#anyways our bones kept crackling last night

[euclydya]

but ultimately we're at like a 2-3 rn on the pain scale? whcih isn't bad at all but it can and will get worse. im just. preparin.g. dor when it does. if ever. because once i t starts it barely Stops until it's Up There and

[heliads]

Disappearance of a Dreamer

There’s a young girl who visits Neverland in her dreams, who comes all the time until she mysteriously vanishes one dark night. Pan doesn’t know what to think of it, until a familiar girl shows up to Neverland years later in the company of pirates.

masterlist

Trees rustle gently overhead, small slips of emerald waving in the wind. The night is just beginning to cast aside the day, the moon taking its place on the horizon. Neverland is a glorious place during the day, but come nightfall, it seems to double in magic, double in splendor. It is home, home for so many, and you can feel it especially so right now.

Pan stands, watching the crackling bonfire. The Lost Boys are beginning their usual revelry, cloaks flying around them as they run and jump in a chaotic mess of racing hearts and beating heels. It’s a disorderly, confused mess, and it’s everything you could ever want. Yet there’s something pulling Pan away, something that causes him to slip away into the forest and out of view of the other Lost Boys.

He wanders for a moment before the feeling sharpens. He senses the new presence before he hears the sharp crack of a twig underfoot, and he turns around with deliberate ease. He’s lived long enough to outgrow startled reactions, and anyways, fright is something utterly unbecoming of the King of Neverland. Besides, when he turns around, he is not faced with a pirate or an Evil Queen. Instead, standing before him is a young girl, maybe twelve. She doesn’t seem truly present, though- there’s a faint mist hovering around her, like she’s being seen through a dusty window. Not quite here, but not quite there either. She’s seeing him through the in-between of sleep, dreaming up the shores of Neverland like many others before her.

Pan smiles at the girl. “My name is Pan, Peter Pan.” The girl watches him through wide eyes. “I’m Y/N.” Pan nods slowly. “Do you know where you are, Y/N?” The girl turns in a slow circle, eyes raking over the tall stands of trees and the shadows of night. “I’m in a forest, I think.” Pan follows her gaze over the drifting horizon of green. “You’re in Neverland. It’s an island in the middle of the sea where you never have to grow old.” The girl looks back at him. “Never?” Pan shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want to. Do you think you’ve been here before?” The girl frowns. “I don’t think so. I think I’d remember.”

The roar of laughter and talk from the Lost Boys’ campfire draws the girl’s attention, and she turns to Pan as if waiting for approval. He motions towards the fire. “Go ahead. They won’t hurt you.” The girl beams at him, then races away on footsteps too light to be real. This Y/N isn’t the first dreamer to find themselves in the wooded glens of Neverland, nor will she be the last. She’s the first one in a while, though- as time passes, fewer and fewer children hear about Neverland, and their minds never attempt the journey.

Pan’s not surprised that this girl made the trip, though. She has this look in her eyes, a wisdom too aged for a girl of her youth. She looks like she’s lived a thousand lives, sat through a thousand sunsets. She’s not magical, certainly, but she does remind Pan of himself, of the child he’d been long ago. Pan’s technically still a child, could never be anything but, though he does tend to stay at around sixteen or seventeen. Makes things a lot easier when your legs are long enough to run for great distances without stopping.

The girl disappears later, when the dawn is just beginning to encroach upon the island. All dreamers have to wake up eventually, although the girl shows up a few nights later. She ends up becoming a regular fixture on the island, in fact. There’s something about her, some innate sense of curiosity and vindictive challenge that makes you want to start a race or embark on an adventure towards the darkest of caves and sunniest of shores. She could be a Lost Boy herself if she wanted to, if she ever discovered how to find her way to Neverland outside of her dreams.

Pan’s come to accept her as just another facet of the island until one night, when the stars are hung over with clouds and the island is shuttered up in darkness. The girl is later than usual, so he had assumed that she wouldn’t be coming that night until he heard a shout from behind him. When Pan had found her, the girl was standing before him as usual, although his eyes still widened imperceptibly at the sight of her. She looked far more vivid than ever before- if it weren’t for the slight traces of fog clinging to the edges of her clothes, Pan would have thought that she were actually standing before him instead of still in a dream.

What’s more, her eyes are alight with panic. Pan reaches out a hand as if to steady her, and he’s surprised when his fingers find traction with her shoulder. Dreamers shouldn’t feel so solid, but he can feel muscle and bone right under his fingers. “What’s wrong?” The girl just shakes her head. “Something is about to happen. I need your help. I need you to-” And then she’s cut off, and a slight cry escapes from her lips before she disappears entirely. She’s gone in the blink of an eye, as if she’d simply woken up unexpectedly, yet Pan still stares at the place where she’d been for a long time.

He has no way to find her in reality, no idea where she could possibly be, and so Pan can do nothing except wait for her to return. She does not show up again, not that night or even that week. It’s as if she had forgotten the way back to Neverland. By the end of the first year, Pan’s thoughts drift to her once every week or so, concerned that she might have been hurt. By the second year, he only thinks of her once or twice. By the third and fourth years, her face only appears in his head when he hears a name that sounds somewhat like hers. By the fifth year, he did not think of her at all, except once every now and then he would be filled with this feeling that something had gone wrong, that somewhere in the world there was someone in trouble. 

It is day once more, those last few golden hours of afternoon before dusk crept in on the island with its sweltering fingers. Pan’s pacing back and forth listlessly. There’s a ship of pirates just arriving in the bay, and although they’ve been flying the white flag of surrender ever since they came in sight of Neverland, he’s still hesitant to trust them. There���s a strange discomfort of having enemies on his island- they almost feel like ants crawling back and forth on his skin. For every minute that the pirates remain on Neverland, Pan wants nothing more than to swat them all away. However, he can’t deny that he’s curious as to why any pirate would want something to do with the Lost Boys, and so they’re allowed to stay. For now, at least. Their chances of hospitality decrease by the hour.

After about fifteen minutes, Pan signals to Felix, and the rest of the Lost Boys disappear into the forest. Pan’s scarred second-in-command stays by his side, and they watch as the pirates begin to lope into the clearing. The captain is the first of the men to see Pan, and he comes to a halt. The rest of the pirates clump up behind him, pulling cutlasses and pistols out of their belts to show that they’re not to be messed with. Pan raises an eyebrow. “I hope that’s not meant to intimidate me, because you’re doing a poor job of it. What are pirates doing on my island?”

The captain shuffles forward, spits onto the dusty ground. “We’ve been sent to investigate. We’ve heard rumors of a power source on the island, and we’re meant to see if it’s worth our time.” Pan eyes the captain coolly. “And why should I let you take another step?” The captain grins toothily and pulls out a metal seal from his pocket. Even from this distance, Pan can see that it’s emblazoned with the sign of the Evil Queen. He laughs. “You’ve been sent by Regina? Fascinating. How long do you think you have until she kills you all for knowing too much?”

The pirates stir restlessly amongst themselves. Evidently they’ve been sharing Pan’s doubts for a while. In this sudden flurry of movement, the ranks of pirates shift and Pan catches sight of a new figure, one that was previously hidden by the captain. They seem younger than the others, maybe about Pan’s age. Then the young pirate turns to face Pan once more, and he stares. 

He knows this girl. No, he had known this girl. Surely it couldn’t be her, surely that one girl who kept dreaming her way to his island wouldn’t have grown up into a pirate of all things, and a pirate who stares at him as if he’s a stranger. Yet she’s got that same look in her eye that Pan remembers from all those years ago, and she looks the same, albeit years older. The worst thing about her is that she glances at the island and even at Pan himself as if she’s never seen any of it before.

The captain is speaking to Pan again, and he forces himself to snap out of it. Idly, Pan gestures for the captain to go on his way. Let him try to find Regina’s ‘power source’- there’s no chance he could make it to Skull Rock, and even if he did, he would have no idea what to do with it. The pirates will just end up chasing their tails for hours, and give up after a while. Pan has yet to meet a pirate with enough discipline to stay at something once it fails them, although if he were to bet on an exception, it would probably be the girl now walking away from him alongside the other pirates.

Once the pirates are gone, Pan turns to Felix with an expression bordering on paranoia. “Did you see that girl? You know, the one with the other pirates. Behind the captain.” Felix nods slowly. “She didn’t say much. Kept looking around.” Pan stares at the place in the dusty ground where she’d just stood, where the prints of her boots still mar the soil. “Do you remember that girl who used to visit the island? Y/N or something, came around all the time until she stopped out of the blue?”

Felix’s eyes widen. “You think that’s the same girl.” Pan nods. “It doesn’t make any sense, but they look too similar for it to be a coincidence.” Felix contemplates this. “But she looked at you, us, even the island like she’d never seen it before. Any dreamer, even one that hadn’t been here in a while, would still have some sense of recognition.” Pan tilts his head in acknowledgment. “That’s the problem. It has to be her, but something must have happened to make her forget everything.”

You methodically sharpen the twin knife blades that hang at your belt, shine them until they’re practically mirrors. The guffaws and hearty talk of the pirates swells around you, but you pay it no mind. Even if you wanted to, you find you can’t focus on them. There’s something about this place that unsettles you. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost say it felt familiar, but that couldn’t be possible. You grew up in the Enchanted Forest, and the only times you’d left the many villages behind were to exchange it for the rocking of your father’s ship. He was the captain, after all, and so you were dragged along on any and all voyages. It’s not like it was so bad, though, you’d been able to see many new places. However, none of them ever called to you the way that Neverland does.

Once the sky fades away to the blackness of night, you find yourself slipping away from the pirates’ camp. You couldn't sleep if you tried, so you might as well explore the island. Maybe you’ll find something that explains this strange familiarity burning away in your heart. As you walk, you find your feet intuitively guiding you between the trees and across the island, as if walking down an invisible path. Before long, you find yourself at a cliff looking out over the water’s edge. You’re not sure how you managed to get here, but somehow it must have been your best destination.

You lean against a nearby tree, watching the light of the stars reflect against the waves. It’s peaceful, quiet, feels like home even though it shouldn’t. You hope your father and his men can find the power source soon, because with every second you spend on this island your mind practically tears itself apart trying to find the lost connection between yourself and this eerily familiar ground.

There’s a quiet sound behind you and you whirl around, knife already in hand, to face a boy emerging from the trees. He has light brown hair and striking green eyes, which flicker between you and your weapon. “Put down the blade, I don’t mean you any harm.” Pan says, for of course it is him that has found you. After a moment’s hesitation, you lower your arm, although you refuse to slide the knife back into its sheath. You’ve heard the stories of Peter Pan, and even if he has enough magic to wipe out this entire island you’d rather have a chance to fight before you die.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Pan gestures to the ocean rolling deep from the shores. You turn back to the waves, to the cliff falling away before you. “It is, although I have a feeling you didn’t just come here to discuss the merits of a pretty landscape.” Pan chuckles. “You’d be right about that. I’m here to ask a question instead, one that I was hoping you wouldn’t tell the others. Although I have a feeling that you won’t want to speak a word of this to them.” You raise an eyebrow. “And what question could possibly be so important that I would keep it from my crew?” 

