasn’t touched since they were killed. His heart hurts. He doesn’t have the will to get up.

“Hopefully it stops once you’re up for it,” Dazai says, reaching forward to brush some of Chuuya’s unruly bangs from his eyes.

Chuuya sees a rare photo in their message thread. A picture of Lippmann and Pianoman sleeping together on his old couch from an apartment he used to live in, followed by them in the same position, but this time, in selfie form courtesy of Albatross. It’s a photo that feels familiar, but he can’t remember why. Maybe they were drunk. Maybe he never came across this photo until now. But for some reason, it’s comforting to see.

“Yeah,” Chuuya mumbles, his eyes floating up to Dazai. “Let’s go.”

“Alright. Just let me know whenever you’re up for it,” Dazai tells him.

Chuuya’s still staring at the photo.

[laceyamethyst]

HELLO i am crash-landing in your inbox to declare that have ✨ BIG FEELINGS ✨ about the 2nd chapter of “he built a fire” and that i might leave an uber long comment on ao3 about all the big and small bits i absolutely loved if that’s ok, but if you’d rather i sent them here please let me know!! i stayed up last night to read it instead of going to bed early for work (and read it again anyway over breakfast, i am late, whoops 😬)

i just wanted to share/ask before i forgot

- i was kinda bummed you unalived i mean fired Brian off camera so easily, i wanted him to try reprimanding Oscar for his hilarious, politely sassy - but very public - comments during the Qatar GP and for Lando to come swooping to his defence 🫣 idea? maybe a leftover Brian Lackey? we all know Lando would throw hands the first chance he gets to defend Oscar

- also, imagine the Mexican GP in this universe - more importantly, the 5 F2 rookies driving in FP1 and your lore about how F2 drivers all look up to Oscar? Fred would be normal about it but imagine just 4 wide-eyed eager puppies following Oscar around and Lando just going full caveman banging pots and pans hollering in the town square declaring “THAT ONE MINE NO TOUCHY” in the background while Oscar’s just ☺️ ‘it’s really great to have them here’

- i was done with those two points but then i remembered Oscar inviting Lewis to an RC-car race after his win in Suzuka and I just 🤯 ??? Lewis IRL is so hugely supportive of the LGBTQI+, I just can’t help imagine how he’d fit in the Mission universe (accidental reluctant relationship guru? ‘don’t make the same mistakes i did?’)

thank you for your consideration i will now go back to floating on cloud nine after chapter two 💗 have a spectacular week, you deserve it after making mine so awesome ❤️

oh my goodness, this was just... the nicest most wholesome wonderful thing to wake up to?!? thank you SO much, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you enjoyed the fic 🥺

firstly, i would absolutely love to hear any and all thoughts you have about that chapter because it fills me with so much joy to see which parts of my fics readers like most (and it also helps me decide what plot points to focus on next)! so please feel free to comment away on here or on ao3, and never ever worry about it being too long

and secondly, serious question: are you in my brain?! because, listen:

let me tell you how i had a whole dramatic ass scene planned involving a very public takedown of brian courtesy of one (1) lando norris, but i had to cut it out bc the chapter length was getting out of hand 😭. i adore your idea of oscar's qatar comments getting him in trouble and lando jumping to his defense (on live TV, perhaps? ahem)

oh please the rookies hero-worshipping oscar at the mexican gp and lando having absolutely None of it? that image is sending me

ok yeah you absolutely are in my brain because how did you know i had a whole scene planned where lewis talked to oscar after the race (bc he of course crashed into him in monza), firstly to apologize but when he realizes osc and lando just fought he was going to be all 'don't you dare let racing tear you apart you will regret it forever *cough* i still love nico *cough*.' but yes i love lewis and im trying to work him into a future mission fic!

i'm sorry for this very long and unhinged response, i'm truly vibing with these ideas and am super appreciative of you taking the time to share them with me 🧡

[thatsmutaccount]

Hello there, and welcome, to a ~world of pure smut~!

Let me introduce myself: I'm an author on ao3 known as ThatSmutAccount, same as here, and, as you can imagine, I mainly write r18 stories where male adults do the dirty with each others.

The stories that I write are originals, so no fandom things for now, and also a lot of stuff may be considered comships or darkship, so a bit problematic for most. I will not get too much into detail but I invite you to read the tags on my works on ao3 or the first chapters of my longs, were I discuss what I do and don't write.

English is not my first language so excuse me for any kind of mistake.

I decided to be active here because I wanted to be more in contact with the people that read my stories and to make them more interactive, with things like polls or accepting requests (because apparently you can't do it on ao3 and there are a lot of people who likes to ruin the fun of others now, so I don't want to take any risks).

This first post has the task to introduce me and my works and what I write, I will repost my old chapters in the next days, and once done we will see.

Again: the content present on this account is for adults only! My stories are all smut and depict explicit sexual relationships between adult men. Please be careful and, if you are a minor, please go away, thank you!!!

Down here I will leave you with a brief list of my main stories and what they are all about:

"Rex new, exciting, happy life (as the town favorite cockslut)"; is my first and main story, a long/One-shot collection that focus a lot on the theme of like "free use" and "dom/sub dynamics"; its main character, Rex Brynn, is a young man that went from being a total jerk to a sorta "good guy" that now helps the other men in the city with their day to day problems. This story also has Rex having affairs with other members of his family, so if this bothers you don't read,

SUMMARY: We follow the life of Rex Brynn as he has evolved from a homophobic, misogynistic asshole with no friends and a bad relationship with his family to becoming the new cockslut for the whole town, and we also take a look at some of his day-to-day adventures as he goes in search of any male being willing to give him what he so desperately craves.

"Logan the himbo: college life"; my second story, a one-shot collection that deals with the himbo archetype; the main character is Logan Park, a himbo through and through, big of heart and dumb of ass that just naturally ends up in sexual situations with other men, both as a top and as a bottom. This story has its own vibe, where it tries to be both sexy and funny, so it may take a bit for me to update it because I'm trying to nail the right amonut of smut and silly, but if you want a feel good story this one is for you

SUMMARY: Logan covers all the points that can define him as a himbo: good looks; beefy; heart of gold; and a stupidity bordering on the incredible. Taking these things into account, then, it is not surprising that Logan has his fair share of admirers, some of whom are more interested in his certain specific ... "attributes" than anything else. The problem is that Logan is also naive and confident enough in his fellow men that by now everyone knows that all it takes is the right words to get this giant teddy bear to do what is asked of him. At least Logan seems happy.

"When the cat's away, the mice will play", a collection of missing moments or "what if?"s linked with Rex's story, that basically explores the relationships between the other characters that aren't Rex with each others and the sex they have together; if you like the secondary characters and want to known more about them this story is for you. Important: this story is Requests driven, forn now they are suspended but soon I will open them again, so keep an eye out 👀

SUMMARY: The place to find requests about all the characters in Rex's life and their relationships with each other without having our favorite cockslut in the way. If you want to make inquiries or there are characters you would like to know more about comment and you will be given. Leave kudos, comments and pass the word around, it is time to explore properly the world around Rex.

"All my bullies' stories" is a collection I'm planning on doing, for now only the first story "All my bullies' dads" is out, but I'm working on the next ones; it's a story were a nerd, Alex, who is bullied is actually screwing all the dads of his bullies' without them knowing, or it's more accurate to say that the bullies' dads basically saw him, saw his shaft and went "I want you carnally" and throw themselves at him without Alex understanding what is going on. Next chapters will go deeper down this line and I will talk about them soon.

SUMMARY (for now only of the first story): Or, alternatively, stressed fathers going through a different kind of midlife crisis with the help of a pathetic nerdy boyfailure. Featuring: five oblivious bullies; five family fathers more adventurous and depraved than you'd think; and a shy nerd with a dick that shouldn't be that big. Coming soon to a theater near you.

So yeah, this are my stories. If you find them and you liked what you read don't have any problem leaving kudos and/or comments, and also of you want you can try to contact me here, I'm always happy talking with people that like my stuff ☺️

I'm leaving the link to my main ao3 profile page so don't have any problem visiting it.

That being said, stay safe and be happy, see ya, dudes!!!!

[chordsykat]

I'm not defending the anonymous person, but maybe it would be easier to take the criticism that they didn't get their fanart done because your art is good and worth getting. The comics you draw are pretty close in feel to the show and it's alot like having an expanded universe, so people want to get art from you just like they'd want their character to show up in the cartoon. That's my two cents.

I almost didin't answer this one because I'm getting fucking tired of concerns about my character over my decision to draw some fucking free fan art every now and again, but two things up front:

I think it gives a good foundation to address a broader topic.

I appreciate your asking it with your account attached. Thank you for that, and I invite you to DM me if my response is something you feel you want further discussion on.

That said, and please don't take this as a personal attack: I disagree with your assessment on how I should take the wants and desires of my fellow fans (and again, I reiterate -- I am a fan like everyone else, here) with every fibre of my being. I've been an artist, writer, animator and developer with enough published and public work to my name to garner my fair share of fan interaction through the years, and "taking criticism" as you are writing about here, is different from being expected to cater to every request from every person every time without fail. Especially when I'm not the actual creator of the source-content and when it comes to the things I share on this blog and the Dethkomic blog, I am sincerely, honestly, truly, just some fucking guy at the end of the day.

I've said it before as a joke, for all the questions I get, but maybe I should also make it perfectly clear in a more serious tone:

I am not Brendon Small.

I'm really not. And if I was, in what universe would it be okay for folks to come on my blog and get mad that they didn't get a chance to have an idea heard because I simply didn't have time to take every request I got? How does the idea that I'm the one producing your favorite show somehow correlate to a built-in expectation that I should cater to the wants, desires, and wishes of everyone who enjoys the thing I'm making?

See how ridiculous that sounds? You can't stick a "well, you're practically making official content" label on me and then feel okay about holding me to a higher standard than you would the people making the actual show. Or, Jesus Christ, I hope you don't think holding the creators of your media (who are people, by the way) to such standards is okay.

For a while now, this has gone beyond the ask that went down, yesterday, which, in retrospect, I probably never should have even answered. I get a lot of troll messages on here, and I usually just trash them. But if you want to know what Dethkomic's greatest hits of troll commentary looks like, the breakdown is something like this:

"I think you should write (some character, some fan creation, some wholly different story) along with/instead of the thing you are writing about."

"I don't think you should have fan-characters at the center of the story like you do."

"I think (canon character) actually acts this way and I don't like it when you write them the way you do."

"(this character) is my baby and I hate (this character) for looking at them."

All of it, and I mean all of it, is usually presented in the same way. That Dethkomic is a work the troll enjoys reading, but... (insert grievance here). To anyone who has sent an ask like this, please consider the alternative: Write your own story. Because this is the one I'm choosing to tell. Dethkomic is fanfiction and won't be affecting the canon any more than anything you come up with will.

So, back to your original point, OP -- if I draw art of your character, or put them in my comics, or give a kudo on AO3, or nod in approval to a character you come up with, or reblog art you did, it does not canonize those things any more than me writing and sharing my own works does. It's fan content. It's all fan content. I'm glad you like my stuff and I'm flattered to hear you feel like it's semi-official, but it is you putting it in that space. I don't suddenly get a production team, thousands of artists, and a big payday from the networks because you think my stuff is good enough to warrant it, so please don't expect me to suddenly be okay with handing public relations the same way I would if I suddenly had all of that.

And this is the last statement I'm going to be making on yesterday's situation. I think too, I'll be taking a little hiatus from Tumblr until the next 'komic update on Tuesday.

Sorry for being quiet in the coming days, but I'm presently exhausted.

[minecraftgender]

Hiiiii I'm Ryley but you can also call me Noct or Mr. Gender. I'm 25, t4t gay, transmasc, and a polyfragmented system with adhd and probably autism. If someone wants it to be known that they're posting they'll (probably) tag the post with [name]posting. (i.e. robinposting or jaseposting) If you want my NSFW blog, ask off anon please. I also have a Community™️ for my fanfic series Heroverse! Here's an invite link if you're interested! More general info under the cut!

I don't tend to tag stuff bc I have the worst adhd ever, sorry about that. I do tag my stories so I can find them and have [name]core tags for posts I think are about my blorbos. If I think something could be upsetting I try to preemptively tag it but again, I am gods most forgetful soldier. I have a DNI but I just block at my own discretion, so don't bother reading it. If i don't want you here I'll block you. I also try to keep this blog as discourse/politics free as I can because I have irl outlets for that stuff and I'm just here for a good time.

I'm into a lot of stuff but my main interests rn are Subnautica, Splatoon, Prototype, Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss, Supernatural, and sometimes JJBA. I have a half-dead jojo blog that gets posts occasionally.

If you like fanfiction, I have an AO3 where I upload semi-regularly. My main story and focus right now is So Much For Stardust, a continuation of You Don't Have To Be A Hero. I also wrote a really absurd spn/jjba/skyrim crossover that I plan to rewrite... eventually. I ALSO have some Splatoon fics but no big story for those, since that world is really complex and mostly shared with my boyfriend. I'm happy to chat about my agents though, so feel free to ask questions! I also have AUs of Subnautica, feel free to ask about those too! Here is my OC blog for stuff about my OCs.

I have playlists for a few things: Heroverse, Alyou (Robin × Al-an), Alex Mercer, Marinacht (Marina x Acht), and I'll Follow You (the spn/jjba/skyrim fic). Here's my main playlist and AL-AN'S (one of our fictives) personal one!

[deevotee]

You can call me Devo!

I try not engage in discourse of any kind usually, though I may rant or ramble about things that bother me from time to time. This blog is 18+ and will have NSFW posts mixed in with the SFW ones.

My main fandoms are Kuroshitsuji, Soul Eater, and Merlin for the moment, but there will be other things mixed into this blog! If you want to find the other fandoms I'm in (Yugioh, DC, etc) then please go to my carrd for the rest of the links ^-^

NOTE: I block very freely. I am generally not the type the undo blocks, though may rarely, but I will not answer questions as to why I blocked someone. That is a can of worms that invites drama and I am not here for it. If you send me asks/messages trying to get me to tell you why I blocked someone I will take that to mean that you want to start drama and will block you as well.

I may be slow at responses - I have social anxiety and adhd so I tend to both freak out and forget that I have things to respond to. Again, nothing personal at all! I love getting responses from people still!

I have lots of links so you can find them all here! ◈ AO3: Here

Main ships/content:

My main ships and fav characters for Kuro are Ciel/Finny and Sebastian/Bard but I multiship a lot so expect lots of different stuff

I do ship Cielcest and Midfordcest so sometimes there will be content of them, I try to tag appropriately so people can mute the stuff they don't want to see (I don't ship Sebaciel any more but I'm super supportive of people who do! <3)

My main ship for Soul Eater is SoulMaka, and the main ships for Merlin are Mergwen, Merwaine, Merleon, and Merdred. Again, I multiship a lot though

I like to create a lot of different content, you can find my tags for things I've made below ↓

General Post Tag | Fandom Memes | Headcanons/Rambles Gifs/Photosets | Edits/AMV's | Manga Caps | Videos

Black (Butler) Label Line Stickers

Fanfic's and Drabbles others have written

Kuro + More Resource Drive!

Feel free to tag me in any Finny and Cielinny content you come across! I never get enough of either ♡

[writerben01]

About A03 etiquette

So, I got a comment I thought was rude, and then spent a bit of time explaining why that is. And then it turned into 1000 words, which is long enough that I thought I'd share it for the whole class.

Below in image and transcript for convenience:

Comment:

Honestly, him hearing all that and still thinking he has to impress these garbage people is killing my interest in him as the MC. Combined with the sheer length between chapters and I can already see you dropping this work before he ever actually gets past this pathetic behavior. He has near limitless power but refuses to use it for himself but for 'parents' that treat him like roadkill.

My response:

This is kind of a rude comment. If you do keep reading, please pay more attention to the way you word your comments in the future or I may be forced to remove them. I'm not interested in a character that's been brainwashed his whole life to believe one thing and suddenly doing a 180 when the one person they've been allowed to view as an ally turns against them. I'm not interested in going from zero to complete power fantasy without all the steps in between.

Their response:

Not what I meant and I think you know that. I'm talking about how he's still entirely delusional after being outright told she wanted to kill him, thinking he should have just waited longer instead of that being an actual wake up moment, you kept in delusional. Also, I used zero swear words and said nothing rude, I just pointed out that this style of writing almost always gets dropped before the author actually gives the audience the pay of. You as an author have a limited window to gain and keep reader attention in our online age, you have to balance out the chapters being as satisfying as the wait indicates and I'm not feeling that with your MC. Take the criticism and use it to prove me wrong or just ignore it as 'rude', your choice.

My response

Okay, I'm going to assume good faith on your part so I'll explain further. There are multiple ways to let your thoughts known about a fanfic. There are bookmarks which can contain public reviews, there are posts on your own fanblog/discord/reddit posts that can spark discussion in public forums of your own community. The comment section of AO3 is usually seen as equivalent to fanmail (and that's how I'm treating it). A large part of that is the view that if you don't have anything nice to say about a fanfic, you don't say anything at all.

I would like to ask you to read your original comment again and imagine this from my perspective. I've spent somewhere between 10-20 hours writing this chapter, doing research and taking the effort to publish it online in proper formatting. This is free labour that I'm doing for my own enjoyment and I'm sharing it because I assume there are people like me out there who would find enjoyment in reading it. When I get to post another chapter, I'm excited and the only thing I'm hoping for in exchange is comments that will give me renewed energy and excitement to keep writing.

Do you think your comment achieved that effect?

The content of your comment reads to me as:

you think the way I'm writing my MC isn't interesting

you think I'm updating too slowly

you do not believe I'll keep working on this fanfic

you are frustrated with the choices the MC makes.

Being honest and vulnerable here, this comment hurts me. Criticism can hurt sometimes and that would be a me-problem. But I feel that this passes beyond subjectively hurtful into rudeness. It lacks any gratitude or introduction(That is, writing a letter without 'Dear X' is rude; writing a comment without some 'thanks' is rude too), and it lacks anything positive to counterbalance the criticism which is also considered rude. I don't feel like it invites me to explain and excitingly talk about my choices in writing this chapter, or what I've got in store. It makes me feel like I need to defend myself. And that does not spark joy.

Actually, let me just rewrite the comment into a form that's non-rude for comparison: "Thanks for the update! I mostly enjoyed it (especially the fight against Anko) but, honestly, him hearing all that and still thinking he has to impress these garbage people is making me lose my interest in him as the MC. And I have to admit I'm a little worried about whether this behaviour will be fixed while you're still working and publishing this story. It's so frustrating that he has near limitless power but refuses to use it for himself but for 'parents' that treat him like roadkill. What are your plans to make him take control of his own life?"

I don't mean to harp on, but I was hurt by your first comment, and you seemed hurt from me telling you I experienced it as rude, so I'm hoping this all explains where I'm coming from.

I'm happy to write and share my stories, and I'm happy to hear and respond to questions and criticism. But I do set certain boundaries. If you want me to respond to your comments (and maybe even change the story to accommodate your preferences; I do that for commenters all the time), you can't just leave a comment listing what you disliked and what you're worried about. When you do that, it makes me feel like a content machine getting feedback for the next iteration of content I'm spewing. That's what I mean when I say your comment is rude. You're fully entitled to have your opinions on my writing, but you need to follow basic etiquette if you want me to read and engage with it (and as warned, not having your comment deleted).

I get after all this you may not be interested in the response to your actual criticism, but I do feel like if you've made it this far I at least owe it to speak to your concerns.