Pan’s eyes flash in the light of the moon. “You’ve been here before. Am I wrong? You’ve been here before, and you know it, but you can’t figure out why everything seems so familiar if you can’t remember anything about it.” The knife darts up again. “How did you know that?” Pan idly pushes your blade away from his throat with a single finger. “You seem familiar. I just can’t figure out why you can’t remember being here.” You turn away from him, back towards the cliffs. “Strange things happen around here. I’d be surprised if you think everything that happens on Neverland deserves an explanation.”

Pan walks to stand beside you. “What things happen on Neverland that would be so confusing?” You jerk your chin towards the smaller island off the coast of Neverland’s bay, the one shaped like a skull with some sort of golden light emanating from the empty stone eye sockets. “You’re willing to let my father prance about the island in search of the power source when it’s right there to be seen. You’re hiding something, or else you’d have told him about it directly, but you also feel confident that it won’t be discovered, or you would never have allowed our ship to approach the island. What’s on that rock?”

Pan’s eyebrows raise. “You’re perceptive for a pirate. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what’s there, not yet. Not until I figure out what you’re hiding first.” Your eyes drift over the golden light spilling out from the skull. “An hourglass.” You didn’t realize you’d spoken until Pan turns to stare at you. That’s the first signal that something is wrong- every moment before this, Pan has been sure to hide his true emotions. Now, his face is warring between satisfaction and shock, like he’s stunned that you would know about the hourglass, but he’s not entirely upset that you do.

“How do you know about that?” Pan asks, and you shrug. “I have no idea. The thought just came to me. I think I knew it before, but I don’t know how.” Pan’s eyeing you with an intrigued expression, as if trying to unpiece your memory, layer by layer. “Have you ever met Regina in person? During the deal that sent you here, or before that?” You shake your head. “What, you think she cast a spell on me or something? No, that was all my father, and even if it wasn’t, I’m not important enough to warrant a mind wipe.” You chuckle to yourself. “We’re just the middlemen she can send out for information. Maybe Regina’s the Evil Queen, but her real power is delegating.”

You look up and realize that Pan’s eyes are still on you. You feel a slight heat rise in your cheeks, and do your best to push it away, but it lingers despite your best efforts. Your voice turns quiet. “Have I been here before? I’ve never felt so tied to a place before. It feels like-” Pan cuts you off. “It feels like home.” You nod. “Exactly.” A cold wind blows across you, and you pull your arms close to your chest, trying to stay warm. Your movement must have shifted the neckline of your shirt slightly, because Pan suddenly steps away from you to frown at your back. “What’s this?”

You realize what he’s looking at and duck away hurriedly, but it’s no use. He’s already seen it, and he’s already reached out a hand to hold your shoulder in place. He steps behind you, and you feel his finger lightly tracing the beginning of a scar on your back. It’s long, far longer than he thinks, and curls around your throat before disappearing down the back of your shirt. Pan’s fingers are cold against your skin, and you shiver slightly. His hands pause. “Where did you get this scar?” You try to turn away from him, but he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you still. Your eyes meet his, and you glance to the side. “It’s nothing. Just some cut that wouldn’t heal.”

Pan shakes his head. “That would have been a deep cut. It could have killed you.” You raise an eyebrow. “But I’m still here, aren’t I? Anyways, I wasn’t sure that the wellbeing of a pirate mattered so much to a Lost Boy.” Pan’s jaw clenches slightly. “You’re still on my island, that means that I should know whether or not you could be hurt again.” Your calm facade flickers slightly, and you can tell that Pan notices, so you feel immensely grateful at a sudden noise echoing from the trees.

You instinctively turn towards the sound of loud snores coming from the pirate camp. “I’d better go.” You take advantage of the broken moment to slip out of Pan’s arms still encircling you, and start to walk away, but then turn back to Pan and speak one last time as a goodbye. “And Pan? I heard your flute earlier. It was good.” You’ve disappeared into the forest before Pan has time to react, although you hear him trying to catch up to you as you vanish into the night.

Peter doesn’t know what to do. It’s Y/N, no doubt of that. And he’s certain now that she belongs to the island, that she keeps remembering parts of her life here. Why else would she know about Skull Rock? Why else would she be able to hear the flute? He had tried to find her again after she had mentioned the flute, but she had already managed to lose him among the trees before he could make her stay. He supposes that’s another piece of evidence that she’s still a Lost Girl at heart- even after years of being away, she traverses the island like she never left.

There’s another thing that’s different about her, other than the lost memory or even the fact that she’s suddenly just as old as he is. There’s the scar, carefully hidden away. She’d tried to hide it when he first caught sight of it, tried to explain it away as nothing, but he’d seen it. From his brief glimpse, Peter had seen a jagged cut, like a blade, that seemed to run deep through the skin. There’s a sudden rush of anger that burns through him at the thought of someone hurting her, of someone quite literally stabbing her in the back. He’s not sure why this makes him so angry- the damage is already done, there’s nothing he can do to fix it, but he still doesn’t want to see Y/N hurt.

The pirates stay for another couple of days. Y/N still walks away from the pirate camp at night, sometimes to that same cliff or sometimes to wander amongst the trees. Peter’s not sure if she’s doing it intentionally, because sometimes she looks up, startled, as if she hadn’t expected to find herself moving so surely through the island. Peter visits her from time to time, and they talk quietly. He makes sure to avoid the topic of the scar, and Y/N does not bring it up.

On the fourth or fifth day, the pirate captain and his men storm into the same clearing where they’d first met. Peter looks up, unconcerned, though the pirate captain seems enraged. Y/N lingers in the crowd, a wary expression on her face. The captain strides up to Peter. “Where is the power source?” Peter spreads his hands. “If you can’t find it, that means it must not exist.” The captain glares. “I know what you’re hiding, Pan. There’s nothing you can do.”

Peter sighs. “If it makes any difference to you, there was no way that you would ever find it in the first place. I mean, what do we always say? Peter Pan never fails. You never had a chance.” The captain scowls, and seems about to draw his sword to run the Lost Boy through when Y/N steps from the group of pirates, a troubled look on her face. Peter’s eyes dart to her, but she seems distracted. “What did you say?” The captain turns now, sees his daughter standing alone. “Go back with the others, Y/N. This doesn’t concern you.”

Y/N brushes away his comment. “I’m not talking to you. What did you say earlier?” Peter straightens. “Peter Pan never fails?” Y/N nods. “I’ve heard that before. I’ve heard you say it.” For some reason, the pirate captain seems uneasy, almost nervous. “No, you haven’t. You’ve never been to Neverland before.” Y/N shakes her head. “That’s not true. I’ve seen this island before, and I’ve said that very phrase myself.” The captain turns away from Peter, walks up to Y/N. He begins to pull her back to the others. “Stay quiet. You know the rules.” But Y/N shakes off his hand.

“You know I’ve been here, and you’re trying to make me forget.” She stares at him suddenly. “You were the one to wipe my memory. You’re the reason I can’t remember Neverland.” The captain’s gaze turns stormy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Y/N laughs suddenly, the sound clear and bright. “But I do. I kept visiting Neverland, and you had a problem with it, even though it was only in my dreams. You tried to stop me from coming, and when all else failed, you-”

Peter realizes what she’s saying now, and his pulse starts to thunder in his veins. Y/N continues speaking. “You stabbed me. You almost killed me that night, but it didn’t matter. I was injured beyond repair so you went to Regina, who healed me and took my memories. You wanted her employment, and you wanted me to be a quiet little seaman who would stop fighting you all the time. You were willing to injure me to the point where I almost died, and it never troubled you once.”

She rips her arm away from her father and walks to stand next to Peter. Suddenly, he feels more powerful than he’s ever felt before. Something about the way she’s chosen him over everything makes Peter feel incredible. The captain looks at her with scorn. “If that’s what you want, be my guest. Stay on this island, give up your future. We’ll have everything soon enough, and you’ll be dead.” Y/N stiffens beside him, and Peter cuts a glare to the captain. “No, I think you’ll be the dead one.” 

Peter signals slightly with his hands and the Lost Boys come pouring out of the woods to surround the pirates, forcing them back to the ship. In the midst of the commotion, Y/N turns to Peter, a slight smile on her face. “Thank you. For getting rid of him. For helping me remember.” Peter lets a quiet wave of happiness roll over him. “If it means you get to stay with me, I’d rid the seas of a thousand of them.” Y/N reaches over, wrapping her hand around his. Peter watches as the pirate ship hurriedly departs the bay, then looks back to Y/N once more. She has finally returned to him, and at last they don’t have to worry about being separated.

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

Echoy’aim - 1

a/n: so my hope is for this to be a series, im like really diggin the ideas i’ve got rolling around in my skull and i also wanna take it slow with this fic (I know i have a habit of rushing to the horny bits) While writing i listened to the album Ecophony Rinne by Geinoh Yamashirogumi, which i would totally recommend! it helped me with the vibe. also much love to @maybege​ and @whenimaunicorn​ for listening to me ramble and encouring this mess.

wordcount: 2,669 (lol nice)

warnings: this fic is Omegaverse, with a/b/o dynamics, later points in the story will be more smutty but so far nothing sexual happens

PART 2

alpha!Paz x reader // The Mandalorian (A/B/O)

Looking up at the sky, you couldn’t help but notice how bright the new moon was. Even when the moon Wolo was cast in the shadow of Otare, the artificial light pollution from the city of Odharra on its surface was always visible, always glowing. You couldn’t look at the moon without wondering what your family was doing. It was hard to keep track of the time difference between the celestial bodies but you knew that your mom was most likely in her lab working away.

“You also running late?” a voice from behind you asked. With a simple shake of your head you broke the course of your thoughts before turning to find Kel. She wore her commonplace smile, exuding a confidence you were jealous of; she seemed so content and happy with her state, resting her hand on top of her round belly.

“Yeah, just lost track of time,” you mumbled, falling in pace next to her as she waddled along the main path to the center of the village. 

“Same here, it took forever to get Boej down for the night. I was so worn out I crashed next to him,” She laughed to herself, moving her hand to brace against her lower back. Without hesitation you stilled, giving her a moment to rest before she continued, “Do you know what this urgent council meeting is about anyway?”

“Apparently there was a distress call from just outside the atmosphere, and some families want to respond,” You mumbled with a shrug, relaying the sparse details you had overheard. The pair of you walked along in a shared silence that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but you still felt the need to fill the air. “Well, the shipment is arriving tomorrow. Jae will be back with you in no time.”

Kel nodded at your comment, smiling to herself before adding, “He’ll be back and staying on planet until these two are born.” 

“I'm sure it’s hard for him to be away from his riduur, especially when you’re so far along.” You tried to ignore the ache in your chest as you watched her rub along the curve of her pregnant belly. It was the same ache you felt when she announced her first son, or when she confided in you before anyone else when she learned was having twins. The pheromones a pregnant omega gave off were supposed to calming in nature to those around them, but the smell of her did not seem to have that effect on you. You wanted to be happy for her, as much as the whole tribe was—it seemed everyone wanted to touch and feel the kicks of her budding children—but you couldn’t help feeling outside of the events as the older omegas reminisced on their pregnancies and offered advice for Kel’s comfort.