Your repeated assertions that these kind of stories get dropped hits a nerve. It makes me feel like I need to somehow prove myself, as if my fanfic history doesn't speak for itself. I finished a 450k story last November after 5 years of consistent work. I have major anxiety about posting stories if I can't guarantee I'll be able to finish them, which is why I go overboard taking measures to facilitate me in that. I'm fully planning to see this story through. If that at any point changes, I'll be able to give a proper notice months in advance, and I'll still feel responsible to write some kind of satisfying ending (even if that has to be in the form of an outline).

As for the MC, I'm characterizing him as someone who is abused and traumatized. His mother tells him she wanted to kill him, and his main response is to find a way to blame himself. The implication I'm going for is that years of emotional abuse have conditioned him into blaming himself. Both because his mother would often put a lot of responsibility on him, and because abused children in general figure out strategies to minimise abuse and then blame themselves when they suffer. They can't control their abuser, but they can control themselves. They have to be perfect, while the mother can be so angry she yells she wanted to kill her own child, and MC is still able to excuse that.

I don't like calling this pathetic, and I'd sooner choose 'damaged' or 'lacking self worth'. And the story I'm interested in telling doesn't have the MC skipping over all of that as if its easy. I want to portray it as hard. He doesn't have a therapist to talk to, and it's not something he likes talking about to anyone else either. Especially since this whole thing has now wrapped around to the other significant event at the end of this chapter. I've just gotten around to him making some significant strides in this in chapter 10.

[foxstride]

I posted 668 times in 2022

73 posts created (11%)

595 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mallowstep

@foxstride

@aerial-jace

@slugswarriorsdesigns

@embersoftheforest

I tagged 640 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#wc art - 184 posts

#wc design - 139 posts

#mallowstep - 52 posts

#objectively correct - 43 posts

#what the fox says - 34 posts

#fireheart - 27 posts

#tigerclaw - 25 posts

#wc meme - 24 posts

#wc ship - 23 posts

#wc discourse - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i will not tag the main tag i will not tag the main tag i will not tag the main tag i will not tag the main tag i will not tag the main tag

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

re: frecklewish discourse

guys, i know you see Warrior Cats as owned by HarperCollins. but do you really think one of the largest publishing houses in the world is going to care about emails when they have millions of authors, and many more millions of books?

Erin Hunter (the authors AND editors) are part of Working Partners Ltd, aka Coolabi. They're the ones who deal with the official website. They are the ones hiring for the website. They are the ones WRITING the articles. Warrior Cats is one of their franchises.

HarperCollins will not care. As long as books get sold, they will not care, because it is Coolabi's actual franchise right now. Everything being done on the website? Not going to bother HarperCollins. It does not make them money.

Here is Coolabi's website: https://coolabi.com/about-us/

Here is the WarriorCats.com FAQ that specifies who is running it (note the footer too): https://warriorcats.com/contact-us/frequently-asked-questions

Here is the contact email for Working Partners Ltd attached for enquiries: enquiries@workingpartnersltd.co.uk

Here is the contact email for Coolabi who own Working Partners Ltd: info@coolabi.com

And just to be clear, Coolabi is also the company behind the Roblox game.

43 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

#4

Introducing... The Warrior Cats Rarepair collection!

@addershine and I have made a rarepair prompt meme collection on AO3 to help create content, especially for ships! As @mallowstep has said, there's a severe lack of romantic fanfiction in the WC fandom and we'd like to encourage others to give it a try!

The collection is dedicated to helping boost rarepairs so shippers have more content and the fandom has more fics to devour.

So what is a rarepair? We're defining a rarepair as a ship with less than 10 works in their canonical relationship (/) tag. You can find more information on the collection page! Adder even made a whole spreadsheet of all current Warrior Cats rarepairs for reference!

If you write fanfiction or create fanart, you can add your fanworks into the collection or claim and fulfill prompts from other people. Anyone (must be signed in) can add a prompt - you're welcome to claim your own as well, and prompts can be fulfilled as many times as people like!

Because it's a celebration of my birthday, every anniversary (13 February) we'll post an overview of the last year, a sort of present to myself and to the fandom that I've been in the longest.

If you have any questions that aren't on the collection's intro or FAQ, please feel free to send either myself or Adder an ask. If you need an invite to join AO3 to participate, you can either sign up for the AO3 waitlist or contact one of us (off-anon) so we can get you an invite - we'll send this in a private ask or DM.

Also if you want prompts for a specific rarepair, send me an ask and I'll personally write a request on there with multiple prompts for you AND others to fulfill!

88 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

#3

Nice work, fandom. Instead of protecting a minor, you harassed them and sent them death threats until they decided to leave Tumblr, further isolating themself.

When a minor is defensive about their relationship, providing support and resources is ideal. You don't tell them they DESERVED to be groomed because they like problematic ships. You don't harass them over and over again with the same messages.

We need more resources available to help minors identify grooming, but we also need to be decent people. That doesn't happen by telling minors that they don't know what's happening to them (it doesn't work - for anything). That doesn't happen by suicide baiting.

Every person involved in the suicide baiting, the harassment, and the blaming of proshipping on a minor who needed SUPPORT - NOT HATE... You are disgusting.

You are the people who need to be removed from the fandom to protect minors. You are the ones who have driven a minor into further isolation.

Start considering how your actions affect people.

114 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#2

You are 100% valid if you are uncomfortable with shipping certain ships, writing or reading plots, or anything else

Just please remember that your preferences are not the same as others and you cannot impose them on anyone

625 notes - Posted February 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

"your fave ship is problematic" yeah, I want to make it worse

"that character is irredeemable" that's why I love them

"how can you even write that" watch me

6,322 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[maeflower]

- if you have ever gone to the woods with me

characters: cyrus monroe x danica silvan

word count: 1.9k

summary: dani takes cyrus to the woods with her, a few months after they started dating.

(he doesn't know what it means. not yet)

it's a silent kind of confession because dani's not the type of girl who can say things out loud.

but, she thinks cyrus understands.

notes: very much inspired by this poetry and my personal headcanon that dani loves going to the woods, but going to the woods in nmc stresses her out because she keeps getting attacked by monsters. so, i want to give her another woods she can relax in :D also on ao3

There was a forest in the back of her high school where Dani used to go every time she was having heavy thoughts. She would go alone, sit on the tree trunk in the middle of the clearing and sketch, or just write random stuffs in her journal, listening to the birds chirping and leaves rustling, breathing the green forest air. It helped get her mind off things, especially when she felt particularly anxious, and she always left the forest with a fresh mind and less burden in her chest.

NMC doesn't really have an equivalent of such place, the closest being Solanaceae Forest, where Dani's had too many near-death encounters to feel comfortable going there unprompted. But, there are woods half an hour train ride from NMC - near a small human town - with tall, dark trees and dense canopies, and Dani's never felt more at home than when standing among the trees.

Dani found out about it during one of her training sessions with Thalia and Jarrod. She was complaining about the lack of quiet places at the campus ground (and NMC in general) and Jarrod mentioned the place.

"Good place if you like to hike. Or just being surrounded by nature. There aren’t many monsters living nearby - probably because of its proximity to NMC - so it's safe to go alone."

"AH, it's the place with the stupidly tall trees!" Thalia shouted. "The one where I had to wrestle a drake!"

"Only because you provoked it first."

"I did not-,"

"Don't worry," he ignored Thalia and turned to her, "they're usually nursing their younglings at this time of the year and prefer to stay in their lairs. So, you'll be safe as long as you don’t bother them."

Dani shook her head, "How do you even know about such place? The number of the monster's population too?"

Thalia just grinned, her sharp teeth glinting dangerously, while Jarrod gave her a shrug, "The perks of being a local, Danica dear."

Then he stretched and stood up, signaling the end of their short break, "C'mon, we'll go through the previous stance again."

Dani groaned. She was half-convinced Jarrod secretly worked for NMC equivalent of FBI or something, with how brutal his training regime was. Or maybe that was also just a quirk you got as a local. You had to be combat-ready at all times with the number of monster attacks NMC suffered every month, after all.

At least, she thought while getting up, he's a much better teacher than Thals, who doesn't seem to understand human limitations.

(Thalia huffed when she told her this.

"You're a drakaina, dragon breath."

"Well, I only found out less than a year ago so can you please slow down?"

"NEVER!")

Dani went alone the first few times. She can't go as often as she likes, as she's still a busy college student with a number of responsibilities, but it's nice being able to recharge once in a while.

This time though, she decides to invite Cyrus.

"Cy, do you want to go hiking with me this weekend?"

Silence. Dani holds her breath, only letting go when Cyrus finally grumbles a response.

"Sure."

That's how most of their dates are planned. Dani finds a place she wants to visit and asks Cyrus if he's free and wants to tag along. The key is to always frame it as something casual so it doesn't spook him off.

"Do you want to go to the zoo with me?"

"Cy, there's a stationary shop near Solanaceae that I want to check out. Do you want to meet there?"

"Hey, do you want to grab something at Café Brownie?"

But, Dani finds that she doesn't mind. They're both not big on romantic gestures, preferring to do things for their partners in silence instead. This kind of dates suit them a lot more.

So the next Saturday, Dani wakes up early - careful not to wake Astrid up -, packs water and a few light snacks and goes to meet Cyrus at the train station.

The journey takes a short time but Dani finds herself dozing off, borrowing Cyrus' shoulder as a pillow. She's still very much not a morning person, but some sacrifices need to be made if she wants to arrive before the sun is too high and the temperature rises. Summer is approaching fast, the days are getting longer and warmer, which suits Dani very well. She's always been partial to summer, the cold makes her drowsy and a bit sluggish. Now that she thinks about it, it might be the drakaina in her blood.

They arrive at the next station before all the morning fog rolls out, the chilly air prickling their skin. From there, they continue on foot. 

The trees in the woods are tall, far older than the ones near her high school. They're not growing densely together so there's a lot of wiggle spaces between the trees. But, the upper branches are so closely intertwined, creating a dense canopy that blocks most of the light coming from above.

They walk in silence, only interrupted a few times by Cyrus asking her to share her water bottle and her occasionally pointing out the name of trees and small animals passing them by. An hour into their journey, they stop to rest and take a shade underneath an old oak tree. Dani sits down cross-legged, her back lying against the tree bark while Cyrus washes his face on a nearby stream.

Sunlight filters through the tree canopy and Dani closes her eyes, feeling the sun warming her face. For a moment, all she can hear is the soft, calming sound of nature before the sound of footsteps takes her back to reality.

"Dani."

Dani opens her eyes and finds Cyrus looking at her curiously.

"Sorry," she gives him a sheepish grin, "it's been a long time since I can relax in the woods without something trying to kill me."

"No worries," he pauses then, still staring at her as if he's just seen her for the first time. Dani suddenly feels a bit shy. It takes courage to let someone else see you with all your guards down. And being on the receiving end of Cyrus Monroe's attention is already no easy feat. "You're in your element here."

Oh, now she's really blushing.

"Being in the woods always relaxes me, I think," she looks down, trying to regain her composure. "There's one near my high school back home. I used to go there every time I needed to think."

"You went alone?" She can tell what he's thinking, bold move for someone who gets lost just going from her dorm to the lunch hall in the next building. She's grateful he doesn't verbally say it because she'd rather get swallowed by the forest floor than to be reminded of that incident. Dani wills the flicker of embarrassment in her chest to die and quickly explains.

"Y-yeah, it's not so big - you can't get lost or anything there - so it's not dangerous to go alone. And it's close to my house so I can run home before it gets dark."

"Besides-," she looks at him then.

"-I never felt the need to bring anyone with me before."

It's a silent kind of confession because Dani's not the type of girl who can say things out loud.

But, she thinks Cyrus understands.

It's the language he's also fluent in, after all.

Cyrus doesn't say anything. But, if the way he holds her hand after that while helping her cross the small brook seems gentler, then it's for her to keep to herself, tucked safely inside her chest to open again and ponder later.

Soon, they reach an area where the trees are sparser and Dani has a light bulb moment inside her head. She turns to Cyrus.

"There's something I want to try, but don't laugh if I fail, okay?"

Cyrus raises one eyebrow, curious, but holds off on commenting.

Dani closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Shifting doesn't come easily to her even after months of training, but she can feel her wings slowly unfurling and spreading across her back. Then, she takes to the sky.

The view from above is mesmerizing. She has to carefully navigate between the lower branches to get a good vantage point but it's all worth it. From this height, she can see their resting place and the tiny brook they just passed, a wild rabbit hopping to its lair, shrubs of wild berries growing thickly a couple of meters from her original position.

So, this is what they mean by bird's eye view.

Cyrus joins her a moment later with a practised beat of his wings, the ivory white a sharp contrast against the dark brown and green of the forest.

"Your wings," he nods at them, "they're the same colour as the trees."

Dani looks behind and notes with amusement that Cyrus is right. She never noticed before - probably because this is the first time she is surrounded by so many green leaves since she learned how to shift - but her scales are the exact shade of emerald green, and with gold flecks dusting the outer part of her wings, it creates the same effect of sunlight peeking through the leaves and turning their tips gold.

"A good way to camouflage," he says and Dani laughs.

"I never thought about it that way but you're right."

She spreads her wings further and does a little somersault in the air. Cyrus follows her with ease.

"So," he smirks, "that flying lesson pays off."

Dani pouts.

"I still don't like being thrown from a tower, for future reference."

"How will you ever learn then?"

"Ugh. I should've asked Cressy for flying lesson instead..."

He snorts, "Bold of you to assume she wouldn't do the same."

"Leon then!"

"All nephilims learn how to fly like baby birds, Danica."

"You guys are so extreme. Even we- I mean, even humans give their children training wheels first when they start learning how to ride a bike, you know."

His eyes glaze over, "That’s how it is with us. You fly or you fall."

Dani blinks at the bitterness in his voice.

"Cy-," she begins.

He shakes his head, "I didn't come here to sour the mood. C'mon, let's try going up."

Dani still stares at him, hesitant, but Cyrus seems resolute on avoiding the subject.

Maybe a conversation for another time then, she relents and nods.

"Okay."

So they fly upwards, deep green and ivory white dancing around each other, slowly intertwining.

Once they reach the canopy, Dani is slightly out of breath, her heart beating faster not only because of fatigue but also the excitement brimming in her chest. She eyes the closely interwoven branches curiously.

"Do you think the branches will take our weights?"

Cyrus shrugs, "Let's find out."

They choose the part that looks sturdiest and sit on top. It takes some time to get comfortable while trying to keep their balance and to slowly fold their wings. When they succeed, Dani cheers. She faces her boyfriend - about to share her joy- and finds him already looking at her.

"Hi," she grins. He moves closer and kisses her softly. Dani hums and gives him another peck.

"Will you come with me next time as well?"

Cyrus let out a sigh but his gentle expression betrays his true thoughts, "Of course."

Dani smiles and rests her head on his shoulder.

"Good."

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your loss - Part II "I will try"

Serie Masterlist here || Part I || Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction pining, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, domestic Wanda, hurtful behaviors.

Tag list: @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia / @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch

//-//

Chapter II - I will try

You hate waking up.

Because your bed is empty on the right side.

Grumbling slightly, you push the covers away from your body and get up, running your hand over your face.

It is therapy day.

After brushing your teeth and putting on a sweatshirt that smells like fabric softener, you walked downstairs.

"Good morning, honey." Your mother greeted you as soon as you entered the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hands. You mumbled the greeting back, walking over to the cabinets. She let out a disgruntled exclamation when she saw you take out a box of cereal. "As much as I think it's great that you're eating again, why don't you try something healthier today? I'm getting worried about the amount of sugar you're taking in these last few days."

You rolled your eyes, but obeyed as you put the package back in the cupboard. Ever since you regained your appetite, your meals, especially in the morning, consist of sweet things. Bread, cereals, and even chocolate. You were eating again, but the chance of diabetes was very high.

"Do you need a ride?" Your mother asks a moment later, when you are already sitting at the table, pouring yourself some orange juice.

"Agatha thinks I should try the subway."

"And what do you think?"

You laughed humorlessly.

"That's a new one." You retorted without taking your eyes off the newspaper in front of you. "Someone asking what I think."

Your mother sighs.

"Don't be like that." She says and then rises to kiss your forehead, the car keys in her hand. "Call me if you need anything."

You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from whispering the words "I need my wife," because you didn't want to cry over coffee.

After eating, you looked around. You hated empty houses. So you hurried to get your wallet and left after locking the door.

//-//

With headphones, the subway was not so scary.

The music on the latest volume muffled the ambient noises very well. And even with a fast heartbeat, you managed to walk correctly, and keep your breathing under control until you reached the city downtown.

You walked from the station toward the building where the therapy was taking place, humming softly the music you were listening to.

Startled slightly when someone touched your shoulder, you turned, only to see Bucky standing beside you, smiling gently. You took off your headphones, moving away from his touch, he didn't seem to notice.

"I called you a few times, but I don't think you heard me under the headsets." He commented amiably. "I think we came from the same subway."

"Okay." You said simply, not knowing what to add to this conversation. Bucky smiled however, and you started walking side by side.

"You know, if we arrange the time, we could come here together next time" He says and you frown slightly. "I wish I had someone to laugh at my comments about the man in the cowboy hat who hangs out at the Sixth Avenue station." He jokes and you force a smile, trying to think of how to decline the invitation. But then you remember how Agatha insisted that you make new friends, and you are letting the words of agreement escape your mouth. "Really? I'm glad you like the idea then. We can meet in any of the first stations and come the rest of the way together."

"That'll be great." You mutter to the man who smiles contentedly.

When you arrive, Bucky waves to a few people and says he will say hello, so you walk into the gym alone.

You try not to feel so nervous about your first session with a therapy partner.

//-//

Stephen is almost late. He apologizes to everyone even though he didn't, saying that he had a minor conflict in traffic. You were already sitting in the circle, waiting for the meeting to start, when the other people came in and sat down.

Wanda sat in the chair in front of you, and you smiled awkwardly at her, who repeated the gesture before looking away from you to Stephen.

"I hope you all had a good week" Stephen began next. "Today I will be handing out the schedule of duo activities, and I expect all of you to accomplish these goals within six to eight months. Of course, no pressure." He jokes last, making the group laugh. You frown, because you are curious what kind of activities these are. "Jessica, take one and pass it to the side, please.”

Stephen asked handing some papers to one of the girls in the group who was sitting next to him. As each member took one, Stephen again spoke of the importance of communication between pairs, and how he would like to monitor everyone's progress closely. You stopped paying attention when the paper came into your hands, focused on reading the words.

Your hand rises in the air a moment later.

"Y/N, do you have a question?" Stephen asked as he interrupted his own speech when he saw your hand. You had your heart racing when you asked.

"It says drive a car here." You replied looking at him. "I don't... I don't drive."

You know that some members exchanged glances with each other, but you kept staring at Stephen.

"You can leave this activity for last. At the end of the treatment....

"No." You interrupted with a dry laugh, running your hands through your hair. "I'm not driving. I don't..."

"Would you like to share why that is?" Stephen asks tenderly, and you look around. Everyone looks at you curiously, and you feel your face heat up. Then you stare at the paper in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you try not to crumple the paper so hard as you tell it.

"My wife died in a car accident." You narrate, trying not to be bothered by people holding their breath for your confession. It was awkward to talk about it, and it was even more overwhelming to deal with the reactions of others. "I was driving, and... I can't anymore since the accident." You explain. "It's like I'm back in the car again."

You fall silent, unable to hold back your tears. The group says "thank you for sharing" next, startling you slightly. Stephen smiles at you as you look at him.

"Would you like to add anything else?"

"I would like you to tell me that I won't need to do that."