Kel’s expression softened as she took in the way you gazed at her body. Wrapping her arm around your shoulders, she pulled you close, giving a squeeze as she nudged her forehead against yours, “Don’t worry, you’ll find a mate soon. I'm sure of it.” 

You tried to smile and seem agreeable, but also took the opportunity of approaching the Greathouse as a chance to break apart. Kel waved as she went in through the main door while you slipped around the corner of the building. Quietly as you could, you used a side entrance to cut to your seat near the center without disturbing too many of the onlookers. You settled on your knees in your place, just behind your grandmother. 

The Greathouse was as full as you’d ever seen it, members of the tribe packed in from wall to wall, standing where there wasn’t room to sit; all witnessing the elders’ discussion. Spectators were never uncommon for these meetings, but you couldn’t think of a time you’d seen this many at once. 

The seating arrangement in the great space during meetings was in the shape of a wagon wheel. In the center of the hall—at the wheel’s axle—was the fire pit. Circled around that were the eldest alpha of each family. Six in all, a mix of men and women, each with their helmets—an important heirloom and family symbol—proudly displayed before them. Behind the alphas sat their families, spread out to fill the slices of space like the spokes of a wheel. The circle of elders was broken only by your grandmother, the Alor and seventh member of the council. She was the only one without a helmet as she was the only omega. Across the room you could see Kel settle down among her family as a cousin offered her his chair.

You tried to quietly whisper an apology for your tardiness but your grandmother waved you off, patting your leg with one hand. In the other she held a small leather pouch. The discussion was in full swing now but you focused more on reaching for the steaming kettle by the fire than what was being said at the moment. You refilled your grandmother’s mug before pouring a drink for yourself.

“They are Mandalorians!” One of the leader’s voices boomed from across the circle.

“They are warriors!” Another replied, slamming her balled fist on the ground to emphasize her point. “We are farmers, we have chosen peace—all of us have!—there is no place for warriors among us.” 

The people watching were nearly silent—only occasionally clapping in agreement—rapt with attention as the group of six continued to make their points over the crackling of the fire and each other. You tried to listen to the arguing, weighing their opinions in your own mind, but your eyes kept wandering to your grandmother’s hands. 

Idly, she took a sip of her tea, unbothered by the noise, all while continuing to rhythmically bounce the pouch in her grasp. You could almost hear the familiar muffled sounds of the contents being jostled by the movement, the way they clack against each other. 

“This bickering will get us nowhere!” The man seated to your grandmother’s right rang out. It was Vres, your eldest Uncle, and the head of your own family. “Please, Alor,” he said in a calmer voice now that the arguing had halted, turning to face his mother, “Tell us, what do the bones say?”

All eyes were on your grandmother—necks craning forward to get a clearer view while those in the back stood from their seats—all watching as she twisted her wrist, pouring the fragments of bone from the pouch. The small white pieces, edges smoothed and rounded by age, bounced and scattered about, settling in place upon the ground before her, seemingly at random—but you watched the way her finger guided along above the arrangement. Studying each one in time, taking in their relation to each other. You tried to recall your lessons and understand what she was reading.

“The bones speak of the echoy’aim,” she finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the audience, “They speak of the deep pain we all know.” Carefully she reached forward, gently picking up one bone with her bent, arthritic fingers, holding it up to the light of the flame. This one you recognized. 

‘Both possibilities and aliit, our family,’ your grandmother had explained when she’d decided it was time for you to learn and had first shown you the bones. ‘It breaks off in two directions, representing the parting of ways or the branching of generations; what matters is how you read it.’ 

“They remind us that when one brother is safe, we all are safe.” 

- .-- --- --- .-- ..- ...-

There wasn't much contest after your grandmother spoke. The vote was unanimous—begrudgingly so by some—that the soldiers would stay with the tribe. The matter of whether they would truly integrate with Cuun Adate, or move on after a briefer respite, was left open to future discussion.

The covert arrived late at night, eager to land after an arduous journey. Most of Cuun Yaim was asleep when their ships first touched ground. You were awake in the loft of the Greathouse at the time, having said that you were going to bed but then losing track of time reading on your holopad.

It was lonely in the loft now. You missed the nights with the other omegas. When you moved from your parent’s home to the loft, the other beds were taken, since all of the other omegas had come of age before you even arrived in Cuun Yaim. You had ended up sleeping next to Kel, spending most of those nights together talking until you fell asleep; discussing the possibilities of the future as a full member of the tribe with a loving riduur.

Now, most nights you spent your time alone in the loft, bundled up with all the extra, unused pillows from the other beds. The loft was reserved for young omegas without a mate. It was over the main entrance of the great space, looking down over the central fire pit. It got very warm and cozy on cold nights, especially after gatherings that filled the hall with people like tonight’s meeting. 

At the far end of the hall was the Alor's residence, where your grandmother lived. Your Uncle and his family currently stayed there too, helping to care for her in her old age after she minded and taught their younglings during the day. 

After the last riduurok—when it was apparent that you would be the only one left un-mated and alone in the loft—your grandmother offered for you to sleep downstairs but you refused, insisting you wanted your own space and that the warm loft would be nice in the coming cold months.

So now you spent your evenings alone, reading your holopad as you listened to the dying fire below and the muffled sounds of your uncle’s riduur singing their pups to sleep.

This night was different due to the expected arrivals. You could hear your grandmother still awake working away at her weaving and humming along—the wooden clacking of the loom keeping time—far past when she would normally turn in. 

Your eyelids were heavy, the text before you becoming blurry as your wrist started to slump, almost dropping the holopad when you were jolted awake by the creak of the large door opening.

Cautiously crawling across the wooden planks on your knees, you listened closely, trying to count the footsteps before you could see how many people had entered. You were so focused that you hadn't noticed that the clack-clack of your grandmother's loom had stopped.

Shuffling on your belly, you approached the edge of the loft. Carefully you eased forward, peering over the sawed ends of the boards to watch what was happening around the fire. Your grandmother was plain to see in her usual seat but you followed her line of vision and spotted the newcomers entering the hall. 

The pair were easy to identify as Mandalorian; the first wore a golden beskar helmet that bore a series of small horns that circled around the crown of their head—almost Zobrak-like in their arrangement. A helmet that was not removed despite entering the great hall, something you chalked up to them being uneasy in a new place. Still, they knelt when approaching the fire, showing deference to your kin. That was when you noticed the second visitor. You could smell him before you even looked his way. His scent commanded your attention instantly—his pheromones, both musky and masculine in essence, held your gaze on him though you wanted to hear what the other was saying to your grandmother. Still you forced yourself to pay attention.

The one in the horned helmet stepped forward, urging your grandmother to stay seated. Reaching forward your grandmother clasped their forearm, a greeting you recognized as one shared between friends or equals. 

"I apologize for our untimely arrival, but I'm sure you understand the urgent nature of our situation. Thank you again, for taking my people in on such short notice." Hearing the second Alor's voice you recognized she was a woman and wondered vaguely curious of her disposition and what their covert's traditions were. 

Normally it was easy to tell by scent who was an alpha or omega, but the smell of the silent soldier was so overpowering to you, every other scent in the room was dampened compared to him—even the smell of the wood smoke. It was hard to discern much about his appearance from above but he stood tall, clad in blue armor. He seemed intimidating in stature, even without the protective layer of beskar you could tell he would tower over you. 

He remained silent as the two Alors spoke, standing near the fire to warm while listening to the conversation. You felt almost mesmerised as you studied him, unable to tear your eyes away a second time. It was like watching the alphas in the village spar: paying close attention at  every moment so you don’t miss the winning blow—but now instead of hoping to see a hard right hook you would have been content just seeing his fingers idly twitch.

You thought he was engrossed in the Alors' conversation when his helmet abruptly turned, almost instantly focusing on you. Even though his entire face was obscured by the dark tint of his helmet's visor, you could feel his eyes landing on you tucked away in the shadowy eaves of the Greathouse.

He held your gaze so intently you found yourself loathe to break the connection, even though normally you would look away from such direct eye contact. He was a proud alpha—you could not only by how he held himself, but by the heady scent of his disposition swirling up with the wood smoke to find you in the loft. 

There was something warm about the smell you couldn't name. Breathing it in, you felt not quite drowsy, but content. Lulled by his infatuating scent, you tucked your arms in close and rested your cheek on your wrist—all the while continuing to keep gaze with the blue soldier.

Your grandmother waved away the other Alor's apologies with her usual air. "You are safe, that is what matters most." She leaned forward, using the end of her cane to poke at the crumbling embers that were the last log. "You must be tired, please rest here."

"It is too late. The others will sleep on the ship tonight, so as not to disturb the village, but Paz and I will gladly accept your offer." Holding out a gloved hand she gestured to her silent companion as your grandmother hummed in agreement.

"Very well, then I must turn in." Your grandmother declared as she braced her cane, moving to stand. You could feel your muscles twitch with the impulse to help her, even though you were watching from the shadows. Instead of yourself stepping forward, it was the blue soldier.

He circled around the fire in barely two long steps, reaching for her elbow before she could dismiss his aid as she normally would. He walked slowly, keeping her pace as she shuffled along to the door that led to her living space. 

"I had my son-in-law set out some blankets for you, I hope there is all you need," your grandmother commented, turning around to speak to him.

"All that you provide is more than plenty, and I am thankful for it." His response was simple enough—the proper manners for speaking to an Alor—and your grandmother approved, smiling as she ducked past the curtain that separated the living quarters from the great space. The sound of his voice sent a pang through you, something that echoed in your form before settling as a warm heat between your thighs.

Returning to your bed, you climbed under the covers, basking in his scent as it continued to waft up to you as the blue soldier rested below your rafters. Unable to deny your biology, you were easily lulled into a comfortable sleep—resting more easily than you had since the loft had become so empty. 

/// NEXT >> //

Glossary [literal definition](functional definition) Echoy’aim - [searching/mourning + home](the Mandalorian Diaspora) Cuun Adate - [my people](the name of the Tribe) Cuun Yaim - [my home](the name of the Village) Otare - The planet Cuun Yaim is on Wolo - The Moon of Otare Odharra - The largest city on Wolo Riduur - Spouse (mate) Riduurok - a bond of love, marriage

///

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[fndmxreader]

fandom: harry potter. pairing:  remus lupin x reader | the reader simps for lupin because isn’t that all what we do daily ?  summary:   connected to the self indulgent series where the reader is a slytherin muggle born witch working alongside the teachers at hogwarts.   note: this series will bounce around a lot involving timelines, but a lot of them don’t really have a coherent story line anyway.  movie setting:  prisoner of askaban.  pov:   she/her pronouns.

you were looking off into the distance in a daze, end of pen in mouth as your writings came to a halt and instead getting caught up in thoughts.  your summer hadn’t been great,  if you were being completely honest :  your muggle friends were getting on your case regarding being missing for a year,  you knew at some point you had to pick : the wizarding world or the muggle one,   living two lives was absolutely exhausting,  living them meant being two types of people - like one example,  you had accidentally used a levitating spell to put a cup back and last minute your friend walked in, smashing on the floor as your hand flinched down to your side.