Stephen laughed. And then he denied it with his head.

"It's the opposite of that actually." He says. "I think you do need it. Maybe more than anyone else here."

You sighed, looking down. He spoke again after that, but you paid no further attention.

//-//

You swallowed your nervousness when Stephen called for the pairs to begin the first exercise.

Getting up and walking over to Wanda, you kept your gaze on the floor.

"We're going to try blind trust today." Stephen explained as he opened a small box, and began handing out black blindfolds to the pairs. He handed one to you. "You will blindfold your partner, and lead them around the gym for two minutes. And then switch who is blindfolded and repeat."

You blinked in confusion, taking one last look at the object in your hands.

"Right." You mumble, raising your eyes to the woman in front of you. "May I?"

Wanda hesitates a second, but then she nods. You turn around her, placing the blindfold under her eyes gently, and tying it to the back of her head. Wanda holds her breath momentarily, probably getting used to the lack of visibility.

" Can I hold your hands?" You ask softly as you circle her again, watching her blindfolded face. She looks... cute. The same second the thought hits you, you push it out.

"Yes." Wanda sighs raising her hands at chest height. You smile, interlacing your hands together.

"Well, we were in the circle, right?" You begin. "Come this way so you don't bump into the chairs."

Guiding Wanda through the gym, you stand close and with your hands interlocked so that she doesn't get scared of bumping into something. You catch a quick glance at Bucky, who was guiding his own partner as he passes your side.

Two minutes later, you exchange.

You hold your breath when the blindfold is on your eyes, but Wanda's hand is soft as she guides you around.

When you stumble slightly because you thought she said right instead of left, it's the first time in six months that you really laugh. It's short and quick, but it's a real laugh. Wanda laughs too, squeezing your hand lightly to get you back on the right path.

You feel a little lighter when the activity is over.

"I liked today." You comment with a shy smile after the meeting is over, and you and Wanda walk out of the place together. She smiles in agreement.

"Yeah, me too." She says. "Now we only have another twenty-four activities ahead of us."

You let out a nasal laugh, putting your hands in your pockets.

"About the homework, I can meet you when you have time." You start to say, remembering the information in the booklet, and how you probably had much more free time than a mother, and it would be kinder for you to follow whatever schedule Wanda had. "You can text me anytime you are free."

She looks slightly surprised at your words, and looks down at the floor a moment before speaking again.

"Actually, I'm free now." She says, and it is your turn to be surprised. Seeing your expression, she quickly adds. "But it's okay if you're not, or if you don't want to..."

"No, it's fine." You interrupt with a lopsided smile. "I can. I'd... uh... I would like to too."

Wanda nods frantically, and then you are silent for a moment, before turning shyly toward the street, walking side by side.

"What are we going to do first?" You ask looking forward. Wanda bites her lips, thoughtful.

"Are you hungry?"

Not much, but you don't tell her that. You just shrug, and Wanda smiles, saying that you could try the lesson of sharing a meal together.

This is how you end up in a cafeteria for lunch.

Wanda is sitting on the bench in front of you when she speaks again.

"So...do you want to have a normal conversation or do you want to follow the script of questions?"

You blink in surprise, and give a short laugh.

"Wait, is that for real?" You ask fiddling with your pockets, Wanda looks at you curiously. You take out the pamphlet you got in class, then read the back, and let out a giggle. "I hadn't seen that part. Wow, that would have been so helpful at so many times in my life."

Wanda smiles, watching you read the pamphlet.

"So you're not good at talking to people huh?"

You place the flyer on the table, looking at her.

"Are you?"

"No." She says shrugging. "Socializing has always been much more my brother's thing than mine."

You make a noise with your mouth in agreement, and Wanda's cell phone on the table vibrates. She lowers her gaze to the device, and lets out a light sigh.

"Speaking of him." She mutters as she raises her finger to the screen. She reads the notification, but does not touch the device again.

"I would like to have a brother." You count next, and Wanda looks at you. "I think it would be nice to have someone growing up together with me. Sometimes it's pretty lonely being an only child."

"I'll lend you mine if you want." Wanda teases with a smile, and you laugh lightly, looking away momentarily.

" How many siblings do you have?"

"Two." She counters. "Pietro is my twin. And the youngest is Lorna."

"How are they like?"

Wanda sighs, thoughtfully.

"Pietro is loud and nosy. And Lorna is blunt and judgmental." She says and you nod in understanding, but Wanda adds a second later, smiling, "They're amazing, really. Pietro is...very caring. He looks after the boys for me. And Lorna lives in Sokovia, but she's always calling and asking how we are, as well as visiting whenever she can."

"That seems nice." You reply. The waitress attends you two next, and after ordering, you both wait in silence for a while.

"Why haven't you asked me about my loss yet?" Wanda asks suddenly, and you look away from the wordplay that was drawn on the table to look at her with a frown.

"What do you mean?"

"I shared my loss with the group the week before you joined us." She counters. "You never asked me who I lost."

"Do you want me to ask?"

"I don't know." She replies staring at you as a mixture of confusion and surprise. "It's just... that's usually the first thing people want to know."

You nod looking away.

"Well, I just want you to tell me whatever you want to tell me." You say. "I know very well what that feels like. I don't think I could talk to any of the people I know without them asking me about Nat every time they saw me."

Wanda makes a noise with her mouth of understanding, and you fall silent again. She checks her messages next and makes a slight grimace, you can't hold your curiosity and let the words "everything okay?" escape your lips.

"Yeah, it's just... Monica." She sighs running her hands through her hair. She types something next, and looks up at you. "Monica is my brother's wife, She is... pushy."

"How so?"

"She just...she wants to help. But she wants too much, you know?" Wanda begins. "She has the best of intentions, but she just suffocates me sometimes." She counters by tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, as you look at her intently. "She lost her mother when she was younger. And since... since Vis died she just... she wants me to talk to her about it. But I can't."

You nod in acknowledgement, hesitating between what to say next, because the mention of this Vis guy seems to have left Wanda quite shaken, as she quickly wipes a tear from running down her cheek. She forces a smile, shaking her head.

"Sorry about that. It's not the best thing to cry at our first lunch." She then remarks, and you smile shrugging your shoulders.

"Don't worry, I can cry at the next one and then we'll be even." You retort and Wanda laughs. You like the sound more than you should.

When your food arrives, you and Wanda thank the waitress and talk again the next moment.

"Accordingly to this, what is our first question?" Wanda asks you nodding lightly to the pamphlet you have left on the table. You eat one of your fries as you look at it.

You lower your hand to the paper, and then let out a chuckle as you actually read the questions.

" This is ridiculous." You observe, making Wanda look at you curiously. "All the questions are death related, see: If you died, how would you like people to remember you?" You read. "Or, what song would you like played at your funeral. My god, this is a joke." You grumble as you fold the flyer, and put it back in your pocket while Wanda giggles. You look back at her next. "I am decreeing that we will not talk about death on our outings, Mrs. Maximoff. It's a rule."

Wanda smiles at you, agreeing.

"Wanda." She then adds and you look at her with confusion. "You don't have to call me Mrs. Maximoff. Wanda is fine."

You smile, nodding in agreement.

"So, Wanda, where do you live?" You ask with interest in your voice, biting into your burger next.

"Queens." She replies. "Two blocks past Bucky's apartment, who lives in Brooklyn."

"You are friends then?"

"Yeah, he's the one who introduced me to the group." She explains as you eat together. She chews some of her salad before speaking again. "And you?"

"Staten Island." You retort. "But it's actually my mother's house. My apartment is in the Bronx."

Wanda doesn't pressure you to tell her why you are living with your mother. A part of you thinks she knows why, but you are grateful that she just waits for you to share what you want, just as you do with her.

"What do you work with?" she asks next, and you sigh, biting back a smile.

"Nothing at the moment." You say, and she frowns with confusion. "It's just that I write. I’m actually a writer. With a publisher and everything. But, I'm not writing anything right now."

"I don't think I've ever met a writer before." She comments with a smile. "Do you like it?"

You look away, playing with your fries.

"I used to." You confess, but not wanting to make the conversation sad, you quickly add. "What about you? What do you work with?"

"I own a flower shop." She tells and you let out a low exclamation, finding it amazing. "I haven't been going there much lately, but I like it. It's always been what I've wanted to do since I was little."

"I'd like to visit someday."

Wanda smiles, assenting.

You spend lunch talking about the most diverse subjects. It is the lightest you have felt in a long time. Wanda tells you about her family, you learn that she lives in a big house with her two twin five-year-old sons, Billy and Tommy, and that her father was spending time with her since she lost Vis, who you figure is her husband, because Stephen mentioned that you had things in common, and it's not hard to connect the dots, even if she doesn't talk about it.

She also tells you that Pietro and Monica are helping the flower shop to keep running, and that Wanda's children love to stay at their house because Wanda's niece, Luna, is the same age as the boys.

She tells you some of her tastes, and you do the same. You both smile when you discover that you used to study at the same college, but Wanda graduated a few years before you.

When you leave the restaurant, you are not quite sure how to say goodbye to Wanda, but you don't mind her kissing your cheek and telling you that she enjoyed her lunch. You enjoyed it too, much more than you expected. She nods and turns away, and it takes a moment for you to do the same.

//-//

You decide to fix the broken screen of your cell phone.

It is because you now receive notifications of messages from Wanda, and you want to read them correctly so as not to get confused with the locations of your meetings for group activities.

You also enjoy the company of Bucky Barnes now. The first time you went to therapy together, it's a little awkward because you didn’t quite knew what to say, but he was friendly and kind, and you learned to trust him. Soon it becomes easy to share and laugh at his jokes.

In the second week with grieving pairs, Stephen brings in question and answer games. You and Wanda do very well, because it is surprisingly easy and comfortable to talk to her. You don't have lunch together, but she invites you to have coffee with her the next day, and it is very nice to see her out of therapy for once.

In the third week, you cook together. Stephen contacts a local restaurant owned by a friend, which is closed for the day, and they lend their kitchen. You and Wanda try to bake some cookies, and as you work together, the job is decent. It is probably because Wanda is a much better cook than you, and you are happy to obey whatever she tells you to do. You have lunch together again, and you find yourself suggesting that you do this whenever possible, and Wanda smiles when she agrees.

In the fourth week, there are obstacle competitions in the group. It's noisy, and it requires physical effort, but it's fun. It's the first month, so Stephen wants to see how everyone is progressing. It's only when he talks to you that you realize all the positive changes that have been happening.

You have been eating properly, and going for walks. Your nightmares have stopped since you started texting with Wanda, because she is usually busy all day and can only text at night. There is still work to be done, because you still can't talk about everything. You are still not sharing as you should, and you haven't gone back to work. But Stephen is proud, and he hands you a little progress brooch.

"I think you guys can start with the activities outside the group." Stephen suggests as soon as you accept the brooch.

"What do you mean? We have lunch together every Wednesday." You count, and Stephen laughs through his nose.

"Yes, and this is excellent." He says. "But it's still after therapy. You and Wanda have been getting along well haven't you?"

You think about the lunches. Yes. It's been amazing. You nod in agreement, and Stephen smiles.

"Why don't you invite her over for something on the other days of the week?" He suggests and you frown thoughtfully. "You could try outings that you both enjoy. Or just get to know each other's family."

"Why would we go and meet each other's family?"

"Friends do that." He says and you sigh, feeling your heart racing slightly. "Take Bucky for example. I suggested that he and Sam move in together and..."

"Wow, I'm not moving in with anyone."

Stephen laughs, touching your shoulder gently.

"I didn't tell you to do that." He says. "It was just an example. What I mean, is that socialization outside of the therapeutic environment is essential. I'd like to see you having fun excluding the activities I put on here, too."

You sigh, agreeing. It's not really a bad thing, you like Wanda. It's just weird to let people into your life again.

When you tell Wanda about Stephen's idea, you get too anxious and fumble with the words. She laughs as she raises her hands to your shoulders, asking you to breathe and repeat. She thinks the idea is very good when she understands.

Then the next week, you go to Central Park. You walk together, drink juice, and talk. You thought you would make things awkward, and not have anything interesting to say to keep Wanda's attention, but she is kind and thoughtful, and pays attention to every word you say, and finds your jokes funny. And the next thing you know, you've been talking and walking for six hours, and she has to run because she has to pick up the boys from music class.

It didn't take long for you to establish a rhythm of outings. At least twice a week outside of the therapy day, you did something together. Be it walks, or trips to the park, or sharing a meal.

You didn't want to admit it, but Wanda became your favorite person very quickly.

//-//

It was February when you met Wanda's family.

Wanda invited you to the birthday party of Luna, Pietro's daughter. It was going to be the first party you had attended since Nat's death, and to say you were feeling anxious was an understatement. But as long as Wanda was by your side in the atmosphere, you thought you would be fine.

Your mother gave you a look of mixed surprise and pride when she saw you leaving the house in an outfit other than a sweatshirt, but she didn't say anything, and you hurried to catch the subway.

It took a while to get there, but when you did, there were already a few people around the house.

You took a deep breath, and walked to the front door that was open. It was a very nice house, and you tried to find Wanda as quickly as possible.

"Hey, you came!" It was Bucky, who saw you arriving from the kitchen. He was wearing a very nice set of jeans, and smiled encouragingly at you. The two people he talked to looked at you curiously, but Bucky hurried to introduce you as "a good friend of his and Wanda's" and you felt your cheeks blush. "This is my husband Sam and this is his sister, Sara."

You smiled politely as you greeted people.

"I'm looking for Wanda." You say to Bucky, and he makes a thoughtful expression for a few seconds.

"Try the garden, I think she was helping Pietro with the snacks." He says as he puts his hand on your shoulder, and turns you in the right direction. "Follow straight this way and you'll get there."

You thanked them and waved to the other two before heading outside.

It took two minutes to find Wanda. She found you actually.

"Hi." She greeted you shyly with a smile as she approached. You mimicked the gesture. "So glad you could make it."

Wanda hugged you quickly, and you were a complete mess. Disguisedly, you smiled awkwardly, telling her you were glad to be here and wished you could meet her brother.

"Pietro is upstairs changing Luna's dress. She spilled juice on the other one." She counters and you mumble in understanding. Wanda's gaze races around and then she lets out a low exclamation. "Come, let me introduce you to Monica."

"Hey, Mon, I want you to meet someone." Wanda says as soon as you two reach a woman at one of the outside tables, wearing a very pretty blue dress. She seemed to hand out some napkins on the table.

"This is your mystery friend I imagine." Says the woman cheerfully, extending her hand to greet you.

"Hi, thank you for having me." You say clumsily as you accept the greeting. Monica doesn't mind your clumsiness one bit, and smiles, and thanks you for the small package you hand her. You were always taught that one should bring a gift if you were going to the party after all.

"It's so nice to finally meet you honey." She says smiling. "Wanda won't stop saying how funny and entertaining you are."

You cast a glance at Wanda, who just has red cheeks as she looks away.

"Here comes Pietro." Monica then exclaims, waving to someone behind you. "Come on babe, it's Wanda's friend."

A tall man approaches you, a little girl on his lap wearing a princess dress.

"Hello." Pietro greeted you politely as he stood at his wife's side. "We finally met you. We were beginning to think Wanda made you up."

You let out a half-hearted laugh, and Wanda grumbles that suddenly everyone has decided to tease her with flushed cheeks.

"Daddy, can I go play now?" The little girl asked. She was adorable, and looked a lot like her parents.

"You'll be careful, right?" Pietro asked her. "No other princess dress for you."

The girl nods and Pietro sets her down after kissing her cheek.

"I need to greet the other guests, but make yourselves at home." Monica then said, touching your shoulder lightly before leaving. You thought she was very gentle.

For the next few minutes you were basically interrogated by Pietro, but in the most polite way he could manage. Wanda stayed by your side though, so you didn't bother to tell him what you did for a living, where you resided, or with whom. He was sensitive enough not to ask about who you lost, and you were very grateful for that.

"What's he doing here?" Wanda exclaimed suddenly, interrupting Pietro's talk about his job as a seller. She had her gaze in the opposite direction from where you were standing, and Pietro sighed.

"Wanda, it was a last-minute invitation." He began, and Wanda turned her head to him quickly, a mixed look of anger and hurt. But then she took a deep breath, and forced a smile, making you frown at the whole scene.

"No, Pietro. It's okay." She says. "Don't worry, it's a party, isn't it? We're here to have fun."

A man with a thinning beard reached you all next, and you were slightly surprised when Wanda grabbed your hand, but you didn't say anything.

"Wow, it's amazing to see you guys again." The man said smiling encouragingly. Pietro rushed over to hug him quickly.

"Good to see you too, Tony!" he greeted smiling, but he also looked slightly tense. You didn't know what the story was there, but clearly Wanda was not very comfortable in the stranger's presence.

"Wanda, look at you, my little sister-in-law!" Tony said excitedly extending his arms. But Wanda didn't move, squeezing your hand lightly. The man didn't seem to mind, moving forward and hugging Wanda anyway. He pulled away quickly however, still smiling, "And who are you?” He asked you next.

"I’m..."

"Leaving." Wanda cuts you off, ducking her head as she pulls you away with her. You hear Pietro sigh lightly, imagining that he would apologize for whatever this was.

As you two walk back into the house, you consider asking, but Wanda is looking around, clearly searching for someone. She lets out a low exclamation when she finds Bucky in the living room.

"Hey, Wanda." He says as soon as he sees her. "You've seen him, right?"

"You knew he was coming?" she asked, letting go of your hand, looking annoyed. You were starting to get very uncomfortable.

"Yes." Bucky confesses looking upset, and Wanda lets out an exclamation of indignation and surprise. "I told Pietro that it wasn't a good idea, but he still needs help with the Vis business..."

"No." Wanda interrupts by closing her eyes momentarily. You blink because she seems on the verge of tears at any moment. "I just..." She starts and takes a deep breath. Bucky steps forward with his hands in the air to touch her, but she forces a smile, denying with her head to signal him not to. "We're not going to make a scene, are we? Nobody's going to want that. I just... I just need a moment."

Wanda walks upstairs next, leaving you and Bucky behind. You really didn't understand what happened, and started to consider going after her, and as if reading your thoughts, Bucky patted you on the shoulder.

"Leave her alone for a few minutes, okay?" he asks. "She just needs to get used to the idea of seeing her late husband's brother again."

You swallowed dryly, nodding in understanding. Bucky smiled weakly at you, nodding for you to join him in the small circle of people he was talking to earlier.

//-//

Every minute without Wanda at your side with a bunch of strangers was like torture. Your heart was racing and you thought you were going to hyperventilate at any moment. Bucky was probably the only thing familiar, so you stood static next to him, trying to disguise yourself as much as possible while listening to people talking.

"Thor, I'm waiting for the invitation to your wedding!" Sam joked in the middle of the wheel, drawing laughter from everyone. The tall, blond man next to him looked mildly embarrassed.

"Tell that to Jane, she's the one who's postponing it." He replies in the same tone. You don't want to hear about engagements and weddings. So you mutter to Bucky that you need to use the bathroom and he points you in the direction.

Pietro's house is easy to get lost into. You are looking for a secluded corner to stay in, and as you pass through the empty hallway, you hear a noise that attracts your attention. It sounds like loud breathing.

Confused, you walk toward the sound, carefully opening the door to what appears to be an office. You find the switch, and your eyes widen in surprise when you find a child. It is a small boy, sitting on the floor with his head between his knees. It takes a second for you to realize by the height of his breathing what is happening.

Closing the door behind you to muffle the sound of the party, you rush to kneel beside the child.

"Hey, kid." You whisper tenderly but he just sobs. "What's your name? Hey? Try to say your name for me okay?"