“ what was that crash ? “  “ i put the mug too close to the counter, “ you had laughed nervously, quickly walking towards the glass to pick it up “ it fell off as a result ”  “you’re clumsiness is going to be the death of you “    

that was only one of the close calls,  there were far too many to keep track of,  including dropping hints to the wizarding world in conversation, only to stutter and try and say you were referencing a bizarre indie movie from overseas. at this point you were trying to pick would it be even possible to choose a side ?  it seemed impossible just to pick one over the other,  especially knowing that no matter what route you take it would result in an empty, hollow feeling left inside of chest.    you’re not sure who you could go to for guidance,  you weren’t familiar with any muggle borns your own age,  and talking to a pureblood or half blood would go in vein,  the latter would understand to some degree,  but ultimately it’s not the same and with it being so complicated,  listening to people who barely got it would be a waste of time and only twist the knife in gut. 

 “ everyone,  i would like to introduce you to remus jo - “     that was all you really heard dumbledore say before ears blocked out the world like static,  everything beyond the screaming in your head made everything else seem like a distant hum with no tune,  a crackle of a tv that can’t quite catch signal.  your pen tapped against your bottom lip,  perching against it as you eyebrows knitted together in deep thought.   

maybe professor dumbledore could help,  he wouldn’t get it but maybe he could shred some light on the situation ? he was always good at that. 

“ miss l/n - “

perhaps it’s all just being blown out of proportion,  work leave would surely be something the muggles would understand that.  even if they are after photos, work gossip and other details - 

“ y/n “  between the firmness and the sudden block of your view as the men stepped into eyesight causes you to flinch,  reeling away from nothing in panic as you try and grasped your surroundings once more,   blinking up in a rapid succession that causes concern to flash on the two men’s faces.  it takes a moment to register where you were,  the surroundings,  what the hell was going on in general... 

“ huh ? “  your tongue pokes out to roll against your bottom lip,  eyes wide as you stared up at dumbledore,  only for sight to break away from the one your most familiar with to the new guy...    you won’t lie to yourself,  you weren’t ready for seeing someone like him,  especially in your state.  his eyes were beaming with life,  amusement dancing behind dark hues as a faint smile tugged at lips,  hands pushed far into pockets as eye contact seemed to lock,  your lips part to say something,  anything but much like before your brain seemed to short circuit,  this time for an entirely and much more embarrassing reason,  “ huh ? “ you repeated again,  cheeks coming to life with colour as you kept looking at the new guy.

“ this is professor lupin, y/n.   the new defence against the dark arts teacher - “  speaking slower now,  and you’re rather grateful for the approach because you really needed things to stop going by so quickly,  the whole world seemed to flash in front of you at lightening speed.

“ oh “ a pause,  then it really began to register “ OH ! “  it was the most beautiful example of a pin drop ever to grace hogwarts’ walls  (  yes,  dumbledore will be thinking about it years to come  )   -  you jump up rather clumsily and hold your hand out to the man  “ hi,  sorry  -  i was just ... never mind,  hi  ! “ you repeated again,  the embarrassment settling deep within bones,  making itself at home in the creases of mind that would take weeks to weave out.  but regardless of the mocking in head, you do your best to not feed it and give it anymore attention... at least for the time being.   lupins much bigger hand wraps around yours,  a firm but gentle grasp as he finally takes the moment to speak himself. 

“ that’s quite alright,  i can tell that we disturbed you.  in fact i believe we should be the ones apologising, however professor dumbledore here insisted on the introduction - “ it came easily,  between tone of his voice and the warmth of his hand, you’ve never felt safer, it was like being in a warm hug beside the fire on the night of winter;   you mentally slap yourself for acting like a teenager towards a complete stranger.   your eyes however, narrow towards dumbledore,  in a way blaming you own pathetic display on him.  a faint smile on his lips as he made up some excuse to leave the pair of you alone,  not at all hiding the way his eyes twinkled with amusement at the scene that played out. 

your hand flexed around remus’,  far too busy sending daggers at dumbledore walking away than the fact you were still holding the older man hostage,  not helping the murmured   “ ugh,  he can be such an arse sometimes - “ 

“ i believe that’s apart of the charm “ remus chimed,  your eyes moving back to his as you smiled up at him once more,  less tense than what your face was previously  “ um,   miss l/n ?  your hand - “ 

“ oh, fuck, sorry - “   instantly your arms folded across your chest,  the blush only darkening your cheeks “ i promise i’m not this socially inept,  well,  at least to this extent - “ 

“ oh,  don’t fret.  i’ve met much worse people,  i myself tend to panic in social situations.  they’re not my forte “   you shoulders relax,  though you can’t help but note that he seemed surprisingly at ease even with the confession. your eyes dance around the staff room,  much to your own relief they seemed to be back to focusing on their own work. 

“ well,  you’re doing much better than me if that’s any help.  so,  you’re teaching dark arts -  ? “ then the conversation seemed to spark to life without much spluttering after that,  eventually both sitting on the couch and bonding over lessons;  including how you got your position in the first place,   your arm rested on the back of the furniture as your body turned fully to him,  the longer the pair of you were sat there,  the more they progressed beyond work and more into personal ones, about experiences outside of hogwarts and within the walls, not helping the fits of giggles that bubbled in your chest. 

“ being a slytherin comes with the natural title of ‘dark pranks,’  most of us tend to live up to the name.  people demonise us,  so we give them a reason to continue it.  that certainly doesn’t end at our humour, i think it shows more than ever in that aspect - “ you giggled again, head shaking  “ i remember my friends putting a real snake in one of the gryffindors bed covered in animals blood, the girl panicked for weeks  -  but they started it  ! “   

“ i must say being a gryffindor myself,  i feel like i should be offended on behalf of them.  then again,  my friends here were trouble makers as well.  their pranks could... “  wrist rolled in the air,  and while there’s a hint of pain twisting in features and a haunted look that seemed to cover bright eyes,  there was still a fondness in how he spoke  “ extremely, well and truly out of hand ? “

“ ahah  ! “  it’s like a triumph,  finger pointing at the others face   “ you can hide behind the fancy wording all you want, professor.  but you gryffindors can be just as over the top as the rest of us,  if not more so ! “  he knocks your hand away from his face playfully,  grin widening as mock offence does its best to take over features.

“ firstly,  you may call me remus,  second of all,  i will agree with nothing you say,  i would never stoop so low. “ 

your heart skipped a beat at the notion. 

“ you may call me y/n, only when you admit i’m right - “ 

a nice joke to push down the giddiness of calling him by his first name the short hours of knowing him. 

“ how very slytherin of you - “ 

“ how very gryffindor of you to point that out, remus “ 

the back and forth banter eventually came to a halt, as minutes ticked by it was time to go to the great hall for food and to sort out the new years. you and remus walked in a comfortable silence,  a lightness surrounding you both as it showed in your steps, and showed in the way his lips remained locked in a subtle smile.  you were left with one feeling...  finally, dumbledore hired someone worthwhile. you would also give him a hard time for that awkward bow that he did at dinner. 

[tamorapierce]

Tammy's Spring 2020 Reading Recommendations For the Bored

Sooner or later the bookhounds among us are going to start joining my relentless song, from age five on up, of “I don’t have anything to read!!!!”

 I am here to help.  In this space, as I get to it (knowing, as my readers do, that I have no sense of deadline), I will be posting a constant set of collections of book titles by authors my team and I have read and will recommend in a wild variety of genres and for a wild variety of ages.  (And I’ll give a short hint as to the subject of the first book/series—if I did them all I’d never finish this.)  This last is for the many of you who are reading teen and adult books in grade and middle school, and those adult readers who are reading teen and kidlit. These people are for those who love books and don’t care who is supposed to be reading them.  

 Also, you may have to look far and wee, since we will be drawing upon not only recently published books but older ones that we have either read recently or that we read long ago and have re-read or have never forgotten.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you when the writing is archaic.  If you’re a true nutsy reader like the rest of us, you won’t care.

 -Tammy Pierce

                                                        *     *     *

Assume the book came out within the last 2 years unless I put LO next to the title, which means you have to check libraries and bookstores online and paper for copies.

 *     *     *

 Diana Wynne Jones  LO

A generation or two of fantasy writers, particularly those who love humor, bow to this woman as our goddess.  Not only was she out of her mind in a very British and manic way, but with her TOUGH GUIDE TO FANTASYLAND she taught a number of us to ditch some ill-considered tropes of our genre.  If you write historic fantasy in particular, move heaven and earth to track this book down.  There’s a bonus: some of the entries will make you laugh till you cry.

           She is best known for her books for middle grade and teens, but they are enjoyable for all readers.  I cannot list them all here because my fingers will break (curse you, arthritis!), but these titles will give you a jumping-off point.  And remember, authors change with each book, so you won’t encounter the same author with each title as the author you read in the previous one!

           The Chrestomanci books, all in the same universe, in order of story,

                       not publication

Charmed Life  (1977) An innocent lad follows his plotting egotistical sister to live with England’s chief wizard

The Lives of Christopher Chant (1988)

Conrad’s Fate (2005)

Witch Week (1982)

The Magicians of Caprona (1980)

Short stories

 The Dalemark Quartet begins with

The Spellcoats (1979)

3 sequels

 The Derkholm books are

Dark Lord of  (1998)

Year of the Griffin (2000)

  The Tough Guide to Fantasyland is standalone, but is a kind of offshoot of the Derkholm books.  You don’t have to have read the Derkholm books to get Tough Guide!

 There are other books and stories by Jones—I’ll let you find them on your own.

  Philip Pullman

To this day I am unable to call him anything but Mr. Pullman—that’s how much in awe of the man I am.  We’ve had dinner together, talked on the phone, talked at an event or two, done a conversation on audio with Christopher Paolini—it’s still Mr. Pullman to me.  (I was an assistant in a literary agency when I discovered his work, and I never recovered.) He is, in a word, brilliant, and his interests range through all kinds of areas, particularly history and religion.  I could have talked with him forever that night we had dinner, but the poor man had jet lag and I let him go to collapse.  It was one of the best exchanges of ideals, values, and books I’ve ever had.  

Read his work carefully, because what he discusses is never just the story on top.  No matter what he writes, he is making strong points about social justice, human nature, religion, and history without preaching.  He is one of the few male writers out there who can write female characters as people, not Something Different.  And you never know, with his work, where he will go next.

 The Ruby in the Smoke,

book 1,  the Sally Lockheart mysteries

Victorian mysteries with a female hero and male assistants,

           The Book of Dust and sequel,

first 2 books of The Secret Commonwealth

           His Dark Materials trilogy

                       The Golden Compass

                       2 other titles                

           THE COLLECTORS

           LYRA’S OXFORD

           THE WHITE MERCEDES

           FAIRY TALES FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

           I WAS A RAT!