You bring your hands to his and he raises his head, his face stained with tears as he breathes hard.

"T-Tommy" He gasps and you nod, squeezing his hands lightly.

"Okay, Tommy. I want you to breathe along with me now okay?" You ask as you signal with your hand the movement of your breath. "In and out like I'm doing."

"I-I can't." He cries, but you insist, squeezing his hand lightly.

"Tommy, in and out. This way." You repeat firmly, until he imitates. "All right, kid. Keep going. Breathe."

When Tommy manages to start breathing properly again, you smile at him. "You see, you did very well. Want me to give you a hug?"

He nodded, and you stepped forward, hugging him tightly. He didn't let go for long moments, and you began to think he might have fallen asleep, but he moved again, and you let go.

"I'm sorry." He asked weakly, and you held his hand.

"No, honey. It's okay." You say gently, crossing your legs to sit more comfortably in front of him. "Do you want me to stay here with you?"

He nods, looking at you quickly. You wipe away his tears afterwards.

"I don't know you." He says a moment later, and you smile slightly.

"I don't know you either."

"My name is Tommy." He replies with his hands folded in his lap. "This is my aunt and uncle's house, but I've never seen you at a party before."

"Wow, you are Wanda's son." You realize with surprise. Tommy blinks.

"Who is Wanda? I'm Mommy's son."

You laugh, nodding in agreement.

"Well, Tommy, your mother's name is Wanda." You explain, and he lets out a sigh of understanding. "I'm her friend."

"Okay." He says simply. He sighs lightly then. "I'm hungry."

You look at him curiously.

"Do you want a hot dog?" You ask, and he nods frantically, smiling. "Do you want to go outside and get it, or do you want me to bring it for you here?"

Tommy is thoughtful for a few seconds, and looks at the door for a moment.

"I want to go."

"Okay."

You get up first, and then help him to stand, and keep your hand in his to comfort him.

"Hey, is everything all right?" You ask as soon as you open the door. He has his thumb in his mouth, but nods, his eyes attentive to his surroundings.

Fortunately the kitchen is empty, since the house seemed to get warm enough for everyone to go outside. You sit Tommy down at the kitchen counter and prepare a hot dog for him.

"Do you like ketchup?" you ask and he nods smiling. After handing the hot dog to him, you made one for yourself. You smiled as you both took big bites of your food. "Does your mom let you drink soda?" You ask a moment later, and Tommy looks thoughtful. "Don’t lie."

Tommy grimaces mischievously, and nods his head in denial. You laugh and reach for two glasses, pouring some grape juice for you.

"Thanks." He says thank you as soon as you hand him the cup. You think it's adorable how polite he is at this age.

"There you are, Tommy." Pietro spoke as he appeared in the kitchen. He watched the scene with curiosity. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Sorry, Uncle." Murmured the boy lowering his head. "My head was hurting again."

Pietro sighed and you exchanged a look with him. He nodded in understanding before helping Tommy down from the countertop.

"Billy and Luna are eating candy in the backyard, honey." He says as he bends down to the boy's height. "Go ask Aunt Mon to give you some too."

Tommy seems content to leave after that, but he turns and hugs your legs quickly, muttering a "thanks for the hot dog" before running outside. You place his cup of juice in the sink along with yours before turning to Pietro.

"Where did you find him?" he asks leaning on the counter with his arms crossed. You mimic the position on the opposite side.

"In the office down the hall." You count. "What does he have?"

"We don't know yet." Pietro says. "He won't turn six until November, and the diagnosis can't be made before then." The man explains, running his hand through his hair for a moment. "But I've had anxiety since I was a kid, so his doctor thinks it's the most likely possibility."

You grumble in understanding, biting the inside of your cheek.

"He's been pretty nervous lately." Pietro continues next. You don't want to interrupt him. "I guess that makes sense. I got worse when my mother died, too."

You swallow dryly, really not being intimate enough to know what to say next. But Pietro doesn't mind, he smiles, shaking his head and reaching up to pat you on the arm.

"Sorry, I don't mean to make the subject morbid." He comments humorously. "Thank you so much for helping Tommy. Come have a drink outside."

You laugh half-heartedly, denying with your head.

"Thank you, Pietro." You say. "But I think I'd better go."

Pietro blinks in surprise.

"Are you sure?"

You nod, your gaze quickly going to the stairs before returning to him.

"Yes, I'm... I'm tired." You say. "Crowded environments are quite difficult for me."

Pietro nods in acknowledgement, and then smiles, thanking you again for coming and hugging you quickly.

You smile awkwardly before heading for the exit just as he returns to the garden.

Ignoring the urge to climb up the stairs after Wanda, you leave.

//-//

When you get home, there is a message on the refrigerator door from your mother, telling you that she is going out after work and that you shouldn't wait up for her. You grumble slightly, sending her a message to use protection, before leaving your cell phone on the counter.

After taking a shower and putting on the most comfortable and warmest set of sweatshirts you have, you go back to the living room, looking for some entertainment on the television.

It must be about eight o'clock at night when a knock at the door startles you.

You are surprised to have Wanda at your front door and she hesitates as soon as she sees you.

"Hi." You say.

"Can we talk?"

You make room for her to enter, closing the door afterwards.

Wanda stops in the doorway of the room, holding her purse tightly.

"I'm sorry I left you alone at the party." She begins and you look at her attentively, noticing her nervousness. "It wasn't polite of me."

You blink in confusion, but don't interrupt her. She closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking back at you.

"It was not the right way to behave and I am sorry. I hope we continue to be grieving partners" She says.

"Wanda, why are you here?" You ask with a frown, trying to understand exactly what you are witnessing. Wanda blinks in confusion.

"To apologize."

"Yeah I'm not buying it." You retort. "I don't care about the whole manners thing, I wouldn't treat you differently just because of the party. What's going on?"

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about." She says shaking her head slightly, her eyes wide. You look at her in disbelief, she seemed on the verge of an outburst. "I just came to apologize for not being a good hostess, and not even a good friend. And..."

"I don't give a damn if you weren't behaving as you should." You interrupt seriously. "You don't have to pretend to be okay with me. I saw the way you were forcing yourself to smile during the party. What was all that about? Why are you pretending?"

Wanda let out a humorless laugh, holding up her hands, her eyes filled with tears.

"I don't know what..."

"If you're going to lie you can leave." You interrupt seriously pointing to the door. Wanda swallows dryly, looking at you in surprise. "I'm not like those people, Wanda. I don't want to see your version of the perfect housewife, who pretends everything is fine while it's falling apart so others will feel better. Either you tell me the truth, or we' re not going anywhere."

Wanda stares at you for several seconds, then looks away, tears streaming down her face. You sigh, uncrossing your arms to walk toward the door. As you begin to open it, however, Wanda rushes in and pushes the wood with one hand, the noise and movement startling you momentarily.

"Please." She begs throwing herself against you, her arms clutching around you as she buries her head in your chest, her tears wetting your shirt. "I can't lose you too."

You sigh, hugging her back in the same intensity to calm her.

"Breathe, Wanda." You say. "I'm right here."

When she stops crying, she breaks the embrace, and you give her a smile even though she is looking at the floor. You bring your hands to her face to wipe away her tears, moving closer to give her a kiss on her forehead before pulling away.

"Let's have some tea."

As you prepare the drink, Wanda sits down on one of the stools in the kitchen. You join her after lighting the fire.

"Do you want to talk now?" You ask next, swinging your seat slightly. Wanda gives you a weak smile, nodding her head. She sighs before she begins.

"My husband died last year." She counters with a lost look on her face. "That man at the party...his name is Tony. He is my brother-in-law. He... My husband died in an accident. He..." Wanda paused, probably overwhelmed by the memories, you reached out for her hand on the counter, and she sniffled before continuing. "Tony is an alcoholic. He...he needed someone to pick him up. So he called. And Vis... They... They argued outside the bar, and someone thought Vis was a cop. And then someone had a knife and..." Wanda stopped in a sob, releasing her hand to cup her face. You stood up, hugging her by the shoulders, and she buried her face in your neck, crying heavily.

"I'm sorry." You sighed, squeezing her. Wanda cried, hugging your waist. You only let go when the kettle beeped.

She wiped away the remaining tears as you went to turn off the fire.

"Do you want to go on?" You ask as you join her again, holding her hands. Wanda gives you a tired smile, denying it. "Let's drink our tea, then."

//-//

"Can I sleep here?" The question doesn't surprise you. After you had finished drinking tea, and you tried to distract Wanda with some small talk, you stood up to take the mugs to the sink, and her voice invaded your ears with the question.

You bit the inside of your cheek, but when you turned around, you didn't hesitate to agree.

And that's how you ended up in your closet doorway, looking for extra pillows.

Wanda walked around, observing your room with curiosity. You mentally thanked your mom that it had only been two days since her monthly cleaning, and your room was not messy.

"Who is this?" Wanda asks as she holds one of your frames in her hand. You have an extra comforter in your hand as you walk over to her to look at the picture.

"This is Bruce." You say looking at the photograph for a moment. Ignoring the wave of guilt that fills your stomach, you walk over to your bed. "We've studied together most of our lives. And the girl next to him is Carol, she was my maid of honor."

"Are they the friends you don’t talk to anymore?" Wanda asks as she returns the picture to the headboard. You mumble in agreement.

"Done, Wands." You say as you place the comforter on the bed. "You can have my pillow, I'll use the cushions on the sofa anyway."

Wanda frowns in confusion.

"Aren't you going to sleep with me?" She asks and you laugh in surprise, feeling your heart race.

"W-what?"

"I thought..." She starts and seeing your reddened face she looks away, clearing her throat. "I'm not going to make you sleep on the couch."

"It's okay, really." You assure her with a smile. "I'll be downstairs and if you need anything you can wake me up."

"Y/N..."

"Good night." You interrupt with a smile, moving closer to place a quick kiss on her cheek before turning and leaving the room, your heart racing.

You haven't slept in the same bed with another woman in many months. That is absolutely not going to happen tonight.

When Wanda finally lies back against the sheets, she grumbles softly. Your scent is everywhere, and she knows very well what it means when her body shivers and she feels a small warmth at the pit of her stomach. Pushing these thoughts away, she closes her eyes, hoping that the tiredness of the day will be enough to make her sleep.

[randomposterofstuff]

Soldiers by Choice - Chapter IX

Author's Note: Hi, all! So, I'd just like to inform you guys that I made some small tweaks in the previous chapters. But I didn't make any major changes. The details I added and/or changed don't impact the storyline or the plot, so there's no cause for concern on that score. Lol.

I also changed that time-stamp format. For better clarity, the format is this: Current Year (Current Month) [e.g. Year 847 (11th Month)]

Anyway, here's Chapter 9! Hope that you like it!

Tumblr Chapters List can be found here.

Also available on Ao3! Please feel free to leave your comments and thoughts on that site! Check out the "Archive of Our Own" tab on my page to go to the site!

Chapter 9: Letters, Sketches, and Guns

Summary: Levi writes to his mother about the upcoming break. Meanwhile, Hange and Moblit make an usual discovery while they're on another research expedition. At the Cadets Corps Headquarters, Bertolt Hoover is asked for shooting advice.

Year 847 (11th Month)

---

Dear Mother,

I am doing well, and so is Mikasa. I’m also looking forward to seeing you and the old man during the Yuletide break. I’ll be departing for Mitras on the last day of the second week of next month. I'll catch a morning ferry, so you can expect me before noontime on that day.

And speaking of Mikasa, she told me that she won’t be able to come with me when I return to the clan compound. She and her parents have planned to spend the break in Orvud, and she will travel directly to the district to meet them there. She apologizes for being unable to accept your invitation for dinner and hopes to meet you at some other time.

I hope that you two are also doing well. I will see you both in less than a month.

Your son,

Levi

Levi has just finished signing the letter when the door to their office opens.

“Are you ready to go?” Mikasa asks as she enters.

“Just about.” He says while giving the letter a once-over.

“A letter to your mother?”

Levi nods. "Yeah. I'm going to drop this at the post office while we're in town." He replies, giving the letter a once-over.

Mikasa moves to sit on the divan as she waits for him to finish his task. “Did you mention that I couldn’t accept her invitation?”

“I did.” He confirms while taking out an envelope from his drawer.

Yesterday, Levi had received a letter from his mother. The Ackerman matriarch had written that she was looking forward to seeing her son during the break and that she would like Mikasa to join them for dinner when they return to Mitras.

Mikasa had been delighted at the invitation but unfortunately had to decline. The week before, she and her parents had written to each other to confirm their plans for the break. They agreed that they'd meet one another at Orvud instead of assembling at their estate in Mitras to save time. Had the invitation been for another occasion and at another time, she would have happily accepted.

She fidgets with the knot of her cravat as she watches him scrawl the name and address on the back of the envelope. “I really am sorry for snubbing her invite.”

“You’re not snubbing her." He comments while placing some wax on the envelope to seal it. "You already made plans with your parents, and you haven't seen them in a long time. I understand.”

The Survey Corps had been working relentlessly to get back on its feet after the breach of Wall Maria during the middle of the year 845 and the failed operation to retake it in 846 – and that meant forsaking their usual leave during the Yuletide season during the said years. But now that things have calmed down a bit and they have a working strategy, everyone in the regiment is looking forward to the break; it's an opportunity to get real rest, revive morale, and reconnect with loved ones.

Levi knows how much Mikasa is looking forward to reuniting with her parents, and no one can blame anyone for wanting to see their families again.

He stamps the wax before looking up to face her. “And my mother will understand too. Don’t worry about it.”

Mikasa relaxes at his assurance. “I promise that I’ll make it up to her. I really do wish to meet her soon.”

Levi smiles a bit. “I’m going to hold you to that.” He then lets a few moments pass to let the wax dry. Once it is, he places it in his satchel.

“Okay, I’m good to go.” He announces as he rises from his desk. “Let’s hope that they have stocks of bleach this time around.”

Mikasa makes an amused sound; she remembers how displeased he was when their local retail goods supplier didn't have any bleach the last time they went on a supply run.

“Don’t worry. If they don’t, we’ll just make my mother’s cleanser again.” She remarks as she stands up and slings her own bag over her shoulder.

He smirks. “What will I ever do without you?”

She mirrors his expression. “Oh, you’d be completely lost.” She quips as they exit the office.

---

Through the glass of his telescope, Moblit observes as a 10-meter Titan wanders aimlessly around the ruins of the Nivas district.

On the floors above and below him, other members of the Research division are likewise peering through the windows of the 30-meter tower to watch the movements of different Titans.

Behind the Executive Officer is his Section Commander who is rummaging through copies of old records of Titan sightings dating back to several decades ago. The Titan-scientist sits on an old desk in the middle of the room and is currently comparing their most recent observations with past accounts made by the Survey Corps soldiers who had preceded them.

Moblit’s eye continues to trail the 10-meter’s movement through his telescope. Holding the telescope stand with one hand while moving the actual scope with the other, he watches as it passes by other Titans until it reaches a gangly-looking 12-meter.

The Executive Officer lets out a surprised sound when he watches the 10-meter place its head on the shoulder of the taller Titan. His astonishment increases when he sees the 12-meter wrapping its arms around the shorter Titan.

“Section Commander!” He calls out, telescope and eye still trained on the two embracing Titans. “You have to see this!”

Some papers rustle and fly off the table as the Titan-scientist immediately goes running to his side.

“See what?!” They squeal as they grab a spare collapsible telescope from the nearby supply bag.

Moblit gives them a few directions to follow his line of sight. “Do you see it now?”

Hange gasps as they take in the sight of the hugging Titans; the two giants continue to embrace while other Titans walk past them. “They’re holding each other!” Their shoulders start to tremble with excitement. “It’s as if they’re comforting each other!”

The Section Commander then holds the telescope to their chest with both arms. “It’s such a beautiful sight, don’t you think, Moblit?!” They exclaim, cheeks flushed. “The Titans are exhibiting empathic human-like behavior!”

Still peering through the telescope, Moblit grabs a pen and paper pad and starts to draw the sight. “Yes, Section Commander.”

Hange laughs gleefully. “Aberrants have exhibited degrees of intelligence before but never emotional capacity!”

They then dash back towards the desk and begin writing. “This is the Research team’s first major breakthrough!”

The pen strokes of the Titan-scientist can barely match the pace of their continuous monologue. “Since the establishment of the Research division, we’ve only observed typical Titan behavior! We’ve seen some minor nuances among Titans, such as delayed reaction time and total lack of response on some occasions. But nothing as remarkable as this!”

Hange flips onto another page to continue writing, their strokes becoming even more frantic. “The display of empathetic behavior connotes the possibility of having other emotions. Is it possible that Titans also feel anger? Do they feel furious whenever one of their own is slain by us? What serves as emotional stimuli for them? What could have caused one Titan to seek comfort from another?”

At this point, the ink of their pen starts to bleed through the paper. “How is it that the other Titan is cognizant of the other’s possible emotional pain? This type of cognizance indicates intelligence that goes beyond mere survival instincts.”

Their voice starts to become more excited and more frustrated at the same time. “While this is a major breakthrough, more studies need to be conducted. This singular instance is not enough to determine the full extent of their emotional and intellectual capacity. If the Survey Corps can definitively determine a consistent behavioral pattern, then such knowledge would be invaluable in the fight against the Titans.”

As the Section Commander continues to speak about how the discovery is a great stride in humanity’s quest to vanquish the Titans, Moblit continues to capture the Titans on paper, shifting his attention from the telescope’s eye and to the sketch pad every now and then.

As he continues to draw, he notes with ongoing astonishment that the taller Titan now appears to be slowly patting the head of the other one.

Once he's done, he stands up and presents his finished sketch. “I’ve sketched the Titans for our records.”

Hange abruptly pauses in their writing and practically snatches the sketch pad from his outstretched hands.

“Moblit…” They say as their goggled eyes scan every inked line and curve of the drawing, “… this is so accurate… and so beautiful!”

He makes a partly exasperated sigh at the adoring way his superior looks at the illustration before picking up the pieces of paper that had fluttered to the floor.

While he re-arranges the pages in chronological order – which proves to be quite challenging since they aren’t numbered, he looks over the Section Commander’s latest writings.

He scans the initial analyses penned in hurried scribbles; as his eyes read the passage about emotional capacity, the image of the 12-meter patting the head of the 10-meter comes to his mind.

Moblit stops reading mid-sentence as an idea occurs to him.

"Section Commander…" He calls out to his superior, who's still gaping at the sketch, “I’d like to relay my take on this recent discovery.”

"Go on," Hange says, even though their eyes are still trained on the drawing.

“As you said, embracing is a display of empathetic behavior.” He begins to explain while compiling the papers on the desk, “And that it also connotes emotional capacity. While I was still sketching, I noticed that the taller Titan kept patting the head of the other one. It makes me think that the two could be familiar with each other.”

At that, the Titan-scientist snaps their head up towards him.

"Are you suggesting that they may be friends?”

He nods. “I am. And if they do have some sort of connection, then it could mean that Titans can form bonds with another.”

Hange gasps as they process the analysis. “That’s definitely an angle worth exploring!” Their eyes bulge as numerous possibilities and implications run through their mind. “We should make that a priority point of examination in our future research excursions!”

Without warning, Hange abruptly moves forward to wrap their arms around him. “Moblit, you are a genius!” They squeal giddily, “Thank you!”

Moblit yelps as he momentarily staggers backward before regaining his balance. “Section Commander, a little warning would be nice!”

The Titan-scientist merely laughs before raising their head to face the Executive Officer.

“But seriously, though. Thank you.” They say in a much calmer tone. “Everyone in the Research team is great, and so is everyone in our main combat Division. But not everyone has the willpower to keep up with me when it comes to studying Titans.”

Hange then gives him a smile, and Moblit notes that it’s not their usual near-manic grin that they make whenever they discuss Titans. “I don’t think I say it enough, but I really do appreciate your patience with me, Moblit. I’m really glad that I have you.”

The Executive Officer’s exasperated demeanor softens at that.

“Of course, Section Commander. I may not share your… enthusiasm,” he says after thinking of an appropriate term to use, “but I do strongly agree with you that having a better understanding of Titans is vital to eliminating them.”

The Titan-Scientist squeezes his shoulders in appreciation. “I’m glad that I can count on you.”

After a moment, their zealousness returns to their features, and they move back to their desk. “Our patience finally paid off!”

Moblit finds himself smiling at that. Every research expedition always entailed the same thing: observing Titans from the tower for several hours every day until the last day allotted for the expedition. Fortunately, each research excursion doesn’t last more than 5 days – even Hange understands that watching Titans for prolonged periods of time is impractical given that the giants don’t usually exhibit significantly odd behavior on most days.

It's tedious most of the time. Yet, everyone in the Research division understands the significance of their work.

Hange starts to jot down more notes. “Mikasa’s plan for us made this possible! Oh, I’ll have to share the good news with her and Levi when we get back! Maybe they can even help me come up with an idea to capture a Titan alive for closer observation!”

The smile on Moblit’s face disappears as his jaw practically drops to the floor. “Section Commander, one crazy idea at a time!”

---

Bullets ring in quick succession as he aims and shoots. He keeps his grip on the rifle steady as he quickly strides sideways, eyes locked on the centers of each target in front of him.

The task becomes harder as each successive target is placed several yards away from the last. But he doesn't falter. The thought of his ailing father helps him time each shot perfectly, ensuring that each bullet is right on the mark.

When he hits the last target, the instructor blows their whistle. He stands in attention when Commander Magath inspects the results of his work.

Once done, the Commander approaches him. Once his superior stops a few feet before him, he raises his right hand, palm facing outward, in salute. At the officer’s nod, he places it down.

“Well done, Hoover.” The Commander announces. “Your marksmanship is extraordinary. You hit every target in the center without fail. If you continue to perform like this, you will be able to serve Marley well in due time. You are closer to absolving yourself of the sins of your ancestors."

His classmates, who had been watching the entire time, erupt in applause. They murmur praises and make comments that they too could do as well as him.

“It will be my honor to serve Marley, Commander Magath, sir!” He proclaims, right hand raised in salute once again.

---

“Bertolt was amazing today!” Reiner exclaims to the vendor as they buy some cream-coated bread. “He got the top marks during our shooting class!”

The woman behind the stall smiles as she gives each boy a large loaf. “Is that so? Well, I’m sure that old Mr. Hoover will be especially proud of you, Bertolt.” She directs her attention to the taller of the two.

Bertolt merely smiles. “I just did what I had to do.” He replies before his eyes take in the array of stalls and booths lining up the sidewalks of Liberio’s streets. “I see that all of you are already preparing for the Yuletide festival, Mrs. Grice.”

“We're really excited about it!” Reiner says as he chews on his bread. “I can’t wait to try all the games and all the food!”

“Our break starts in two days, Reiner.” Bertolt points out, amused. “I think you can wait until then.”

---

An hour after sundown finds the two Warrior candidates parting ways when they leave to go back to their respective homes.

After making a few turns, Bertolt eventually reaches the front door of their humble abode.

“I’m home!” He announces as he unslings his bag.

“Bertolt!” An older man’s voice rings throughout the hall before his elderly father comes out of his room. “I’ve been waiting for you for years!”

Bertolt laughs at the joke. “Oh, come on, Dad. I'm only half an hour late! Reiner and I just wanted to stop by the main plaza to see how the festival preparations were going."

“You’ve been gone for years!” His father keeps saying, as if he didn’t hear him. “Commander Magath told us that they couldn’t disclose the details of your mission no matter how much me, Mrs. Braun, and Mr. Leonhart begged.”

The older man sighs before a weary smile forms on his lips.

“But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re finally home and that you did your duty to Marley!”

Bertolt could only stare at his father in confusion. And if he wasn’t perplexed already, the weather outside their window rapidly changes: one second, it was fair weather; the next, it was an unforgiving storm, and then it suddenly toned down to a gentle downpour.

---

The moment he opens his eyes, he sees Eren, Jean, and Connie arguing. Behind them are the other cadets of their division.

As he blinks the sleep away, Bertolt wonders why they are all upside-down.

"I'm telling you guys that there's going to be a storm!" Eren says. "I mean, his legs are propped up against the wall!

“Yeah, but they’re crossed!” Jean counters. “I still say that it’s the ‘fair weather’ position. But I’m willing to concede that it might be cloudy today at most.”

Connie re-joins the conversation. "I'm willing to meet you guys halfway by saying that there's going to be a mild drizzle. I mean, his head is turned to the side."

Since he is still gathering his bearings, it took listening to their arguments for Bertolt to realize that he must have ended up in another odd sleeping position again.

“Actually, his head isn’t turned to the side anymore.” Armin chimes in, looking at their fellow cadet with an apologetic smile. “Good morning, Bertolt.”

Bertolt blinks once before the image of his family’s living room is replaced by the men’s barracks of the Southern Division’s Cadet Corps Headquarters.

“Morning, guys.” He finally says.

---

“Alright, Braus!” Commandant Shadis shouts. “Let’s see how you did.”

Sasha stands in attention as the Commandant moves to the front of the shooting range to examine the targets she shot at.

All the cadets watch as their superior walks by each target, jotting down notes on his clipboard to give each hit a corresponding score. Once he passes by the last target, he walks towards Sasha, who stands even straighter.

“You hit each target dead in the center!” The Commandant announces loudly for everyone to hear. “You get full marks! Good work, Braus!”

Sasha puffs her chest proudly as the other cadets behind cheer and clap. “Thank you, Sir!” She raised her right fist to her chest in salute.

Shadis nods in acknowledgment before dismissing her. Once his assistant officers have replaced all the used targets with new ones, he calls the next cadet on his list. “Hoover! You’re next!”

Bertolt moves forward to the racks where fully loaded rifles stand. Grabbing one, he makes his way to the starting line at the farthest left of the shooting range. He then lifts his rifle, eyes trained on the first target.

“On my signal!” The Commandant announces as he raises his whistle to his lips. He lets a few seconds pass before he blows it.

Bertolt immediately fires the moment he hears it. His long legs stride at a quick pace as he locks onto the center of each succeeding target before shooting his mark.

The other cadets watch with wide eyes and even gaping mouths as they watch their tall, dark-haired classmate practically run while simultaneously landing shots onto each target regardless of how far away it is.

When he finishes, Bertolt quietly stands in attention while waiting for the Commandant to inspect his work.

Shadis merely looks at the targets in subdued shock before he snaps out of his stupor.

“Alright, Hoover!” He addresses the cadet. “You finished quickly, but let’s see how accurate your shots were!”

The officer then marches towards the targets to examine the targets, scribbling a score for each hit.

He then returns to the other side of the firing lane, eyes still trained on his clipboard.

“Hoover!” Shadis calls out once he raises his head. "Not only were you able to finish this shooting course faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, but you also managed to hit every target in the center!”

The cadets in the back clap and cheer again, although there are more awed murmurs than earlier.

“Good work!” The Commandant continues. “If you keep this up, you’ll definitely be an asset to humanity!”

On reflex, Bertolt promptly raises his right arm. But as he is about to open his hand, he suddenly realizes his mistake and encloses it into a fist before stiffly placing it over his chest.

Shadis raises a brow slightly at the awkward movement of his arm but doesn’t comment on it.

"It will be an honor to fight for humanity, Sir!" The moment the words leave his mouth, he feels a hollow ache in his chest.

---

“Did you see how fast he was?!” Connie remarks, voice clearly awe-struck. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot and run that quickly before!”

“Bertolt was incredible!” Sasha concurs, plain admiration evident on her face. “I wish I could go as fast as him!”

As the others around him continue to make praises, Reiner frowns at his friend’s near mistake; he had nearly performed the Marleyan salute. Reiner briefly muses that even he had executed the full salute, no one else would have even understood its significance except for him, Bertolt, and Annie. Nonetheless, it was still concerning.

“Hey, Reiner!” Eren calls out to the broad-shouldered blonde. “Did Bertolt go hunting a lot when you guys were kids?”

“Hm?” Reiner hums distractedly before turning to the green-eyed recruit. “Oh, yeah. Bert’s always been a natural with a gun.”

---

“Bertolt, you were amazing!”

The cadet in question looks up when he sees Sasha making her way towards him. Behind her are Eren, Armin, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

“Thanks, Sasha.” Bertolt smiles at the compliment.

“Seriously though, you were really great out there!” Connie adds as they join Bertolt and Reiner at their table.

The morning had turned into noon, and now, they will have lunch outside before the afternoon leg of their training starts.

“Reiner here said that you used to go hunting when you were younger as well.” The Braus girl continues to engage him in conversation, her eyes rapt with curiosity. “Did you always use a gun, or did you use a bow and arrow, too?

"Oh, I just stuck to my guns," Bertolt says with a slight laugh. “Our hometown was always more big on them.”

Sasha grins at the response. “Well, cheers to us hunters for doing well in the shooting course!” She lifts a hand and offers it to him. “Up top!”

The dark-haired cadet briefly hesitates but eventually slaps his palm against hers. “Up top!”

“Say, Bertolt…” Jean starts to say as the other cadet lowers his right arm. “What was up with your arm earlier?”

The question causes Bertolt to silently berate himself for almost performing the wrong salute after nearly a year of being a soldier instead of a Warrior.

“Oh…” He trails off as he thinks of a plausible excuse, “My arm cramped up a bit earlier.” He says, half-embarrassed at how awkward it sounds.

“W-what?” The question comes out as a laugh from Jean.

Reiner gauges the similarly mildly amused reactions of the others. Thankfully, they have no reason to not believe it, and Bertolt’s embarrassed tone only gives the excuse more credibility.

“I keep telling you, Bert.” The broad-shouldered blonde interjects, helping with the ruse, “You should spend more time stretching your arms.”

“Yeah!” Connie re-joins the conversation. “You spend way too much time working on your legs! It’s not like you need to get taller!

Everyone turns to the shaven-headed cadet with incredulous and even more amused-looking looks.

“Connie… stretching your legs won't make you taller," Marco says tentatively.

“I know that! But the straighter you stand, the taller you look!” Connie exclaims, “And Bertolt is tall enough as it is!”

Everyone at the table laughs, including Bertolt, who feels relieved at the re-direction of the conversation.

“Anyway… Sasha, Bertolt…” Armin begins once the laughter toned down. “Eren and I wanted to ask if you guys could give us some shooting pointers during the free period before dinner time.”

“Why would you guys want shooting pointers?” Connie asks, looking surprised and confused. “It’s not like you’re gonna fight Titans with rifles.”

Eren nods his head. “That’s true. But Reiner taught us that a soldier should be prepared for anything.” He explains, looking at their burly classmate with a small grin. “Because you never know what kind of situation you might find yourself in.”

Some weeks ago, while he was practicing offensive hand-to-hand combat techniques with Armin and Reiner under the watchful eye of their Commandant, the brunette cadet made negative comments about undergoing training exercises unrelated to Titan combat.

In response, Reiner had chastised him for his dismissive attitude while lecturing him that a soldier must be well-equipped under any circumstances. And what drove the point home for him was Reiner’s statement that a person who can’t defend themself can’t defend others. It was then that he decided to take those words to heart.

Eren’s obvious determination and quiet enthusiasm coaxes a smile from Reiner. “I’m glad to see that you’re taking my advice seriously.”

“Of course!” Eren grins even more widely, encouraged by the show of approval, “You’re the best cadet here! I’d be an idiot not to listen to you!”

The broad-shouldered cadet lets out a laugh. “Well, it’s definitely good that you’re working hard with that kind of mindset.”

“Well, when you guys put it like that, I want in!” Connie says. “After all, shooting is gonna come in handy when I join the Military Police!”

“Hmmm.” Jean hums contemplatively as he rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I’m already a pretty good shot.” He comments lightly. “But I suppose sharpening my aim couldn’t hurt. Especially if it gives me an edge as an MP.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “You know, Jean, you could just say that you want to join us.”

Jean’s eye twitches slightly in annoyance. “Oh, just let me brag every now and then, Eren.”

“Oh, please. I let you do that every day.”

"Now, hold on." Marco intercedes. "Sasha and Bertolt haven’t even agreed to anything yet.” He points out, noting that their best shooters had yet to get a word in.

“I wouldn’t mind sharing some tips!” Sasha says cheerily. “Plus, I could definitely learn something from Bertolt, too. I could use some advice on how to gain more speed without compromising accuracy!” She adds as she turns to him. “So, how about it, Bertolt?”

Bertolt looks at their eager and expectant faces, and he finds himself unable to turn them down.

“Sure.” Although he offers another smile, it’s strained at the edges.

Thankfully, no one notices except for Reiner.

After a few more minutes, the cooks arrive with their lunch and call for everyone to line up for their meals.

Sasha immediately dashes to the serving table while everyone else moves at a more moderate pace.

“Aren’t you guys coming?” Marco looks at Reiner and Bertolt who remain sitting.

“We’ll wait until the lines shorten," Reiner replies, gesturing to the long queues.

Once they’re alone at the table, Reiner heaves a deep sigh and places a hand on Bertolt’s shoulder. When the latter turns his head, Reiner levels him with a concerned and understanding look.

“I miss our hometown too.” The blonde states, having deduced the reason for his old friend’s near slip-up earlier. “And I know that it’s getting harder; I’m also getting tired.” He admits quietly. “But we can’t stop now. We’ve come this far.”

Mina, Thomas, and some other cadets hear him as they pass by with plates of food but don't think twice about his words.

Yet, Bertolt, knowing what they really mean, takes a deep breath to internally steady himself.

“I know, Reiner.”

---

End Note: Okay, so I'd like to apologize to anyone who was hoping that Mikasa would meet Kuchel in this chapter. I'm sorry for letting you guys down. But I promise that they will meet eventually! Hehe.

So, this chapter has three (3) storylines: the RivaMika storyline, the Hange-researching storyline, and the 104th storyline. I know that it might seem like a lot for just one chapter. But I really wanted to start delving into the other important aspects of the AOT universe to build up what I have in mind for the second part of this series. (But the series is mainly RivaMika-centric. Hahaha.) Again, it's gonna take time for me to really flesh-out my ideas. So, please bear with me and my irregular updates. Hahahuhu.

Please let me know what you think! Also, happy holidays in advance!

[flutteringdreams-matw]

Out of Time (14)

First/Last

Read on AO3

Word Count: 7283

Previously: Dan duplicated and went for Jack, Maddie and Jazz. With some help from Dani, Valerie and Vlad, they defeated Dan... not before Jazz revealed that their parents know. Also... "You okay Mr. Lancer? How did you escape?"

Mr. Lancer started to answer, but a different voice beat him.

"Tuck."

"Danny!?"

Now: Meanwhile - Lancer's in trouble. Warning: Violence, ectoplasm, some graphic descriptions.

Please let me know what you think! Feel free to drop a reply or reblog whatever. Next chapter will be out on Wednesday (link will be in the replies!)

Meanwhile...

"And what, may I ask, gave you the absurd idea to come out here in the middle of a ghost invasion?" Mr. Lancer frowned as he glared at the two teenagers in front of him. Dash and Kwan looked at each other sheepishly, neither appearing to have an answer for the vice-principal. Lancer sighed, rolling his eyes slightly as he jerked his arm backward toward the school. "No matter - get to the Nasty Burger. That's the nearest safe zone."

"Isn't the school closer?" Kwan asked, frowning slightly.

Lancer sighed again. "It would be closer, but Phantom's shield caused parts of it to cave in." he shooed them quickly. "Now go on, I don't want Tetslaff on my case tomorrow morning about two freshman on her starting line-up injured in a ghost attack."

Both boys nodded, before they jogged past the school. Lancer watched them go with a slight frown, bringing the walkie-talkie up to his mouth. "Two more coming your way Maria."

He heard the gym teacher scoff. "Only you could get away with calling me that William," she replied gruffly. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Lancer hummed non-committedly, hearing the line click as she signed off. He took a look around the school grounds, making a mental note to figure out who left their cars in the middle of the street on a Sunday during a ghost invasion. He looked up at the dark sky, frowning as he saw jagged pieces of Phantom's shield looking like it would fall.

"Mr. Lancer?"

The teacher turned at his name and his eyes widened in shock. Daniel Fenton was staggering over to him. He looked injured, tripping over his feet as wide blue eyes looked at him in alarm.

"War of the Worlds! Mr. Fenton, what are you doing out here?!" Lancer exclaimed, rushing over to the teen. They met in the middle, Danny falling into the teacher's arms with a small cry of pain. "What happened!?"

"I-" he started, looking around wildly. "The ghost - it attacked. My family - Mr. Lancer, my family!"

Lancer frowned worriedly; the boy was in hysterics. "Danny, I don't understand," he said slowly. "Deep breaths now. What about your family?" He tried to get the boy onto his feet but needed some support. "Why are you out here on your own?"

A look of confusion crossed the boy's face briefly, before it subsided. "He - that ghost," the boy started, seeming to calm down. "He went after all of us. I escaped but my family - they must still be there!"

Lancer looked the boy over - now that he was up close he saw no definite signs of injury, nor did he seem to show any illness that he claimed to have when he was last in school. Lancer frowned; the teacher had been subject to this boy's excuses for two years. Danny may lie, but when he was worried or concerned, you could hear it clearly in his voice. This? This seemed different. It was cold - distant.

"Where? Your parents have been fighting for hours around the city - I saw your mother not too long ago." He turned west, toward the park with a frown. "Are you sure they were captured?" The boy nodded earnestly. "Alright, let's get you to the Nasty Burger and then we can get to your family."

Danny frowned. "The Nasty Burger?"

Lancer let go of the teen, seeing that he was stable now, and headed toward the local hangout, beckoning the student to follow. "The nearest safe area?" he supplied, a questioning eyebrow raised in Danny's direction. Again, a brief look of confusion flashed across his face - Lancer could have sworn the boy's eyes were red - before it disappeared, the boy in question nodding in acceptance.

They walked in silence, Danny following the teacher closely as Lancer spared him another glance. Danny's eyes were darting around but he held a small smile that made the man's skin crawl.

Something was wrong.

"Hey Mr. Lancer?" Danny called out evenly. They locked eyes, Lancer giving a small nod inviting him to continue as he faced forward. "Whatever happened to the test I cheated on?"

Lancer bristled, surprised by the question. "I don't follow."

"You know? Last year?" the boy continued. There was something in his voice that Lancer couldn't place. "The C.A.T.?"

Mr. Lancer stopped, eyes widening and not turning around. He heard the boy do the same a short distance away. He swallowed slightly, licking his lips before he answered. "You didn't cheat on the C.A.T." he said calmly.

"Oh," Danny's voice was tart now, something more sinister underneath. "What happened to the answers then?"

The teacher's gasped slightly, getting unnerved at the line of questioning. "Danny… you gave those to me." He turned around to face his student, suspicion rising throughout his being. What did the Fentons say about overshadowing?