           TWO CRAFTY CRIMINALS

           COUNT KARLSTEIN

           (I will stop here and let you find the rest. Most are available as Nook books.)

  Sharon Shinn

I discovered Sharon Shinn with JOVAH’S ANGEL, but a shortage of funds left me unable to pursue my interest (I am an economic disaster with libraries, so I buy rather than borrow) until, with a job and money to spend, I spotted THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET.  It is the story of a medieval-ish world and a small village where a baby was left with a childless couple.  She is raised as their daughter and discovers, as she grows, that her mother is an important, a Safekeeper, the person to whom a secret can be told, relieving the person who told it of the weight of guilt from it, to be carried by the Safekeeper until the owner either decides to tell or dies.  (And if they die without giving permission, the Safekeeper never reveal the secret.)  The baby who is adopted by this town’s safekeeper becomes the safekeeper in her turn.

           The next book is THE TRUTHTELLER’S TALE, about a girl who acquires the gift (??) of telling the truth, whether the person she tells it to wants to hear it or not. The third book is The Dream-maker’s Magic.  The three main characters now learn why they have been brought together over the course of the two earlier books, in what I thought was a satisfying, if unusual, conclusion.

           And there’s more!  I just did the two I love best!

             THE SAFEKEEPER’S SECRET (book 1, two sequels)

           ARCHANGEL (4 books)

           TWELVE HOUSES (5 books)

           ELEMENTAL BLESSINGS (4 books)        

SHIFTING CIRCLE (2 books)

           UNCOMMON ECHOES

           GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER

           GATEWAY

 Daniel Jose Older

 I was a Daniel Jose Older fan before I was sent DACTYL HILL SQUAD for a blurb (preodactyls in flight!  Of all sizes!  Confederate spies!  Thuggish bigot northerners!  The backlash of Gettysburg and the forced recruitment of blacks for the war effort! And strong, smart, fierce kids of various ages, sizes, colors, national heritage, and skills doing their best to help the war against the slaves, keep escaped slaves safe, duck the cruel managers of the homes and jails where they are being kept, find a half-decent meal, free other kids in trouble, learn who’s killing their friends, and help the dactyls!  That’s part of it, anyway!

Yeah, I loved it.  And there’s at least one new book, and once I’ve mowed though that, there are his older teen books, and his grownup mysteries, with their half-dead taxi driver who doubles as a part-time troubleshooter for the undead powers in his Bone Street Rhumba series.  {happy sigh}

  Edgar Allen Poe

Yes, some of these are reminders of why we ended up to be the readers we are and to nudge us to corrupt—I mean, “introduce”—­new readers to the glories that are our legacies.

­

THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE

           Here are the greats:

poems like “The Raven,” and “Annabelle Lee”

stories like “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Telltale Heart,” and  ::shudder:: “The Pit and the Pendulum” (yes, a deep pit and a swinging pendulum topped with a razor-edged blade will be featured in this story).  

My dad would read these to us on dark and stormy nights when we lived near the Pacific ocean, when the fog came rolling in, softening every sound, when there were no cars driving by and no other sounds in our house but his deep voice and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.  We would listen, soundless, as he wove the stories and poems around us and the foghorn sounded offshore.

           That’s the power of Poe.

  N. K. Jemisin

I think I began with Jemisin’s THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS, soon followed by its sequel THE BROKEN KINGDOMS.  The series ended with a third book, THE KINGDOM OF THE GODS.  She presented a rich and varied world from the aspects of people of different classes, showing the growth of societies and their formation.  I have a secret passion for society-building and social interaction, and whether or not a book is difficult to read (as Jemisin’s books are in spots because she refuses to insult a reader by talking down to them) is immaterial.  I want the world and I want the characters, and with her far-reaching mind and her respect for her characters she delivers each and every time.  I have read almost everything she’s written since that first trilogy: if I’ve missed something, it’s because I was in the middle of a deadline and on the road and somehow didn’t see it.  I’ll catch up!  This is just a sample:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

 The City They Became (pub’d April 2020)

 The Inheritance Trilogy:

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

           2 book sequels

Novella: The Awakened Kingdom, 2014

                       Triptych: Shades in Shadow, 2015 (3 short stories) 

             The Dreamblood Duology:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

                       Two sequels

 The Broken Earth series:

         The Fifth Season (August 2015)

                       Two book sequels

And there are plenty of short stories out there.  I may even have missed a book or twelve!

For those who prefer to hear my ramble in person, a video!

[litttlesilkworm]

Chicken and Beets 

Dear Comrades,

Here is another entry for the Chernobyl New Year Challenge 2021: a recipe + a bit of a story to go with it. The story turned out more than a bit sad, I must confess 💚💛💜

This project shares a common ingredient with our delightful collaboration with @alyeen1 on Valoris-themed cocktail recipes - beets! Check out our cocktail post if you haven’t gotten a chance yet!

As @alyeen1​ has pointed out in the cocktail post, the idea with using beets comes from the fact that there is an untouched plate of boiled chicken and beets on Valery’s desk as mentioned in the Ep. 3 script:

We can, indeed, see the plate in the foreground in the frame below:

I wanted to imagine a little riff on this detail in a form of a scene that would take place later - in Moscow, not long after Boris and Valery come back from Chernobyl for good. It is New Year’s Eve, and Boris is having Valery over at his apartment to celebrate the arrival of 1987 together, just the two of them.

For the story and the recipe (and a picture of food), please click below!

Content warning: food/appetite, canon-consistent sad themes (”5 years”).

@shark-from-the-park @elenatria @drunkardonjunkyard @green-ann @johnlockismyreligion @borislegasov @owlboxes @seaweednpeanuts @attachedtofictionalpeople​ @gwinny3k @kylos-scarf​ @scarlettestar​ @the-jewish-marxist​ @cinemaocd​ @natasharedfox​ @ignalina-c0re​ @potter012​ @stellan-pip-69​ @art-is-a-malady @antonellachan4567 @hereliesnils​ @sunset-and-periwinkle​ @thegreenmeridian​ and everyone else!

“Something smells amazing, Borya,” Valery exclaims as he steps into Boris’ palatial apartment. He carefully sets two large white cardboard boxes, both tied with a string, and a canvas bag with bottles of champagne on the floor of Boris’ spacious hallway, and takes off his fur hat. 

Boris is wearing a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, black trousers and a red checkered apron. The heat of the kitchen has given his face a very appealing kind of sheen, a few errant strands of gray hair have fallen on his forehead, and his smooth cheeks look flushed. He seems excited about something, as if he has a secret that he is itching to reveal - but has to hold off on it for some only known to him dramatic timing.

He looks so attractive that the sight of him quite literally takes Valery’s breath away.

In the very next moment, Boris dives for his lips with a precision and determination of a hunting hawk. The tone and pitch of Boris’ contented hum, the way he holds Valery, the way he runs his fingers through his ginger hair as it crackles with static electricity, the way his thumbs rub circles on Valery’s cheeks, rosy from the biting wind outside, all tell the same story. It is a happy story, Valery knows. The one about how much he missed Valery, and how grateful he is to have Valery’s love, and how pleased he is to greet him here in his warm home, on this New Year’s Eve, and how he has prepared a surprise, and how much he’d enjoyed the process of preparation, and how excited he is to reveal it.

They part eventually, smiling, breathing “happy-new-years” into each others’ mouths. 

Boris’ gaze falls on the packages Valery carefully carried from Yeliseevsky market down the iced-over sidewalks. 

“You’ve brought champagne, wonderful! And dessert-” 

“I couldn’t decide between eclairs and the Napoleon, so I got both,” Valery says shyly, feeling his face getting warm. In reality, he got both because both looked so tempting to him. He is the one with a sweet tooth.

“Remember the box of frozen eclairs I found in the freezer at the restaurant at Polissya?” smiles Boris.

Valery nods enthusiastically. A good memory.

“It was the first thing I’ve seen you eat at Chernobyl like you actually had an appetite! It was a relief to see you excited about food. Do you remember what they used to feed us from the mobile kitchen?” Boris asks as he helps Valery out of his coat, shaking the snow off it. 

“Yes,” Valery says with a bit of dramatic shudder. They are like two soldiers reminiscing about the shared misery of a foxhole, Boris and him. “Pikalov’s unit has the best chemists and engineers in the Soviet Union - but not exactly the best cooks.”

Boris laughs heartily in agreement. “Remember what they used to serve most often?”

“Hmmm?” Valery cocks his head to the side and looks at Boris quizzically. “Boiled chicken and beets?”

“Right!” exclaims Boris. “Chicken that tasted like cotton balls.”

“And the beets! They must’ve boiled them all afternoon - they hardly had any color left in them,” adds Valery.

“You barely touched that food anyway. I was worried you will start wasting away. You would have a few bites if me or Nikolai were eating with you but if you were left alone with your calculations - forget it...” Boris waves his hand. 

“That’s not true!” Valery exclaims, indignant. “I ate what everyone else was eating!”

“You know, after you told me that isotopes don’t go into butter, I’ve taken to buying slabs of butter from the few villagers who had stayed behind. I would put buttered bread on your plate as you worked late into the night in your corner of the suite. You would finish your piece without noticing it and then I would slip you another one. After I fed you five or six of those I could be content and go read my Pravda.”

The revelation catches Valery completely off guard - he recalls the buttered bread, yes, but he truly, honestly never realized that Boris had been slipping him an entire daily calories’ worth at nighttime. All he remembers is his papers, his calculator, his logarithmic ruler, his aching neck and a constant crushing sense of dread that he might be completely, irredeemably wrong with his projections.

“I know you’ve never noticed,” Boris tilts his head and looks at him softly, crinkles gathering around his laughing eyes. He reaches to squeeze somewhat disoriented Valery’s shoulder, shaking the younger man back and forth gently. “But I knew that I got you fed, and that was good enough for me.”

Something beautiful and sad rises inside Valery and spills into a mist of tears in his eyes. It’s not what he wanted or expected of himself this evening, but he can’t help it.

A tinny voice deep inside him, like a small radio hidden under a thick pillow, scrapes at him in its metallic, nagging cadence - this won’t last, you fool. This - all of this - won’t last. You’ve seen his radiospectrogram, you’ve seen yours. Your bones are chock-full of strontium, both of you. Your leukocyte count is starting to look bad. He’s got that new cough whenever he lies down, and it doesn’t seem to go away. 

Every time Valery hears that cough is like a razor to his heart. 

“Please don’t take him,” he thinks now as he lies awake during oh-so-common for him sleepless nights, with his face pressed to Boris’ broad back, listening to the soft sound of his breath - the amazing sound of life that is dearer to him than his own. 

“Please don’t take him,” he says to someone he doesn’t know how to talk to, to something he isn’t sure exists beyond the electrons orbiting the clumps of protons and neutrons. Beyond the quantum uncertainty. Beyond the cosmic void. 