The teen's eyes were dark, a scowl plastered across his face at the answer. "You know," the boy said darkly, not hiding any malice in his voice. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." The teen's body started to glow, red eyes radiating heat around them. Mr. Lancer stumbled backward, trying to get away from whatever was possessing his student. "If you didn't bring my family to the Nasty Burger, telling them about that test… I would have never existed. I suppose I have to thank you."

What!? Lancer thought, mouth opening and closing as green energy started to swirl around the boy's body. "American Psycho!"

The ghost, laughed, mixing in with Danny's voice, unnerving the teacher. "Do you see it yet Mr. Lancer?" he asked sinisterly. "The resemblance? Come on - you're a smart man." The ghost moved toward him, making Lancer move backward to get away. "It's the end for you," the ghost said, smiling as his hand lit up with the same green energy that surrounded him. As it raised its hand in striking position, it gasped - a red vapour coming from its nose. It barely registered the sensation before a black and white blur slammed into the ghost with a yell. The blur stopped, hovering in front of teacher as the ghost was flown backward, skidding across the concrete.

Lancer let out a sigh of relief as Phantom turned around, looking at him worriedly. "Are you okay Mr. Lancer?" His voice was gruff and low, as if it took too much energy to keep speaking.

"Better thanks," he said, eyes still wide as he looked at the scowling ghost thrown back. Phantom's gaze followed, a grim expression washing across his face.

"Still alive, I see," the ghost snarled, staggering upright. It still unnerved the man that he was in his student's body.

Phantom's eyes narrowed. "You seriously need to chill out." Lancer watched as the teen hero's eyes turned blue, as did his hands as he sent a blast of ice toward Danny Fenton's body. As the boy froze, Phantom turned back to the teacher. "You need to get out of here," he said urgently, landing and bringing a hand to his chest. "Dan won't rest until he kills you."

Lancer thought he might throw up. Dan…. Like Daniel? "Me?!" he asked incredulously. The teacher shook his head. "No wait - what about Mr. Fenton?"

Phantom tensed, frowning at the teacher. "That isn't Danny Fenton," he said darkly. "And it never will be."

"Come again?" Mr. Lancer asked weakly, looking to the frozen figure a few feet away. His form seemed to be melting the ice.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Phantom pressed, facing the frozen ghost and holding his arm out protectively to stop the teacher from running over. "Think Mr. Lancer - when was the last time you saw Danny Fenton."

Lancer blinked at the question. "Friday," he answered, looking ahead. "And he was ill."

Phantom raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you really think the Fentons would let him out to fight ghosts if he was ill? He's still hold up at Fentonworks under the ghost shield." Dan broke through the ice with a roar, cutting off their conversation. Phantom's jaw set, eyes narrowing as Dan mirrored his stance. "Mr. Lancer - you need to get out of here. I don't know how long I can hold him back."

Two rings of white light appeared at the imposter's waist, transforming him in a larger, flame haired ghost. Lancer gasped, turning back to the younger ghost in front of him; the boy did not look well.

"Will you-" he started, but Phantom glanced backward, a side glare indicating that he over stayed his welcome. "Be careful." With one last warning, Lancer ran toward Casper High, the closest place away from the feuding ghosts.

:-=-:

As Mr. Lancer finally left, Danny allowed himself one moment of relief before glaring across at his older self. I need to get him out of the city, Danny thought frantically as Dan stalked over. The older Phantom was furious, running toward him with a wordless roar. Danny braced himself, going into a fighting stance before Dan reached him, blocking a punch to the face. Danny ducked, sweeping his injured leg with a wince, knocking Dan off his feet and punching the older ghost in the face. Dan recoiled, growling slightly as he launched at the teen again, tackling him to the ground.

Dan grinned as he pinned the younger Phantom to the ground, punching him repeatedly in the face. After the sixth punch, Danny managed to free an arm and with a grunt threw Dan off of him. He rolled over with a groan, coughing slightly as he attempted to stand, ignoring the small drops of ectoplasm coming from his face. He gasped suddenly, flipping back in the air as Dan came at him again with a flurry of punches. Danny dodged them all. Eventually, he found a small opening and punched Dan clean in the gut. It hit true, sending Dan flying backward with a grunt of pain.

Danny dropped to one knee, wincing heavily as he eyed his evil counterpart. "You won't win," Danny told him, breathing hard as he glared at the ghost in front of him.

Dan smirked as he got up, breathing equally as hard. "Really? I thought I already had?" he goaded. "Face it Danny, you're fighting a losing battle here. Either I waste you now or I wait until you run the clock out on yourself. You may have saved Lancer - for now - but how about our parents? Jazz?"

Danny's eyes lit up in anger as he stood up. Plan be damned. Danny breathed deeply and let out a desperate Ghostly Wail. It caught Dan by surprise, sending him back toward a shop with a crash. The wail didn't last long, Danny cutting it off with a strangled cry of pain as he dropped to his knees. One hand came to his burning throat, the other curled around his side as the rings of light attacked him again. That was stupid, Danny berated, gasping as green sparks of energy attacked his core.

He was exhausted, wondering how he would ever think of getting Dan to the forest now as he doubled over. "Come on," he grunted, trying to focus through the pain. "You're not done yet."

A crash from afar had his head whipping up. Dan flew upward, hands alight with ecto-energy racing toward him. The evil Phantom landed forcefully on the ground, creating a shockwave of energy outward from the impact. It hit Danny in the chest, sending him crashing into a light post. The boy shook his head, trying to clear it and stand up. Another round of sparks attacked him, keeping him grounded as Dan moved toward him.

"It's like I've said before," Dan said as he finally reached him. "I'm inevitable." He picked the boy up by the collar and flung him across the road, hitting one of the abandoned cars with a sickening crash. Danny groaned, moving slowly and glaring at Dan.

Suddenly, Dan stopped - a blank expression on his face. Danny barely had a chance to register it before something shifted. Dan contorted, looking more animalistic than he ever had. He bared his fangs, tongue hanging out and red encompassed his irises. He let out a roar - sonic waves coming out, making Danny fall again. The teen looked up with wide eyes, frozen in the face of sheer power coming from his evil self. The roar caused the car windows to explode outwards as they cracked, bits of rubble started to break apart from the ground; this was no wail. This was raw energy. Red eyes locked with green and with a vicious smile Dan teleported in front of Danny, grabbing the injured teen by the throat. The teen let out a cry of pain as he was choked for the third time that day.

"You told them?!" Dan hissed, his ghostly echo much deeper than it was normally.

Danny let out another cry of pain as he stared at his evil self with wide eyes. What?

"Our parents." Dan continued, eyes narrowing. "They know who we are… and they accepted it." He threw Danny roughly into another car, causing the car alarm to go off. Quickly, Dan flew over again, grabbing him by the arm and put a foot on the boy's back. He pushed Danny toward the ground, hearing the small gasps of pain the boy beneath made. With a dark grin he pulled Danny's arm upward and after a sickening pop, Danny's shoulder came out of his socket. He barely registered the younger's scream through his fury.

Dan snarled, letting go of his arm to grab a fist full of his hair. "You don't deserve their acceptance!" He growled. The evil Phantom hurled Danny in the air; hands alight with green energy and sent a strong ecto-blast toward him.

The blast hit him straight on and with a shout, Danny was sent flying backward. His back hit the school hard, bouncing off it slightly as he slid to the ground. He groaned, looking around blurredly in the direction of his future self. So much for getting him out of the city.

"Was the old man worth it Danny?" Dan jeered at him. Danny's hands curled into fists at the sound of the ghost's voice. "You're weakened and alone, my duplicates are taking care of the family and what are you going to do?" Danny's aura shone brighter in anger as his vision cleared. Dan was staring at him almost gleefully, white fangs shining eerily over the town ahead. He started to walk toward the downed teen, hands alighting in green ghost energy. "Your whole world is ending and you're powerless to stop it."

Danny's core throbbed angrily at those words, filling him almost to the edge with harsh electrical energy. His aura sparked to life again and with a quick change of colour in one of his eyes, Danny released a strong ecto-blast coated with electricity straight from his core. It hit its mark, making the ruthless Dan duplicate disappear with a wordless shout of surprise. Finally free of the onslaught, Danny whimpered slightly, sinking lower into the ground as raw green sparks racked his battered frame.

Why'd I think this was a good idea again? He thought bitterly, wincing as something burned at his side. He moved his good arm slowly, vaguely realizing that it was the same side he was hit earlier and swore as his white gloves were smeared with ectoplasm. Not good.

He fumbled slightly with his belt, ignoring the searing pain from his dislocated shoulder as he attempted to grab the Ecto-Enhancers. Come on! As he finally grabbed the pouch, his fingers twitched, sending the Ecto-Enhancers out of reach on the ground in front of him. Danny glared at the small pouch, trying to levitate it closer but pain erupted through his entire being, letting out strangled moan as his vision blackened.

"Help," he whispered desperately, pushing his injured vocal chords further. To his ears, it sounded like he was yelling. He closed his eyes, finding it too hard to keep them open. "Someone. Help."

His injuries and his exhaustion were finally starting to get to him. Vlad wasn't kidding - this sucks. He tried to move again before he was stopped by sharp pains shooting through his ribcage. Broken rib... great. The distance sounds around started to fade as started to lose consciousness.

Danny didn't know how much time had passed when heard hesitant footsteps. Here, he thought desperately. I'm over here. The footsteps got closer. A clang of metal then he heard a voice.

"Brave New World!"

:-=-:

Lancer thought wildly as he hid under his desk in his office. Ghost shield's broken; can't head for the Nasty Burger while those two are at it. More explosions shook the ground as the two ghosts clashed violently outside. Lancer swallowed thickly, glancing to the flashes of green that illuminated the office. Come on Phantom he thought desperately.

The glass shattered as another explosion echoed outside. The teacher shuddered, glancing at the exit as he heard voices yelling outside. If he got to the gym, at least there would be something he could use to defend himself. He crawled out from under his desk, dusting himself off before he gave the exit another glance.

Another crash, a car alarm and a scream reached his ears. The gym it is. The man took off. He made it down two hallways before the building shook in a terrible explosion. Lancer gasped, watching as some of the lockers broke away from the walls, falling into the hall and blocking the way he came. When the building stopped shaking, Lancer continued his journey. He made it to the equipment room, opened it with a shaking hand only to be blocked by equipment that had fallen over. Great. Lancer looked in the small opening of the doorway, reaching inside to grab the best weapon that he could find. His hand found something cold and metallic, which he withdrew very quickly. It was an old beaten golf club. Since when did we have a golf team!? Nodding slightly at the weapon, he glanced to Tetslaff's office. Frowning slightly, he opened the door, peering into it. Once he realized it was clear, he moved to enter it before stopping.

It was too quiet.

Lancer paused, listening for any sounds from the outside world. No explosions, no screams and no ground shaking. He breathed deeply, waiting for something… anything to give him a clue of what was happening. A few minutes passed before he let out a breath. It must be over. He turned back in the direction of his office, wincing as he assessed the damage. "Insurance better cover that," he muttered, turning back to the gym hallway. He was close to the parking lot exit - not the best escape route but better than a sitting duck.

Lancer made his way slowly, golf club at the ready, as he moved through the corridor. He stopped briefly as he passed a window, sucking in a breath at the debris littering the football field. Careful to avoid the broken glass, he continued, keeping a close ear for anything out of the ordinary. When he reached the door, he paused, frowning. The last time I was outside, Phantom and that other ghost were about to…what do the kids call it? Throw Out? Do I really want to go out there? The teacher listened again, waiting at the door for some sort of sign that it was safe. Did they move elsewhere? No explosions, no signs of any fight nearby. He waited a few more minutes before taking a deep breath and opened the door.

The whole block was destroyed; cars with dents, craters on the ground, a few fires here and there. Lancer's jaw dropped, staring at the utter destruction. Green eyes looked at a particular deep crater with smears of green across the pavement. He felt his body move before he was aware, carefully following the green substance through the parking lot until he saw something crumpled on what was left of the wall of the school.

Rather - someone.

Lancer had never seen Danny Phantom so still; the teen's body was littered in injuries. He had his eyes closed, breathing shallowly while he gripped his side. The green ectoplasm oozed out of his body, looking more and more like blood with every second. Lancer's grip on the golf club loosened, letting it fall with a clang onto the ground. Phantom flinched slightly, curling his fist.

"Brave New World!" the teacher exclaimed, eyes widening at the spectre in front of him. Lancer moved toward the boy, kicking a small black pouch with a familiar logo on its front. "What-" Lancer started, picking it up and glancing back toward Phantom. The man jumped, gasping as Phantom's luminous green eyes looked at him desperately. "Phantom - are you... is that…" Phantom's eyes moved toward the pouch, back toward the teacher and back down to the pouch. Lancer frowned, his gaze following Phantom's to the item in his hand. "You need this?" Lancer asked. The ghost opened his mouth to respond, only voicing a strangled gasp and a wince in pain. Phantom nodded slowly, looking at the teacher with a silent plea.

Lancer un-zipped the pouch as he moved to Phantom's side. The young ghost's eyes followed him, blinking heavily as if he would fall unconscious at any point. Lancer's eyes widened, looking at the glowing green syringes and then back to the teen. "Stay with me," Lancer said gently, ignoring his trembling hands and offered the syringes to Phantom. The ghost moved, attempting to take one before he closed his eyes with a grimace in pain. He swallowed, breathing heavily before he opened an eye and looked at Lancer. Lancer looked at the syringes, then back up to Phantom as he realized what the ghost was trying to ask him. "You want me to give this to you?" Lancer asked slowly. Phantom's eye closed, pushing his head back toward the wall of the school before he nodded. Lancer's frown deepened, taking one of the syringes out of the pouch. His hands were shaking still as he moved it towards the boy's arm. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, noting that his voice too was shaking. Phantom's eyes opened again, green meeting green as they tried to communicate. Finally, Lancer nodded, steadying his hand as he injected the contents of the mysterious glowing substance into the ghost.

Phantom's eyes closed, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as the syringe became empty. "Phantom?" Lancer asked softly. He didn't respond. A small sense of panic and worry shot through the teacher. "Phantom, are you alright?" Lancer moved a hand to the ghost's face, touching it gently as he tried to get Phantom to wake up. Please don't tell me I destroyed our town hero. "Phantom, can you open your eyes? You need to stay awake. You're losing too much… blood? Is that your blood?"

Phantom let out a short wheezy laugh which turned into a small fit of coughs. Once they subsided, he nodded, finally opening his eyes and locked onto the teacher. Lancer sighed in relief, falling back to lean on the school wall. "You have to stay awake - my first aid training only covers humans you know." Phantom sent him a quizzical look. "What? I'm a teacher in the most haunted city in America. You think I wouldn't know first aid?"

Phantom gave him a small smile. "'kay," he rasped, wincing.

Lancer frowned, noticing the dark bruises around the ghost's neck; the evil Phantom might have crushed the boy's vocal chords. He then looked to Phantom's side where his blood seemed to have slowed. Odd. "What did I do to you?" he asked quietly, trying to keep Phantom conscious.

Phantom made a face, attempting to speak but a small groan came out instead. He closed his eyes tiredly, breathing through the pain. "Heal," he managed after a while, his voice still raspy and low.

At least I know I won't kill him. "Okay," Lancer said, swallowing slightly. Green eyes looked over the injured hero, finding the dislocated shoulder. He frowned. Phantom may not be able to stay awake if I reset it. "Phantom?" The boy hummed in response, opening his eyes slowly. "Your shoulder is dislocated, I can fix it but you need to stay awake. Can you talk to me as I'm doing it?"

Phantom groaned. "Hurts," he ground out, grimacing as green sparks appeared at his waist. Lancer's eyes widened as they coursed through the boy for a few minutes before disappearing. Phantom's eyes closed, groaning again as he leaned heavily against the wall of the school. "Story," Phantom whispered weakly, eyes scrunched tight.

"Story?" Lancer repeated, furrowing his brow. "You want me to tell you a story?"

"Distract-" Phantom cut himself off with a gasp as more sparks moved through him.

Lancer swallowed as Phantom's body tensed through the pain. Distraction… he wants me to distract him. "Okay, but you need to pay attention," he said gently. "I've had enough students fall asleep in class - don't want to add you to the list."

Phantom smiled, a hint of amusement on his face. "Teacher…..Boring," he wheezed.

Lancer's eyebrows rose. "Are you calling me boring Phantom?" he asked with a smile. The smile faded as Phantom's jaw clenched and more sparks moved through him. "Okay, okay - I'll make it an interesting one," Lancer rushed. "You just stay with me alright?"

Phantom nodded, relaxing slightly. Lancer frowned, moving to Phantom's left to get closer to his arm. "Did you know I have a playbook to guilt students into studying?" Phantom's eyebrows rose, but didn't open his eyes nor respond. "It's true. In my years of teaching, I had to get creative. Besides, my students - thankfully - don't want to learn much about my social life and figured I could mess with them. Interesting enough for you?"

Phantom opened his eyes and looked at the teacher, inviting him to continue.

"I'll take that as a yes," Lancer said, gingerly taking Phantom's arm in one hand and placing the other on his shoulder. He had to time this right. "So my ultimate play works like a charm. See, I have a photo of my sister on my desk and lead the wayward students to believe I don't have enough time to see her since I spend most of the time tutoring students." Lancer had Phantom's attention now, the boy's eyes swimming with confusion. "Here's the thing Phantom," Lancer continued, prepping himself to move the shoulder back into place. "I don't have a sister." Phantom's eyebrows rose incredulously. Here goes. "That photo? It's of me on Drag night."

"Wha-OW" Phantom yelped hoarsely. Lancer moved quickly, putting the shoulder back in place. The teacher grinned sheepishly, watching Phantom's eyes close tightly as the pain moved through him, hissing through his teeth.

"Derek thinks it's hilarious that no one has figured it out," Lancer said quickly, attempting to have Phantom focus back on the story rather than his pain. "He's even offered to dress up as Edwina Lancer to sell it one of these days as a play on my middle name. I think perhaps Ms. Fenton figured it out but she's never said anything nor told her brother, which worked in my favour last year."

Phantom looked at the teacher with wide eyes, gasping as he attempted to process both the pain and the story. "Derek?" he asked with another grimace.

Lancer smiled softly. "My partner; he travels a lot for work so we only ever see each other on the weekends."

Phantom was quiet for a few minutes, breathing deeply through the pain. "Why this story?" Phantom asked finally, his voice sounding less wheezy as he moved to sit up straighter. Lancer helped steady him when he faltered.

Lancer shrugged. "I get to go home to him after all this is over, thanks to you." Phantom gave him a small smile. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Phantom throwing his head back against the wall of the school as he healed. It was Lancer who broke it. "Can I ask you a question?" Phantom turned to Lancer, nodding. "What was that ghost? He clearly did a number on you."

Phantom's smile disappeared, a dark haunted look drifting across his face. "Someone who shouldn't exist," he said quietly.

Lancer frowned at the response. "He said I created him," Lancer continued. "He wanted me dead."

Phantom shook his head. "You didn't," the teen assured, swallowing slightly. His voice was stronger now. "He's… a lot to explain." Phantom let out a long sigh. "Do you remember the C.A.T. last year?"

Lancer nodded, remembering the evil Phantom saying the same words.

"There was a timeline that caused some stuff to happen - really bad stuff," Phantom continued, shuddering slightly. "That combined with some really stupid choices on my part caused his existence. I defeated him once with some help, but he escaped."

"Sounds like a lot of time travel and alternate reality stuff," Lancer replied with a small smile.

"Kind of, yeah" Phantom said sheepishly. He swallowed again, pushing his head back against the wall and breathed deeply.

"Wait…" Lancer said, realizing something. "Is that why Danny Fenton turned in those answers? Because you asked him to?"

Phantom chuckled darkly. "Nah. He found out what would happen on his own; realized it was too high a cost."

Lancer frowned at the ghost's tone. Danny had been so relieved when he found out he could do the make-up test, showed up for detention on time and accepted it all in stride. In fact, he seemed like he expected more punishment than what was given. It took him months to realize that it wasn't so big of a deal once he came clean. "What cost was that?"

Phantom shuddered. "You really don't want to know," he said cryptically.

Lancer tried to reply, but was interrupted by a faint explosion in the distance. Phantom's head moved toward the sound, face hardening. The teacher frowned as he saw Phantom's eyes clouding in thought and concern. "You're not healed completely, are you?"

"No." Phantom's curt reply came with a frown. They sat in silence again, a few more explosions coming drifting to their ears before a light sparked in his eyes. "Do you have your cell phone?" Lancer frowned, taking out the older flip phone and showed it to the ghost. "I have an idea - can you call FentonWorks?

"FentonWorks?" Lancer repeated.

Phantom nodded, shifting slightly with a wince. "Yeah - they're supposed to have the ghost shield up soon."

Lancer furrowed his brow, but dialled the familiar number nonetheless. Phantom gave him a stiff nod before he leaned back against the brick with closed eyes. It rang twice before an automated message erupted through the speakerphone.

"You've reached FentonWorks!" Jack Fenton's voice boomed. "If this is a ghost related emergency, please stay on the line - or holler! We're probably there already. For the fudge watch, please press 1, if you're the V-man - HI VLADDIE! - press 2, if you're trying to reach my Jazzy-pants for a date hang up -"

"Dial 4304," Phantom told him. "Jack goes on a while, and that extension goes to the lab."

Lancer gave him a look of bemusement and did what he was told. It rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello?" he said.

Various voices filled the other line, too far and mumbled in the background for the teacher to make out. Lancer frowned, looking at Phantom for some guidance. Phantom's brow was furrowed in thought, perhaps trying to figure out the voices, but said nothing. Eventually, a voice got closer.

"What do you mean you don't know who's on the phone?" a young man's voice asked. Lancer didn't hear the reply. "Did you answer it?" again, the reply was too quiet to hear. "Clockwork, you're the Master of - for the love of all things technology Frostbite don't touch that!" Phantom grinned- actually grinned - as the voice continued to berate Frostbite for touching something called a 'Ghost Gabber'.

"What exactly is going on?" Lancer asked meekly. Phantom shrugged in response, still smiling.

"Check the infirmary for more gauze - Mrs. F has them stacked," the young man's voice continued, getting louder as he got to the phone. Lancer frowned, finally recognizing that he knew this voice. "You've reached FentonWorks Base Operations."

"Sound and the Fury - Mr. Foley?!" Lancer exclaimed. "What are you doing down there?"

"Mr. Lancer?" Tucker asked in disbelief. "What - you know what, never mind. The Fentons have me manning coms while they're out 'kicking ghost butt.' What's wrong - there's kind of a lot going on at the moment."

Lancer raised an eyebrow at the teen's tone. "More than whatever evil ghost we're facing demolishing the entire town? Or rather the school?"

"What!?" Tucker exclaimed. "Damn, he must have duplicated again without us knowing. You okay Mr. Lancer? How did you escape?"

Lancer went to reply, but Phantom chose to intervene. "Tuck," he said.

Tucker was quiet for a few moments before he spoke in a soft, hopeful whisper. "Danny!?"

Phantom smiled. "It's me." Lancer looked between the phone and the ghost in slight confusion. There was something more there that he wasn't privy to. Were these two friends!?

"Dude - where the hell have you been!?" Tucker asked incredulously, the relief evident in his voice. Definitely friends. "Are you okay?" the boy cut himself off. "No - wait Danny! Sam -"

"Is fine," Phantom told him firmly. "She's with Ethelwulf, safe and away from battle."

Tucker scoffed. "You do realize that Ethelwulf is currently holding off Dan's forces from entering parts of the city right? If she's with him, you know she's fighting too."

Phantom sighed, clearly amused. "So much for plan A then," he replied.

Sam… wait. "You're not talking about Sam Manson!?" Lancer exclaimed. His outburst went ignored.

"Danny, what happened," Tucker pressed. "You've been gone for - holy f - twelve hours. Please don't tell me you've been fighting all this time." Phantom was silent and Lancer had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what had happened. Tucker seemed to agree with the teacher. "Dude. Are you okay?"

Phantom's face twisted in concentration as he tried to answer the boy's question. "I - honestly I don't know."

Tucker was silent on the line for a minute before he responded. "Where are you?"

Phantom seemed to be taken aback by the question. "Tuck -" he started.

"Don't you dare lie to me right now," Tucker said angrily. "Danny - where are you." When Phantom didn't respond, the boy changed tactics. "Mr. Lancer - where are you two?"

Phantom gave him a pleading look, making the teacher frown but he answered nonetheless. "Casper's north parking lot Mr. Foley. Near the entrance."

"Tucker - you can't come out here," Phantom pleaded. "You're the only one who can -"

"Figure out the shield, I know," Tucker finished. There were some keys clicking in the background. "But I'm not leaving you out there."

Phantom frowned. "We may not have a choice," he said cryptically as blue and green sparks appeared again. Lancer was impressed at how well the boy weathered them now. "How close are you with the shield?"

Tucker sighed. "I'd say about 90% positive that I accounted for all the variables, but I'm not using it until we know that you aren't affected. We can hold Dan off until that point."

Phantom grunted in acknowledgement but did not reply right away. Lancer frowned at the quiet ghost, watching him in anticipation. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Phantom broke the silence. "You said Dan duplicated," he said quietly. "How're - "

"They're okay," Tucker assured him. "Well, your - Mr. and Mrs. Fenton are. I haven't heard from Jazz but I think Mrs. F went after her. Mr. Fenton went to find you."

Phantom nodded, eyes glancing above toward the last remnants of the green shield. "90%?" he asked. Lancer noted with unease how the boy seemed to glow slightly in anticipation, how he tested the movements of his fists, wincing only slightly if he found something a little sore.

"Yeah," Tucker confirmed. A beat of silence before Tucker gasped. "No. No way."

"Tucker," Phantom said tiredly. "90% is a lot. It's more than we had - and we need that shield."

"No," Tucker repeated quickly. "Don't ask me to do this."

"What are you talking about?" Lancer asked, confused.

Tucker sighed. "Danny, if I put up that shield and we're wrong, I'm going trap you out there. I can't - hell, you look awful."

Both Phantom and Lancer bristled, the former's eyes darting around before finding the surveillance camera near the school entrance. The boy let out a soft "oh", then sighed. Lancer's eyes followed Phantom's as he pieced everything together.

The teacher frowned disapprovingly. "Mr. Foley," he started evenly. "You didn't just hack into the school cameras, right?"

"Technically speaking - no," Tucker replied, a hint of guilt coming through his voice. "The mayor gave the Fentons access to all the cameras in the city."

"And how, exactly, did you know which camera it was?" Lancer asked.

"… I plead the fifth."

Lancer sighed. "Of course you do."

Phantom let out a fast stream of air through his nose before he stared straight into the camera in question. "Tucker, you need to put up the Ghost Shield; if you do, I can take mine down. It'll send Dan and his forces out of the city."

"With you out there like a lamb to slaughter?" Tucker countered. Lancer made a small noise of approval at the simile.

"Look - if I'm stuck out there, I'll have Ethelwulf and Sam out there with me." Phantom smiled ruefully. "Besides, there's something going on with my core. Even if we were at 100% there'd be a chance this wouldn't work."

"So you're saying regardless of whatever we do, I need to let you go out there injured? Fat chance."

"Tucker -"

"No Danny, you listen!" Tucker shot back angrily. "You're my best friend! Don't ask me to do this - it's literally life and death here."

"Don't you mean death and death?" Phantom joked.

"I'm not making this call," Tucker stated firmly, ignoring the small attempt deflection. "You asked me to put up that shield as part of a plan - that plan did not include you sacrificing yourself to save us."

"And what about the town?" Phantom shot back. Phantom's aura flared as he argued with the camera. "What about all the ghosts that Dan pushed out of the Ghost Zone? That shield can protect everyone in Amity and more importantly - I trust you Tucker. You always have my back."

Lancer sat in the silence that followed with his thoughts racing at what he heard. Mr. Foley saying that Phantom was his best friend confirmed Ms. Manson's involvement - meaning that Mr. Fenton must also be involved.

With ghosts. His students were involved with ghosts.

What was even more peculiar was Mr. Foley's hesitancy in his skills. Lancer knew he was a strong student - even stronger when technology was involved - but the oozing self confidence that normally accompanied his skills was nowhere to be seen. It must be dire if he's this unsure.

Phantom looked away from the camera and to the phone still in Lancer's hand. His eyes held a sad resolve as he spoke. "You told me you'd see my self-sacrificing ass from a mile away - I promise you that's not what this is. I'll be back Tucker. We need to get Dan out of the city, then I'll meet up with Ethelwulf and Sam in the forest. Ethelwulf will teleport us back. Tucker - if we get this shield up, I can actually recover."

Tucker sighed. Lancer assumed the young hero was getting through to his student. "What did Sam say?" When Phantom didn't answer, Tucker tried again. "Danny - you and I both know that Sam would not go along with that plan willingly. Especially if you looked half as bad as you do now. So what did you have to say to get her to agree to this plan?"

Lancer watched in slight amusement as Phantom looked flustered and slightly embarrassed by the question. It was almost as if … wait - could it be?

"I told her I'd come back," Phantom replied simply. His eyes avoided the camera, phone and teacher.

"That's it?" Tucker pressed. Lancer suddenly noticed the teasing shift in tone.

"Well - it was more how I said it rather than what I said."

Tucker suddenly laughed, making Phantom scowl. "Dude. You told her, didn't you?" he asked slyly.

Lancer watched Phantom sputter embarrassingly, making a lot of denial noises and looking very uncomfortable. Oh Mr. Fenton - you missed your chance.

Another loud explosion brought them back to reality. Phantom swallowed, any form of embarrassment gone as he tried to reason with the teen. "I get why you don't want to make the call Tuck," Phantom started. "I do - so let's do this together. Put up the shield and I'll be back. Promise."

There was a long silence before they heard Tucker exhaled loudly. "Okay," he replied softly. "I trust you."

Phantom smiled softly. "You're my best friend too, you know."

"I know. Hey Danny -" Tucker stopped, his voice cracking.

"Me too," Phantom said gently. He glanced back at the camera and nodded. "I'll be back."

"Good," Tucker told him, any emotion in his voice was replaced with a happier, joking tone. "Because if you miss my birthday next week cause you died, I'm running up your tab at the Nasty Burger."

Lancer watched as a genuine smile came across Phantom's face at the abrupt shift in tone. "The usual?" he asked.

"With extra everything," Tucker confirmed. More key clicks. "I'll get the shield up in 5 minutes. Be careful."

With a soft click, the line disconnected. Phantom sighed and looked at the teacher. "Thanks Mr. Lancer," he said, pushing himself upward. Lancer scrambled upward to help, but the teen simply jumped in the air and hovered in place. "Thanks to you, we can get that shield up and protect the town. And for you know… not letting me bleed out all over the parking lot."

Lancer frowned, looking the boy over. "Why do I feel that Mr. Foley was right? That going back into a fight like this would do you more harm than good?"

Phantom smiled, shrugging with one shoulder. "Probably because he is," he replied simply. "Besides, I'm not fighting alone. Between the Fentons, the Shield and my allies, we got a pretty good shot of getting him out of Amity Park. This will work."

Lancer nodded. "I can't stop you then?" he asked. Phantom shook his head. "Then perhaps a reminder, Danny Phantom, that Amity Park is with you."

With a determined nod and a small smile, Phantom disappeared. Lancer sighed heavily, looking down at the spot Phantom occupied just a moment ago. He knelt down, picking up the discarded pouch with one syringe left in it. Pocketing it with a frown, he then took out the Walkie Talkie. "Tetslaff - it's me. I'm on my way over. And do I have a story for you."

[acnelli]

A Moment of Truth

My second entry for Ron’s Chessboard Fest 2021.

Pairing: Ron/Harry

Rating: T

Prompt 13: A Moment of Truth

Summary: Harry ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. But the Boy-Who-Lived is determined to make it right again.

Thanks again to TheUltimateUndesirable and to the best beta @accio-broom!

This story is kind of a follow up to the fic Thinking About You by Solstice Muse. You don't have to read that story to understand mine, but I highly recommend getting on LiveJournal and befriending Solstice Muse for their amazing stories. Pure talent, believe me! I also got permission from the author to write my story based on theirs.

You can also read this story on AO3 & FFN.

Harry wondered if he had ever felt more alone in his life as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. If he would’ve thought about it hard enough, he might’ve remembered several instances where he felt just as lonely, but Harry simply didn’t possess the strength right now.

Ron left him.

The  thing he would miss the most left him, and the only person he could blame for it was himself. It took the better part of the last two weeks for Harry to realise it and all of yesterday to really accept that ugly truth.

The day Ron had walked out of their flat was nothing but a giant blur. He had drunk himself into a stupor, and if the broken mirrors were any indication, he pretty much had lost it. When he woke up the next morning, violently retching into the toilet, he called in sick and just went to bed again.

Although he had gone to work the following days, he floo called his PR manager, telling Liam to cancel all events for the time being, offering a half-arsed explanation and reminding him that it was  his  job to make up stories for him.

Harry had appeared at work as early as possible and left for home when the cleaning staff threw him out of his office. He didn’t want to return to the vacant flat, Ron-free and, therefore, absolutely miserable. But he was also trying to avoid Arthur, Percy and Hermione. Especially, Hermione.

Harry’s favourite pastime these last two weeks had been to curse and blame Hermione for all of this. She had obviously waited outside that day, escorting Ron to her parents’ place where she lived at the moment. Harry had watched them through their living room window as they walked hand in hand to the next apparation point.

Everything had been fine, after all, hadn’t it? Taking his manager’s advice to feed the monster to protect his actual private life and his loved ones from the press, he had found his celebrity life rather comfortable and even enjoyable. After years of Harry having been announced to be Bachelor of the Year, rumours started to form about why he had still been single. Together with his manager, he worked out a way to lure the press away from the truth, and there hardly had been an instance anymore where Harry wasn’t accompanied by one beautiful witch or another. Events and parties full of photographers did not bother him anymore as long as they only captured him socialising and having fun. Almost every day, the papers had a story to tell about him, but never about who he really had gone home to. Never about Harry being gay and him being madly in love with his best mate.

Most of the time, he concentrated on this feeling of betrayal and silently cursed Ron and Hermione for wanting him to come out officially. Didn’t they see how intrusive and destructive the press had been all his life? Didn’t they see how dangerous this could be for Ron? For himself?

But deep-down, Harry knew it wasn’t like that. Ron would never demand Harry come out. The only thing Ron wanted from him was the freedom to live his own life out in the open. It had been a perfect situation for Harry these past months; working, going to parties and then coming home to Ron.

But for Ron, it hadn’t been perfect.

Harry remembered that horrible night when he came home from some Ministry ball, only to find a note telling him Ron went out with Hermione to some Muggle gay club in London and that he doesn’t have to stay up should he come home earlier than Ron.

Shame and guilt threatened to choke Harry when he thought about his terrible actions that night. Harry had seen red the second he read the words  Muggle gay club, immediately assuming some dirty fuck will try to steal his Ron.

When he finally found them, he watched Ron and Hermione dancing like there was no tomorrow, looking absolutely ridiculous, but like they had the time of their lives. He watched Ron having fun, smiling like Harry hadn’t seen him smile in a very long time. He watched as Ron got approached by a very handsome Muggle and Hermione finding herself another dance partner, winking at Ron. He watched Ron turn the man down. And he stopped watching when that fucker ignored it and tried to kiss him. Before Ron had the chance to shove him away, Harry forced himself between them and snarled into the muggle’s face to fuck off, seconds away from beating the shite-eating grin out of him.

Harry knew now that this night must have been the turning point for Ron because after screaming at Hermione for luring Ron into that gay club, he completely lost it on his boyfriend. They had a terrible row that night, but Ron had forgiven him once more.

All feelings of betrayal got soon replaced by guilt. Over and over again, he recalled Ron’s wounded expression every time Harry asked him to not join him for one party or another, Ron’s anger and hurt when Harry exploded on him the few times Ron had gone out for the night without him or asked more than accusing questions afterwards. He imagined himself at these parties, having fun, drinking and talking about Quidditch most of the time. And then he imagined Ron, sitting alone in their flat, waiting for Harry to come home, just as alone as he was now. Ron wasn’t happy anymore, but Harry had refused to listen to his words and see Ron’s misery.

He suddenly hated himself — not just hurting his lover but also his best mate. Harry most likely ruined the most wonderful and perfect thing in his life and probably killed any chance to get Ron back. Maybe he even bollocked up their friendship for good, just like he had with all his other friendships if all the declined Birthday invitations Ron sent out before their break-up were any indication. Hermione always had been very vocal about what she thought about Harry’s treatment of Ron, and he just had been too deliberately blind and busy to notice everyone turning away from Harry.

That’s why he lay in bed. All alone. On his Birthday.

The only guest he had today had been Ginny, bringing him a little basket with some snacks Mrs Weasley prepared for him. She had been smart enough to not wish him a Happy Birthday.

While Ron hadn’t asked him to come out of the closet, Harry wanted to keep Ron inside it. He should’ve known better than anyone what it means to be hidden away for being different from the rest, for a dirty secret not allowed to get out. This comparison with the Dursleys made him hate himself even more.

If he wanted to have a real shot at getting Ron and his friends back, Harry had to clean up his own life first. Slowly, he got out of bed, determined to get a long overdue shower. Before he went into the bathroom, though, Harry summoned some parchment and a quill, writing a short note and a rather long letter (for Harry’s standards anyway).

He quickly delivered the note to his manager’s assistant through a short floo call, telling her it was urgent.

His owl Athena nibbled on some owl treat he gave her while Harry tied the letter to one of her claws. “Alright, Athena,” he said, his voice unusually wavering, “please, deliver this letter as fast as possible, okay? And make sure Hermione reads it.”

*******

Ron was well aware of Hermione’s worrying glances in his direction.

They both sat on Hermione’s bed, with their backs leaning against the headboard as Ron distracted himself with the wonder that is a television, and his best friend unsurprisingly reading a book beside him. He was glad she didn’t force him to talk about his feelings right now.

Over the last two weeks, Hermione had gone out of her way to keep Ron from thinking and worrying about Harry. An impossible task, really, but she did such a great job of trying to cheer him up and even succeeding sometimes that Ron often felt overwhelmed by the need to hug her.

Today though, Hermione knew Ron couldn’t be kept from thinking about Harry. It was the last day of July, after all, and Harry’s Birthday. And it would be the first Birthday since Harry turned 17 that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t be with him. It would be the first Birthday in the last four years that Harry and Ron weren’t a couple anymore.

In the moment, sadness and hurt seemed to choke him, and he wondered if Harry had even considered them a couple in the first place. Right at the beginning, when they started dating after some unbelievably awkward confessions of feelings, it had been like a dream come true. Finally, the times of mutual pining had been over, replaced by a sense of such content and happiness that Ron often had woken up in the morning, sure it all just had been a dream. A second later, though, with Harry’s arm around him, reminded Ron that it was genuine.

Despite Ron missing Harry terribly, he knew it was the right decision to move out. For the sake of his own sanity and happiness, he had to leave Harry. Ron knew that Harry loved him more than anyone else. It had taken him a long time to realise that sometimes, love wasn’t enough.