After he knew the cough was here to stay, he seemed to have adjusted his nighttime bargain. “Please don’t take him first.” 

The vision of Boris in his red apron blurs and trembles in Valery’s eyes, sliding slightly sideways and downwards. He blinks the veil of tears away, wiping his eyes with his small hand so he could see his love clearly again.

“You look so handsome tonight, Borya. And I love you so much,” Valery says softly, a wet sound escaping his throat. “So much.”

“Valera,” Boris wraps his arms around him in an attempt to quiet whichever emotion is roiling his lover, grumbling softly near his ear, “do you know what it meant for me to take care of you in the midst of all that... madness? It kept me together, too, you know - loving you. And you look amazing in blue.” 

Boris’ hands slide down to stroke Valery’s plump sides clad in a soft blue sweater vest as he says that.

"Thank you,” Valery closes his eyes and breathes, soaking in the comfort of Boris’ touch.

“I want to dance with you later tonight,” he mumbles into Boris’ shirt. 

“Yeah,” Boris answers softly into his hair. “Yeah, that would be good.”

Boris’ arm is around Valery as he leads him into the living room, where a holiday table is set next to an enormous New Year’s tree adorned with a red star and coated generously with silver tinsel.

Valery has been saving space in his belly all day and is now finding himself, in fact, very, very hungry.

As Boris shuttles back and forth between the living room and the kitchen with bowls and serving platters, Valery fusses with the wires of the champagne bottle, looking worriedly at the chandelier. 

“I’ve got Olivier salad, red caviar sandwiches, oh! - pickled mushrooms, so good,” Boris recites proudly. “And for the main course... you wouldn’t mind if we had chicken and beets tonight, would you? Like in the old times?” 

He pauses for a proper dramatic effect. The look of momentary dismay on Valery’s face must be so comical that it makes the older man laugh out loud. 

“Don’t worry, love - it’s the good kind. This one you wouldn’t want to pass up,” says Boris, beaming, and proceeds to fill Valery’s plate. “Eat, Valera, eat.” 

The winter winds are wailing hard outside, but here in the warm living room the air is filled with the clinking of cutlery and Valery’s delighted humming as he devours Boris’ creation. Even the nagging metallic voice in Valery’s head seems to have quieted down to an indecipherable murmur, as if tucked away behind a thick wall somewhere. Really, he can barely hear it at all.

                                                          * * *

Recipe: Chicken Delmonico + Warm Beet Salad with Pears, Gorgonzola Cheese and Walnuts

For the chicken, I followed Emeril Lagasse’s excellent Chicken Delmonico recipe exactly (just the chicken, not the mushroom part), except that I didn’t make my own spice mix the way he suggests, but instead combined store-bought cajun spice mix with salt in a 5:1 ratio.

The key to this recipe is to be generous with the seasoning!

For the beet salad, I did the following:

Ingredients:

6 medium-sized beets

2 large ripe pears

⅔ of a cup of walnut halves and pieces 

⅔ of a cup of Gorgonzola cheese crumbs

Extra-virgin olive oil

Lemon juice

Salt and pepper

1. Scrub the beets with a brush, rub with olive oil and wrap in foil. Roast in a 350 F (175 C) oven for 40 min, then let them cool until you can comfortably handle them. Peel the beets and chop them into ½ inch-thick slices, set aside.

2. Toast walnuts in a 350 F oven for 6-7 minutes, chop, set aside.

3. Peel and chop the pears into slices similar in size to your beet slices.

4. In a large mixing bowl, combine beet and pear slices, toasted walnuts and Gorgonzola. Add olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste, and mix well. Enjoy!

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 74

BLACKOUT!! @badthingshappenbingo​​​

Honor Bound 2 - 74 (more expendable than you) - requested by @my-whumpy-little-heart​​​​ and @omega-em-z-02​​​​

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound.

AO3

Cw: thoughts/discussion of death, noncon mention, death threats, gendered slur, death, broken bones mention, blood, gunshot wounds

~

Gavin told Isaac to count for ten minutes after he’d been taken back to his cell. Ten minutes, and the guards would be back at their posts after dropping Isaac off. Ten minutes, and then it would start. Ten minutes and the family would make a break for freedom, or die.

Isaac had ten minutes to explain the plan and convince the family to follow it. He was already seven minutes in.

“She…” Tori’s voice shook. “She said if I… if I take it off, she’ll… she’ll kill Vera, I… I can’t…”

“I know she did,” Isaac said softly, counting in his head. 434. 435. 436. “I know. But… she won’t make it here. She won’t make it in time. Gavin will beat her here and get us out.”

“I don’t trust him,” Tori whimpered. “I don’t, I don’t trust him. He’s different. He’s… he’s changed. He hurts me, I can’t… please… he hurts me…”

“I know he does, babe,” Vera said softly. “But… it’s only because he has to. If you do this, he won’t have to anymore.”

“But what if he’s lying?” Tori said weakly. “What if he really likes this? What if he just wants us for himself now, and he’s lying?”

“Tori…” Isaac’s voice broke as the flicker of a memory gripped him, a memory of Gavin’s hand gently cradling his face, pulling him close for a kiss and then pulling back at the last moment… 461. 462. 463. “He doesn’t want to hurt us. You just have to… trust me on this. Okay? I was with him last night. We were up all night planning this, going over contingencies, filling holes in the plan… If this plan doesn’t work, nothing will. Believe me. Please.”

“Why today?” Tori sobbed. “Why not weeks ago? We’ve been kept here for, for weeks, and he’s been torturing us this whole time…”

“Tori,” Vera said, a hint of firmness in her voice. “He had to. He had absolutely no choice. I know it hurts, babe, but—”

“We’re doing this now because he can help us now,” Isaac said. “He’s trusted. It’s why I got to stay with him. Colleen trusts him. She thought he’d fuck me last night, like he’s meant to.” 508. 509. 510.

“He still did,” Tori whispered.

Isaac swallowed hard. Gavin did fuck him, with Leo holding him down, Leo’s hand in his hair, Leo forcing him down to the bed as he screamed… Isaac shuddered and forced the image from his mind. He forced away the pain as his body locked down at the memory, at the feeling, of Gavin forcing himself on Isaac. Not gently, not tenderly like he had before. Gavin played the game so well that Leo believed it.

And then Gavin had nearly kissed him. Why had he pulled back? If he felt nothing for Isaac, why hold him at all? Why not push him away?

539. 540. 541. Isaac cleared his throat. “It had to be today because she’s going to kill him today.”

“And if she’s killing him today…” Sam spoke for the first time, shivering with terror, cowering towards the floor. “…then we’re dying today, too.”

“I know it’s terrifying,” Vera croaked. “I know it feels like you’re killing me. But… Tori… if this doesn’t work, I’m dying today anyway.”

“No,” Tori sobbed. “Don’t say that, don’t say that… Please…”

“If you don’t do this, I don’t get Ellis back,” Finn whimpered from their cell. “Please, Tori. I… please. This is how we get out. This has to be you.”

“Gavin’s done this for us once before,” Isaac rasped, a smile playing across his lips for a fraction of a second. “And that was back before any of us trusted him.” 553. 554. 555. Please, Tori. Please. Do this, or we miss our chance. Please.

“Tori, please,” Vera said softly. “I won’t take it off you myself. But… please. Please do it.”

Tori heaved a sob, the sound muffled by her hand. There was a rattle of chains and the sound of a body moving across the floor.

“I love you,” Tori whimpered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Vera said back, conviction strengthening her voice, evening out the tremor. “I love you so much.”

“Okay.” A sniff. “How long do we have, Isaac?”

567. 568. 569. “Thirty seconds,” Isaac croaked.

“Oh, god,” Tori sobbed. “Oh, Vera, no no no no…”

“It’s okay, babe. I got you. Gavin’s got us. It’s okay.”

576. 577. 578.

“Vera, p-please, what if he kills you, what if he kills you…?”

“He won’t. Just breathe, babe. You can do this.”

585. 586. 587.

“I-Isaac, when…?”

“Ten. Nine.”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

“Eight. Seven.”

“Okay okay okay.”

“Six. Five.”

“Oh, Vera, I love you…”

“Four. Three.”

“I love you too.”

“Two. One. Do it, Tori.”

There was a clink, and a short beep. A clatter. Tori heaved a sob.

“I took it off,” she whispered. “No no no no no, she’s gonna… Oh, god, Vera, I’m so sorry, please, no…”

“You did it, babe,” Vera said softly, pride warming her voice. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You remember what I said?” Isaac said breathlessly, his heart pounding in his chest. No stopping this now. “Get to the side. Get out of sight of the door. Stand still, don’t move.”

“Yeah,” Tori breathed. There was a scramble of hands and knees on the floor. “Oh, god. Oh, shit.”

“Steady, Tori,” Isaac said gently. “You’re alright. Breathe. Slowly. In, out.”

“Right,” Tori gasped. “Breathing. Good.”

“Keep breathing. And when they come, stay perfectly silent. Stay out of the way. Don’t let them see you.”

A whimper. “Okay. I can do it.”

“You can do this,” Vera said, intensity crackling in every word.

Isaac strained his hearing to try to pick up the pounding of boots, of shouts. He knew the cell block was soundproofed. There was no point in trying to hear anything. He tried, all the same.

He jumped when the door to the hallway burst open.

Three guards jogged in and went straight for Tori and Vera’s cell, guns already drawn. Three’s better than it could have been, but more than we were hoping for. One of them was the one who had nearly shot Isaac against his sergeant’s orders. Isaac shivered as they all stopped moving, probably taking up position around Tori and Vera’s cell.

“Where the fuck is she?” one of them snarled. That was him. Simmons.

There was a clink of a chain moving against the floor. “Beats me,” came Vera’s voice. “I haven’t seen her since last night. Didn’t you guys get an alert or something?”

“Bullshit,” another snapped. “She’s probably just… hiding in that damned corner.” There was a jingle of keys.

“She’s not here to put the muzzle on me so…” The sound of keys stopped for a moment. “Come on in here. I dare you.”

Isaac had to suppress a smile. That’s right. Keep them talking. Give Gavin time.

“We put her down now, and look for the other one once she’s dead,” one of them murmured.

“Go right ahead,” Vera snapped. “That’ll help you find her.”

“Shit.” There was a rustle of uniforms. “Do we tell Mrs. Stormbeck? Or…”

Someone banged on the door to the hallway.

Isaac could have sobbed with relief. Colleen would have had someone with her with keys. He beat her, for now.

“Go see who the fuck that is.”

Simmons passed in front of Isaac and Sam’s cell with a withering glance in their direction. He holstered his weapon as he did. The door opened, and the guard gasped quietly.

“Oh. Ga— Mr. Stormbeck. What—”

“Move, Simmons.” Gavin stepped past the guard and stalked past Sam and Isaac, his face pulled into a mask of fury.

“Mr.—”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Stormbeck. I get it.”

“Sir, what—”

“That one’s bitch took off her collar, didn’t she?”

“Um… yes sir.”