Hermione wrote a short letter to Harry this morning, wishing him a Happy Birthday. They both signed it, deciding it would be best if they sent one letter together. The other day he floo called Ginny, asking her to check on Harry today because Ron knew that his best mate wasn’t fine. None of all these parties, charity Quidditch matches and Ministry galas could change that. At least, not after two weeks. A very selfish part of Ron hoped it never would.

Ron was about to suggest to Hermione to grab some ice cream when Harry’s owl tapped on the window glass, wildly flapping her wings. Instead of letting Athena in, Hermione looked at Ron with her eyebrows furrowed but with a questioning look directed at him.

Letting out a deep sigh, Ron stood up and opened the window. The owl flew inside, flying straight towards Ron’s opened and still not fully unpacked trunk. Landing gracefully on top of one of Ron’s bright orange Canon t-shirts, she lifted the claw the letter was tied to and hooted loudly at…Hermione?

“Well, it’s yours, apparently,” Ron said, pointing at the cream-coloured envelope. “Maybe he just wants to say thank you for the Birthday wishes.”

“Ron, you know th–“

“Please, just open it, Hermione.”

Her brown eyes held the kind of anxiety he felt too, but she still freed Athena from the letter and gave her an owl treat. Apparently, the bird got the order to make sure Hermione read the letter, as Ron knew that she would’ve been long gone after receiving her treat.

“Are you really sure, Ron?” Hermione asked, looking up from the unusually thick letter, “Will you promise me to not floo over, right away? Regardless of what that letter might say.”

He slowly nodded at her, his gaze fixed on Harry’s letter. This certainly wasn’t a simple ‘Thank You’ note, and the fact Harry wrote such a long letter at all scared him to the point of pure panic.

“Please, open the letter, Hermione.” If it was because of his panicked voice or Hermione’s own curiosity what the letter might say, Ron couldn’t tell, but she finally opened the envelope, took out the note and held it in a way both of them could read it.

Dear Hermione,  

First of all, I’m sorry for any potential annoyance Athena might have caused, but I told her not to leave before you have read this letter.  

What I have to tell you is crucial for both you and Ron. I know you will show Ron this letter right away; maybe he is even reading it with you right now. But this letter is actually primarily for you. What I want to tell Ron, I have to tell him in person, and maybe after today, he’ll give me a chance to hear me out.

Hermione, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for all the reasons you expect me to be sorry for, but I’m also sorry for letting our friendship crumble and fall apart. I had been so angry at you for stealing Ron. Stealing him, like he is some kind of possession to lose. The last two weeks, I was consumed by this unreasonable rage that I thought was gone after Tom Riddle’s soul left me forever. Yes, it took me two weeks to finally realise that you just were a good friend to Ron.  

Because a good friend is what you are. And I know you tried to be a good friend to me for the longest time. I took you for granted. Just like I took Ron for granted and everyone else I turned away from during last year. I turned into a horrible person without noticing it, or rather, refusing to acknowledge it. And because of that, I also turned into an awful friend.  

I could blame many things for my behaviour, like fame or the press or my manager or my childhood. But after taking a hard look at myself, I concluded that I can’t blame anyone or anything for this but me.  

Before I even try to make it right with all of you, before I can look into Ron’s eyes again, I have to sort out my life first. Actually, I’ll start to do this today.  

Both of you have to up your security. Use any charm you can think of. I doubt you will be in any serious danger, but I have no idea what kind of reaction this will cause. It’s best if you stay away from Diagon Alley tomorrow. I won’t mention Ron’s name, of course, but expect journalists trying to corner the two of you for interviews.  

Do you remember the beach cottage we celebrated my 19th Birthday? I will spend the whole day there tomorrow. Would you and Ron join me? I have a lot to say.  

Love,

Harry

A heavy silence fell over Ron and Hermione when they both finished reading Harry’s letter. Hermione slowly folded the parchment and laid it down on her nightstand before looking up at Ron with wide eyes.

Ron didn’t know what to say, let alone what to think of this. Harry did not outright say it, but the indication was clear enough. Whether he’ll write an official statement or give a press conference, Harry planned to come out today.

Wasn’t this what Ron wanted? For Harry to not give a flying fuck what the rest of the world would think about him? For finally being able to live a life out in the open?

But instead of feeling relieved and happy, he felt an old terror creeping up his neck. Like in a trance, he sat down on the bed again and stared at Harry’s letter. Ron ran his hands over his face and groaned from the overwhelming sensation of guilt and anxiety washing over him. Did he force Harry to do this? Did he force Harry to expose himself to the nasty side of the public?

Soft hands tugged on Ron’s arms until he was forced to look up. Hermione knelt in front of him, a determined look in her warm, brown eyes. “What do you want to do now?” She asked, lightly caressing Ron’s cheek.

“Well, the letter was for you…” Ron joked, his attempt to lighten the mood earned him one of Hermione’s trademark eye-rolls. “Fuck, Hermione, I have no idea. What if Harry is just doing this because he’s hurt?”

“Harry always acts impulsively,” Hermione answered in a thoughtful tone, “but his words sound sincere to me. And as he said in his letter, he really needs to sort out his life.”

“He shouldn’t have to come out though for that.”

“No, he doesn’t have to do this. But for his own sake, I really think it’s the right way to go.”

“I can try to get a hold of him and check how he’s doing if you want me to,” Hermione added when Ron didn’t respond.

“You would do that?” Ron looked down at her once more, feeling grateful to have Hermione by his side.

“Of course,” Hermione stood up from her kneeling position to sit beside Ron and took his hand into hers, “But Ron, just because Harry is doing this doesn’t mean you have to go back to him. I’ll support you, no matter how you decide, but please promise me you won’t let yourself get treated like that again. I don’t want to see you getting hurt like that anymore.”

He smiled at her and softly squeezed her hand. “I promise, Hermione. But I think I can’t just continue as if nothing happened. Not so soon, anyway.”

“Good,” Hermione stood up and went over to Ron’s suitcase where Athena still sat, looking expectantly at them, “Come on, Athena. I bring you back to Harry.” The owl hooted at her as if in protest but still flew up to Hermione’s right shoulder.

“Hermione?” Ron said before she could disapparate.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

*******

The press room of his manager’s company resembled a cozy living room rather than the place he held all his important meetings. Aside from the chairs for the reporters and photographers and the speaker’s stand at the front, it was decorated like a room he would suspect to find in some Lord’s castle. It had an impressive fireplace, a golden chandelier and was decorated with several large paintings and fancy looking rugs.

As Harry took a quick look into the press room from the door that led to Liam’s office, he saw that some news outlets had sent their reporters early. They clearly expected big news from him, considering the last and only press conference he gave had been the one right after the war. Harry was sure they thought he would announce an engagement. It was the obvious conclusion, and if he wouldn’t have been in such a grave mood, he maybe could’ve found it amusing to imagine their faces after he gave his statement.

You’ll see their reactions soon enough, Harry thought.

Despite what he was going to do in less than ten minutes, he felt strangely calm. It could’ve been the years of experience handling the press, but Harry knew this wasn’t the case. Talking about the Quidditch Cup final or the latest decision of the Wizengamot was one thing. Telling the world he was gay was something else entirely.

No, Harry’s calmness didn’t come from years of navigating the press, but rather Hermione’s visit an hour ago. She didn’t say much, just that Ron wanted him to know he didn’t have to do this. And she made it very clear this outing wasn’t a safe ticket to get Ron back. He told her that all he had said to her in the letter was true and that he needed to do this for himself more than anything else.

Hermione had simply nodded and turned around to floo home, but she had stopped in her tracks.

“Be safe,” She said softly, without turning around. Not waiting for an answer, she stepped inside the fireplace, leaving behind the orange flames dancing inside it.

Hope sparked inside his heart because, obviously, Ron and Hermione still cared and tried to look out for him. Even if he ruined every chance of a relationship with Ron, not all seemed lost considering Harry’s friendship with his two best friends.

“Are you ready?” Liam’s voice came from behind him. The short, grey-haired wizard stepped up beside Harry, looking up at him with his ever-professional mask of indifference.

“Ready,” Harry answered, testing his voice, glad it sounded strong and unwavering.

Without missing a beat, Harry’s manager opened the dark, wooden door, and the two of them walked to the podium. Several cameras flashed already when Harry cast  Sonorous  at himself. The room was filled with at least one journalist and a photographer from every news outlet in Magical Britain.

The news of Harry Potter being gay was going to spread like wildfire.

“Good evening,” Harry started to speak, his amplified voice quieting down the low chatter of the audience. He planned to make this short, wishing to be back at his flat already.

“I’m here to inform you that I won’t be attending any official events for the rest of the year.” The voices grew louder again, but Liam stopped the chatter by simply raising his hand. The way this short man managed crowds never ceased to amaze Harry.

“This is simply a way for me to get my life back on track, and I know I need this time for myself in the upcoming months. I-”

“Mr Potter,” Rita Skeeter interrupted, her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill and a parchment hovering in the air beside her, “Does your-”

“Mrs Skeeter, I don’t remember my manager giving you permission to ask questions,” Harry cut her off, trying very hard to not let her admire his middle finger. “And if you wish to attend this press conference until the end, I advise you to not interrupt me again.”

Raising an eyebrow at him but otherwise remaining silent, Rita sat down again, her quill still scribbling wildly. Harry knew he would pay for this. He was just about to give her the perfect ammunition, after all.

“I could just leave it at that. It would definitely prevent my manager from being forced to read through a lot of hate-mail, and it would spare me from having to hide from the public for a while. But these past months, my relationship with the press and official events destroyed everything I really hold dear. And no, I don’t blame you for this. You intruded on my life more than once, but what I have let my life become is entirely my fault. That’s why I have to make the reason for my retreat public. Before I reconcile with the people I hurt, I have to make it right with myself, first and foremost.”

Complete silence settled over the room. Not a single whisper could be heard, and even Rita Skeeter’s quill stopped scribbling, simply hovering beside the witch.

Harry closed his eyes for a brief second as his heartbeat threatened to beat out of his chest. It was now or never, so Harry took one last deep breath, and then, he finally told the world the truth.

“I’m gay.”

*******

A gentle breeze greeted Ron and Hermione when they apparated to the beach Harry mentioned in his letter. The slight wind felt like a relief compared to the stuffy heat in the city. Hermione could only shake her head at Ron for complaining about the hot days, given how rare they were in London.

They could already see the small cottage from their apparation point, the security charms still allowing them to notice it and enter its wards. It was a short walk to the small wooden cabin, but it was enough time for Ron to break out in a sweat.

Yesterday night they had heard about Harry’s press conference on the radio. The news station recited his speech word by word before analyzing it, also word by word, and taking wild guesses on which wizards were most likely to be a past or present love interest of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry’s words kept repeating in Ron’s mind, making him feel guilty, relieved and sad, all at the same time. More than anything else, he wanted to know how Harry felt about all of this, but at the same time, he feared what Harry might expect from Ron now.

With a gentle wave of his wand, Ron alerted Harry of their presence, and a second later, he walked out of the cottage. His black hair looked even wilder than usual, fitting his red-rimmed eyes and the wrinkled shirt he was wearing.

Despite Harry's ruffled appearance, Ron immediately felt a pang of deep longing inside his chest. All he wanted to do right now was to run his hands over Harry's five o’clock shadow and kiss away the dark bags under these brilliantly green eyes.

Instead, he just stood in front of Harry, willing his heart and mind to slow down.

After what felt like an awfully long time of awkward silence, Harry cleared his throat. “Would- would you like to come in?”

“I won't come in with you,” Hermione answered, and before Harry could protest, she turned to Ron, “We'll meet at Neville’s at 7?”

“But Hermione, I want to talk to you too.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione looked back at him, her lips tightly pressed together, “But I think you should talk to Ron first. Alone.”

Ron could see Harry didn't expect this. He probably prepared a whole speech for Hermione and was now at a loss for words after her announcement.

“We will talk, just the two of us. And I will try to rebuild our friendship, regardless of what Ron might decide for himself.” Hermione paused for a brief moment and took a step closer towards Harry. “But should Ron decide to give your relationship another chance, remember that our friendship will stand and fall on how you treat him. I won't watch one of my best friends hurt the other again.”

And as if to make a point, she took her wand out of its holster, gripping it tightly. Without waiting for Harry's response, though, Hermione quickly squeezed Ron's hand before turning around and disapparating with a quiet plop.

“I really wanted to talk to her,” Harry sighed, weaving a hand through his unruly hair.

“How are you?” Ron asked instead of saying something about Hermione's decision to keep out of this conversation.

Apparently surprised about Ron's sudden change of topic, Harry looked at him with a puzzled expression. A second later, though, his gaze softened, and Ron squirmed under the longing Harry's eyes held.

“Better than I thought I would be” Harry took a small step closer.

“You didn’t have to-”

“I know,” Harry quickly interrupted him rather loudly, and with a much quieter voice, he said, “I know. But I wanted to. I needed to do this.”

Ron nodded and stared at his feet, not knowing what else he could say right now.

“Would you like to sit in the backyard? I have some beer and coke in the fridge.”

“Sure. I'll take the coke.” Ron didn't trust himself to not throw all resolve into the wind if he drank something stronger than Butterbeer. Booze combined with Harry's toned legs on full display on this hot summer day? Ron wouldn't take any chances.

Five minutes later, the two of them found themselves sitting on the small porch, overlooking the ocean. The sea was calm today, and the sound of the waves lulled them into a companionable silence.

Ron couldn't tell how much time had passed when Harry finally started to speak. He told Ron about his past two weeks—all the feelings he went through, from fiery anger over crippling guilt to unbelievable longing. He talked about how much he had hated himself and how this feeling shrank to a tiny flame after yesterday's coming out. And when Harry looked at Ron, telling him he was sorry and he was well aware Ron most likely couldn't see a meaning anymore behind his apologies, a single tear escaped Harry’s eye.

Ron wanted nothing more than to brush it away, but he didn't. Instead, he braced himself for what he needed to tell Harry.

“Harry, I-,” Ron sat up a little straighter, making sure to look Harry in the eyes, “I need time. I need time for myself, at least, for a while. I realised that I stopped being my own person in the last months of our relationship, and like you, I have to find my way back to myself.”

“I obviously want you back, Ron,” Harry's shoulders slumped down a little from the disappointment, but at the same time, Ron thought he saw something like resolve shining behind his green eyes, “But I'll be happy as long as you let me be a part of your life. Maybe- maybe we could just hang out for a while. Just as friends. Go to the pub, watch a Quidditch match, stuff like that.”

Ron gave him a small smile. “That sounds good.”

They didn't say anything else after that. The sun wasn't ready to set yet, but its late afternoon glow gave the sea a beautiful reflection.

At some point, Harry's hand that lay between them on the wooden bench accidentally bumped against Ron's. Harry jolted and wanted to pull his hand away, but Ron stopped him. He softly grazed over Harry's wrist with his fingertips, eliciting a small sigh from him. Ron watched as his hand interlaced their fingers; Harry's olive scarred skin against his pale, freckled and equally scarred skin. It was a beautiful sight.

They kept sitting this way until it was time for Ron to go, just staring out into the sea and holding hands.

*******

Resisting Harry Potter had never been easy for him, but nowadays, everything his best mate did seemed to drive Ron crazy.

Christmas was a week away, and a month ago, Ron and Harry started dating again.

One day, after attending one of Ginny's Quidditch games, they had gone to a small, cozy Muggle Café, trying to warm themselves up from the cold November weather. The Polyjuice Potion they used to disguise themselves from the watching crowd in the Quidditch stands had long worn off, but a rather persistent strand of blonde hair on Harry’s head refused to turn back into its usual raven black state.

Ron had reached over their tiny round table to point it out to Harry but instead almost knocked his glasses off in the process. They burst into laughter, and Ron didn't know if it had been the rush of cheering for his sister today or something else entirely, but for some reason, he had chosen this moment to ask Harry out on a proper date.

And it could have been all in Ron's head, but he failed to remember if he had ever seen Harry smile as he had at that moment.

Without further discussing it, they had kept it slow. Their dates had involved a lot of kissing again, but they always had gone home alone in the end; Harry to his flat and Ron to the tiny apartment he currently shared with Hermione since early September.

Now though, they stood just outside of The Leaky Cauldron, which Hannah and Neville reopened today. After taking over the pub from Tom, they had renovated the large terrace, surprising most of Tom's old guests that it even existed.

For the reopening, they had decorated it with fairy lights and some plants that didn't mind the season’s cold weather. High, round tables stood everywhere where the guests could have some drinks and snacks.

Together with Hermione and her new boyfriend Martin, they stood around one of these tables, drinking the most delicious hot chocolate Ron ever had. While Hermione was busy introducing Martin to their friends, Harry was busy running his hand over Ron's arse.

From their place right in front of the wall of the Leaky Cauldron, they were able to observe everything, but no one was able to see how Harry’s hand seemed to have found a new home in one of Ron's back pockets.

After about an hour, Ron finally had enough. Before Harry could sneak his hand there again, Ron grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind one of Neville's monster plants which happened to be the perfect hiding place.

“You noticed all the bloody journalists out there, right?” Ron asked but clearly didn't expect an answer from Harry as he kissed him as he had wanted to all night. Harry didn't miss a beat and pulled Ron tightly against him, returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

Harry moaned into Ron's mouth when Ron sucked at his lower lip, making him want to apparate home with Harry right away.

As Harry set to kiss Ron's neck, it was now the redhead’s turn to bite back a groan. “Let's- let's- Oh Merlin, Harry.”

“Let's what?” Harry whispered as his hands slowly wandered down Ron's body.

“Let's go home,” Ron said in a breathy voice, lips swollen from kissing, “Let's say goodbye to Hannah and Neville and then go home.”

Harry shook his head as he stepped away from Ron, but tugging at his hand as he went into the direction of the party guests.

“Before we go home, let's show them,” Harry stepped up to Ron again, this time just kissing him softly on the lips, “Only if you're okay with it, of course.”

“But you already had your moment of truth. Everyone knows you're gay.”

“They don't know about us, though,” Harry said, softly stroking Ron's cheek, “And besides, my real moment of truth had been when I apologized to you and our friends. The public outing was nothing compared to admitting I had been a shit friend and partner.”

“You know, I don't care about the press knowing about us, but you don't have to prove anything to me, Harry.”

“I think I do. Let's show everyone the wizard that won over The-Boy-Who-Lived,” Harry said, and without another word, he led them into the crowd again.

Nobody was paying attention to them, despite the great Harry Potter standing in the middle of the expansive terrace, holding hands with his best mate. Mistletoe hung from above them, and Harry grinned at the coincidence.

“Doesn't seem like we have much of an audience,” Ron stated as he observed all the party guests who were too busy chatting and drinking, “But I think one of the fucking paparazzi has spotted us.”

“Do you think that's enough, Weasley? Simply holding hands in front of a paparazzi?”

Ron was well aware Harry was daring him, but Ron had been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason, after all. Never breaking eye contact with Harry, Ron put his thumb and middle finger inside his mouth and whistled so loudly, everyone startled out of their conversation and turning their heads towards them.

And without missing a beat, Harry put his arms around Ron's neck and kissed him. Ron heard surprised gasps and camera flashes and cheering, but all he could focus on were Harry's lips and his heart beating so fast he was sure everyone could hear it.

As they broke the kiss, Ron put his forehead against Harry's and grinned like the bloody, lovesick fool he knew he looked like right now.

“Take us home, Potter,” Ron whispered, feeling freer than ever before in his life.

They never made it back to the party.