“Fucking hell. We fucking told her…”

“Sir, we were just… did you want us to put her down here? Or take her back to your moth—”

“Fuck that,” Gavin hissed. “Jones, give me your fucking gun. I’m going to put her down. Fucking animal killed my father and put me in the hospital for weeks.”

“S-sir—”

“Jones, give me your fucking gun.”

Isaac held his breath. This worked once, with two idiots who had one gun between them. These guys are trained, and wearing body armor. Please, Gavin, please don’t miss… I can’t listen to you die when we’re so fucking close to getting out.

There was the sound of a weapon being unholstered. “Yes, sir,” the guard said heavily. Isaac let out his breath.

Simmons took a step back and into Isaac’s view. He through a poisonous look at Sam, then Isaac. “What?” he sneered. “No drama? No begging? Thank god we’ve finally beaten that shit out of you. Now—”

Bang.

Simmons jumped, his head snapping towards Gavin. He reached for his gun.

Bang.

He had the gun out of his holster and was bringing it up to shoot.

Bang.

Simmons jerked backwards and fell to the floor. Dead.

Isaac gasped. His ears rang with the sounds of the gunshots. He did it. He fucking did it.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the jingle of keys.

“No, no no no,” Isaac said, lunging forward against the chains. “Make sure they’re dead, Gavin. Headshots. Don’t touch the keys yet.”

A sigh. “They were headshots, Isaac.”

“Okay,” Isaac croaked. Gavin stepped into view and threw a wry glance in Isaac’s direction. “Sorry.”

Gavin yanked the keys from Simmons’ belt and went first to Isaac and Sam’s cell. Isaac felt something give way in his chest as the door swung open.

Gavin stumbled in and fell to his knees beside Isaac. He threw his arms around Isaac and buried his face in his neck.

“Isaac,” Gavin breathed. “It worked. Holy fuck…”

Isaac pressed a kiss into Gavin’s hair. His stomach lurched in the same moment. He doesn’t have to fuck me now. I don’t get to touch him like that anymore. He looked over Gavin’s shoulder and saw Sam weakly pushing themselves up to their knees. Gavin pulled back and fumbled with the keys, reaching for the shackles around Isaac’s wrists.

Isaac yanked his hand back. “No. Start with Sam. Get them out.”

“N-no, Isaac,” Sam gasped. “If more guards come, you need to… you’re more…” They winced.

Isaac’s mouth went dry. “I’m more… what?”

“I’m…” Sam panted and wrapped their arms around their chest, splinting the cracked ribs from when they’d been kicked yesterday. “I’m, um…” Their voice dropped to a whisper. “Expendable. It’s okay if I—”

Isaac all but shoved Gavin away from him. “Free them first,” he growled. His hand snapped in Sam’s direction. “Now, Gavin.”

Gavin swallowed hard and turned to Sam. He unlocked the chain from their collar. They slumped to the floor, wheezing.

“Now you,” Gavin murmured. He scrambled over to Isaac and unchained him from the wall.

Isaac leapt to his feet, trying to force down the wave of nausea and dizziness that gripped him for a moment as he stood. He stumbled out of the cell and went to one of the guards lying splayed in front of Vera and Tori’s cell. Blood was slowly leaking out of the bullet holes in their heads. His hands shook as he yanked the keys from the guard’s belt and lunged for Finn’s cell. He unlocked the door and tossed the keys inside. Finn grabbed the keys and immediately reached for the chain locked to their collar.

Isaac went to the last guard and ripped the ring of keys from his belt. He unlocked Tori and Vera’s cell and passed the keys to Tori, standing just behind the bars. He turned back to the guards and reached for the nearest one.

“Gavin,” Isaac said, his voice falling into the harsh tone it always got on missions. “There’s blood. Cover your, your nose or something.”

“Already on it,” Gavin said, his voice slightly muffled. Isaac turned and saw Gavin supporting Sam, a cloth tied around Gavin’s face. Isaac’s jaw clenched shut at how pale Sam looked, at the pain in every line of their face.

Gavin set Sam gently against the wall. “Can you stand?” Gavin said softly. Isaac blinked tears out of his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam gasped. “I’m, I’m fine.”

Gavin crammed the ring of keys into his pocket and turned to Isaac. “You all good here?”

Isaac glanced around at the others, all free of their chains, a fierceness in each of them. Even Tori. “Yeah,” he said. “Go get Ellis.”

Gavin met Isaac’s gaze for a moment, something behind his eyes that made Isaac’s chest ache. This is the most dangerous part for him. I’m sending him back out there with no protection, no weapons… Isaac swallowed hard. He jerked the gun out of the guard’s holster and held it out to Gavin.

“Here,” Isaac said weakly. “Take this. I can’t let you—”

“We talked about this, Isaac,” Gavin said heavily. “You need that more than I do. If they find you, they’ll just shoot you dead. Me, at least…” Gavin shrugged, a choked laugh leaving his throat. “If they catch me, they won’t shoot me. They’ll just take me back to my mom. And if they catch me, it’ll be too late anyway.”

Something scratched at the back of Isaac’s mind, something about what Gavin said that didn’t sit right. Something that clenched Isaac’s gut. He opened his mouth to protest. We’ll all go together. We’ll all get Ellis out. We’ll figure something out. Please, please don’t go.

Gavin turned to leave. “I’ll get Ellis. You guys get out, get to where I told you to meet me. I’ll see you there.” He pulled the door open and ran, dragging the cloth away from his face. The door closed heavily behind him.

Isaac felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Vera at his side. She looked stronger than she had in weeks, her eyes blazing. “Come on, Isaac,” she said softly. “Let’s get them out.”

He shot a glance at Sam, sagging against the wall, sweat beading on their forehead. His throat went tight. “Yeah,” he rasped. He turned back to the guard on the floor in front of him.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “Three guards. Three vests. Vera, Finn, suit up. Tori and Sam, you stay behind us.” He ripped the guard’s shirt open down the front and reached for the guard’s knife. He cut the rest of the shirt off and began undoing the straps on the vest. He glanced to both sides and saw Vera and Finn doing the same.

“Babe,” Tori said softly. “Do you… I mean… do you have to…”

Vera didn’t look up. “Yeah,” she said curtly. Mission mode. “Isaac has the training, I’m ex-law enforcement, Finn’s ex—”

“Barely ex-military,” Finn snorted, a sort of fevered energy in their eyes. “Ex-military prep school? And I was bad at the military stuff.”

“Whatever,” Vera said. “We’ve got the training. We go in front.”

“But—”

Vera turned and looked at Tori. “Sam’s going to need help walking. Stay behind us. Keep your heads down. Help Sam.”

Tori bit her lip. “Okay.”

Isaac pulled the vest free and swung it up over his head, settling it over his shoulders and expertly pulling the Velcro straps tight. He grabbed the gun and checked it as Finn and Vera finished putting on their vests.

“Six rounds, plus one in the chamber,” Isaac said.

“Same,” Vera said.

“Same,” came Finn’s reply.

After another moment, Isaac yanked the belt off the guard and buckled it around his waist, sliding the guard’s knife into its sheath.

“Ready?” he said, his voice low. They all nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Let’s go.” He took point and pushed the door open.

Finn and Vera fell to either side of him, with Sam and Tori so close behind him he could feel them against his back. They quickly made their way down the hall.

“Left,” he said softly. He cleared the hallway, and the others followed behind. He could hear Sam’s labored breathing behind him. Each gasp punched through his own chest. He shook his head and focused on the hallway in front of him. They paused just as they were about to pass another hallway.

“Vera—”

Vera stepped out and cleared the hallway. She motioned, and they all moved silently on.

Another hallway to the right. Vera cleared it, and they moved again.

“Right here,” Isaac whispered. Again, Vera stepped out to clear it. She gasped and brought her gun up. Isaac lunged forward, his own weapon held out in front of him.

Two guards were walking quickly in their direction.

“Right,” Isaac said.

“Left,” Vera said at the same time. They both took shots. Both guards went down. Finn scrambled around the corner, their own gun held up into the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Finn panted. “I’m not—”

“It’s okay,” Vera said, her voice harsh, her eyes focused. “You’re not used to this. Isaac and I are.”

“I’m sor—”

“Hush,” Vera snapped. “Not now.”

Finn swallowed and fell silent.

They moved quickly down the hallway, sidestepping the bodies of the two guards. Sam whimpered as they passed. Isaac reached one hand behind him for a moment, searching for Sam’s. Their hand slid into his and squeezed.

They reached the end of the hallway. Isaac cleared the way left, and they all moved.

“It’s another right, then a straight shot to the doors,” Isaac hissed.

A guard rounded the corner.

Finn, Isaac, and Vera all snapped their weapons up to point at him. His hands shot straight up into the air and he fell to his knees. “Please,” he gasped. “Oh, shit, fuck, please don’t…”

Isaac swallowed hard. It was the young guard, the guard from before, one of the ones who’d dragged Isaac into his cell and trembled as he did it. He’s Sam’s age, or younger. Isaac’s hand shook around the gun.

Vera’s stance tightened as she took aim.

“No,” Isaac whispered. “He’s a fucking kid.”

The barrel of Vera’s gun dipped. She blew out a slow breath between her lips. “Gun on the floor,” she snarled at the guard.

The guard drew his weapon and placed it on the floor. He slid it towards Isaac.

Isaac snatched it off the floor and passed it behind him, not taking his eyes off the guard. “Tori,” he whispered. She took it from his hand.

“Knife, too.”

The guard drew it from its sheath and tossed it over. Vera grabbed it and passed it back to Sam.

“Please,” the guard begged. “I didn’t, I didn’t want to do this, they, they told me it was just security, they… please, no…”

Vera dragged in a gasp beside Isaac. “Shit.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Isaac growled.

“I won’t,” the guard sobbed, tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks. “The d-door is, it’s, you walk past me and take a right and it’s—”

“We know,” Isaac said darkly. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

“I won’t, I—” The guard glanced behind Isaac. “No no no WATCH—”

Isaac spun, keeping his weapon down so it wouldn’t point at Sam and Tori. A guard was barreling down the hall towards them, weapon drawn and pointed right at them. Isaac aimed for the guard’s center mass.

Bang.

There was a spray of blood and Sam fell back against Isaac, just as the bullet punched into Isaac’s vest. He collapsed to the floor with Sam on top of him.

Bang.

The shot came from directly above him.

Isaac couldn’t breathe. He felt like he’d been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. The bullet had to have gone through. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe…

The world was fuzzy at the edges. Isaac dragged in a ragged breath, nearly screaming as his ribs creaked in his chest. The pain made him dizzy. His eyes rolled back in his head. Something wet was spilling into his lap. He looked down at Sam. They were covered in blood.

“SAM! NO!”

Isaac dropped the gun, his hands fumbling at Sam’s chest, at their neck, desperately searching for where the blood was coming from. He heaved a dry sob. His hands were slick with blood.

Someone pushed his hands away from Sam. “No!” Isaac screamed. “No, let me…”

There was a flash of chestnut hair and Finn pushed Isaac away again. “Let me,” Finn snapped, focused.

Finn’s hands moved over Sam, the same way Isaac had seen dozens of times. Head. Neck. Chest. Their hands stuttered and stopped as they found the bleed: the bullet had torn through Sam’s upper arm. Blood was pulsing from the wound.

“Isaac. Belt. Take everything off of it.” Finn’s voice was steady as they pressed their hand into the wound. Sam gasped and whined softly.

Isaac tore the belt off this waist and stripped it of its holster and sheath. He passed it to Finn. Finn wound it around Sam’s arm at their shoulder. They pulled it tight, then tighter, then tighter. Sam screamed. Isaac’s hands jerked towards them and then back.

“No, I need your help,” Finn said. “I’ll pull it tight. You buckle it so it stays.”

“And that’ll—”

“Not for long. But we’ve got to move. Now, Isaac.”

Isaac’s hands were wet with blood as he forced the belt to buckle around Sam’s arm. There was a black spot growing in his vision as every breath stabbed through him.

Finn’s voice was at his shoulder. “I’ll carry them. Vera—”

“I’ll cover,” she said from above Isaac, her voice shaking. “Isaac, can you walk?”

“I’ll carry…” Isaac swallowed. He swayed as he pushed himself to his feet.

“No,” Finn snapped. “Your ribs might be cracked. Not risking it. I’ve got them.” They quickly gathered Sam into their arms and lifted. Sam cried out as Finn cradled them against their chest. Sam’s skin was deathly pale.

“S-Sam,” Isaac sobbed.

“Let’s move,” Vera said. Her free hand closed around Isaac’s vest and jerked him forward. He stumbled after her as she cleared the next hallway. Tori and Finn followed behind, both supporting Sam. Just a few more steps. Just a few more steps. Isaac staggered forward, gasping.

“Gavin said… he… would have a car… said… just outside…”

“I know, Isaac,” Vera said, her voice strained. She reached the doors and shoved them open. They all rushed through and down the steps. There was a black, nondescript car at the bottom, already running. A valet stepped out of the car, a look of surprise and concern on his face. Vera took aim.

“No…” Isaac heaved.

“Necessary evil,” Vera said darkly. She took a shot. The valet jerked and toppled over into the driveway. She dashed down the stairs and pulled the car doors open for the others.

Finn and Tori stumbled on the steps and Sam nearly fell from their grasp. Sam let out a shriek of agony.

Isaac glanced up and his stomach clenched in panic. The young guard was barreling down the steps towards them. The gun Isaac had been carrying was held tight in the guard’s hand.

“V-Vera, Vera!” Isaac rasped, his voice raw. Vera turned and gasped, raising her gun to point it at the guard.

“No no no no! Don’t shoot! I…” The guard shoved the gun into his holster and raised his hands. “Just… just let me…” He knelt beside Sam and pulled them roughly into his arms.

“NO!” Isaac screamed. “No, no!” He fumbled for the gun he knew wasn’t there, he knew it was in the guard’s holster, and he was taking Sam…

The guard staggered down the steps towards the car with Sam in his arms. Isaac’s mouth fell open.

“Come on!” the guard yelled over his shoulder. “Come on, I… I want to help, please…”

“What the… fuck…” Vera breathed.

“Please,” the guard sobbed. “Please, I… I just want to, to help…”

Finn and Tori ran towards the guard and helped support Sam to the car. “We need to fucking go,” Tori hissed. “If he wants to help…”

Finn and Tori helped the guard as he carried Sam into the back seat and laid them across it. Sam whimpered, blood soaking into their clothes.

“Hey,” Vera barked at the guard. “The fuck is your name?”

“Zachariah,” the guard panted. His hands shot into the air as soon as his hands left Sam.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Vera snarled.

“H-helping,” the guard whimpered. “Please. I… I’m sorry…”

“Get the fuck out, then,” Vera snapped. Isaac glanced up at her and saw concern, not hatred. “Get the fuck out. Go back to the house. If they find you with us they’ll kill you. Go. Now.”

The guard fell backwards out of the car and scrambled up the steps. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry… I… I don’t want to be this anymore,” he sobbed.

Vera paused and looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Then head north,” she said heavily. “Keep heading north until there are no syndicates. You’ll reach a town. You’ll know you’re there, trust me. Tell them you’re a refugee and we sent you. You know our names?”

“Yes,” the guard breathed. “Thank you.” He turned and ran back into the house.

Isaac stumbled down the rest of the stairs. He eased himself into the middle seat and immediately reached back for Sam.

“Finn,” he gasped. “How do we, how…”

“I don’t know,” Finn said, their voice on the edge of a sob. “I don’t know. But we’ve got to switch out this tourniquet. And I… they’ve lost so much blood already, I… I need to…” Finn’s voice broke. “I can’t fix this without my med kit…”

Isaac turned his gaze back to the house, his vision blurred with tears. Sam was dying, and Gavin might be dead. If we go, can Finn save Sam? We’re hundreds of miles from friendly territory. And… Isaac’s stomach heaved with the amount of blood on Sam’s clothes, on his, soaking into the seat of the car. Finn can’t fix this here. But if we go, if we go, if we go…

“We just have to… wait for… Gavin and Ellis,” Isaac said almost to himself, his chest aching with each word. “They… they just have to… to make it out. And then we can go.”

Continued here

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[ladynightmare913]

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Welcome to Chapter 9! This is an Original Story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. I would like to say a special thank to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff​ ) for joining me on writing this world onto paper. 

CW: There are mentions of death, blood, and gore. You have your warning!

This story contains only original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those of you who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box! I know this chapter is shorter than usual but I promise to make up for it in the next chapter! 

I recommend listening this song while reading. I was listening to it while I wrote this.

Now without Further Adieu!

Chapter 9: Bardolph

1000 years ago

Red collapsed to the snow covered ground, hands reached to grab anything as the searing pain surged through him, he choked and gasped for air. At last when the trills of sunlight warmed his freezing body, did the pain finally cease until there was nothing. Exhausted and starving, he laid there. 

Ice blue eyes opened slowly. Heavy eyelids tempted Red to fall back into his deep slumber, but the scent wouldn’t let him. He turned his head to  get a better look at his surroundings. He blinked slowly, he wasn’t in the forest, or laying on the frozen ground. He was on a bed, in a room with wooden walls, lined with shelves full of books. 

Red swallowed thickly, his throat dry. He shifted his arms, but they were heavy like lead.  He lifted his head to see what kept him bound, but there was nothing restraining him. Only thick fur blankets. His chest however, was bandaged. He glared at the wolf on his chest, he sighed as he laid his head back down. He tried to fight out sleep, but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. 

The next time he woke, his hand rested upon his chest, his eyes didn’t struggle to open. His ears picked up the crackling of a fire. The scent of light smoke and warm broth flooded his newly sensitive nose. He found that he could move his arms at last, and slowly sat up from the bed. Catching the attention of his savoir. 

“Hold on there now, you were nearly dead when I found you.” A man’s voice.

Red looked to the stranger. The man was tall, his hair was a soft curly brown, lightly tanned skin, and the most striking pair of hazel eyes that seemed to have speck of gold in the sunlight. 

Red felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the wolf on his chest moved, shifting to a stance with its jaw closed into a growl. But not a sound was heard. Red felt the stranger prop a pillow behind him. He cleared his voice.

“Thank you…” His voice croaked. 

Wordlessly the stranger handed him a cup of water with a smile. “Call me Bardolph.” 

“Thank you Bardolph.” Red craned his neck to look around him. “How long have I been here?” 

“Four days, found you up on that snowy mountain while I was hunting for the Golden Doe.” Bardolph chuckled. 

Red snorted, “That’s just a legend.” 

“Maybe, but I’m a dying man. Can’t help it if I’m desperate.” 

Red paled. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have-”

“Pff, it’s alright. I’ve been hunting it for months now, never caught sight of it.” He clicked his tongue. “What were you doin’ out there anyway, in this bitter cold with nothing but the skin on your back?” 

Red sighed. “It’s… a long story.” 

Bardolph leaned back to his seat, crossing his arms. A smirk on his face. “I’ve got nothing else to do, indulge me.” 

Red merely shook his head in amusement. He relaxed, leaning his back to rest on the headboard. His eyes caught a leather journal resting on the self next to him. Herbs littered the shelves as well. 

“You’re a healer?”

Bardolph gave a small chuckle. “Of sorts.” He grabs the journal, opening it to a page and handing the journal over. 

Red accepted it, gently handling the book with great care. His eyes skimmed over the text, how to treat small cuts on the chest. He frowned at the date. 

“773?” He asked, his throat suddenly dry.

“How hard did you hit your head? Of course it’s 773” Bardolph looked over Red.

Red paled. His hand rising to cover his eyes, tears streamed down his face. “Three years. I’ve been trapped in that state for three years.” he choked out.

Bardolph said nothing as he only watched the young man before him weep at his apparent gap in time. When Red calmed, he offered the bed ridden man broth. 

They fell into a routine, Red was a skilled hunter, so it became his responsibility to hunt for their meals. Bardolph would collect herbs, and leave often to the city. And whenever the moon would become full, Red always left for the woods. Bardolph grew suspicious. 

“Where do you go?” He asked. But Red always evaded his questions. 

Bardolph frowned. “You’re hunting for the Golden Doe aren’t you? What does it only come out on the full moon?”

“No, I am not hunting the doe and I honestly doubt that.” Red lifted his cloak over his shoulders. “I’ll be back in the morning. Do not leave this house until then.” 

“Alright, alright you say the same thing every time.” 

“I mean it every time.” Red deadpanned. 

Without another word he left. Unaware of Bardolph following his tracks from a great distance. Hidden behind a tree, Bardolph watched in fascination as Red screamed in agony, his skin fell apart, his bones cracked and twisted until he became an unrecognizable beast. The beast nearly caught him, in an act of desperation, Bardolph climbed up a tree in great haste. And there he stayed until morning. The beast was nowhere to be seen, so he took his chance and hurried back to his home. There he waited for Red. And just like Red said, he returned in the morning. Haggard and half dead. 

Bardolph nursed him back to health, as he always did. On the third day, he spoke at last.

“I saw you become a beast.” He spoke eveningly. Red froze. “You could cure me.” 

“Bardolph, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. I cannot cure you. I would only condemn you.” He spoke tiredly. 

“So what’s a little pain? You’re fast, and strong. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how easily you catch your quarry.” Bardolph’s eyes brighten. “You’re unstoppable.

Red paused, sighing as he lowered the dagger he was cleaning. 

“I am not, silver burns me,” Red looked to Bardolph, “I lose my sanity every time. I was trapped in that state for three years.”  

Bardolph stepped closer. “Are there more of you?”

Red shook his head. “No, I am the only one.” 

Bardolph frowned. “You have the chance to cure many people and you just keep it to yourself?” 

“I do not even know if I even can transfer the curse onto another. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I would never wish this curse upon anyone, not even my worst enemy.” His eyes hardened.

“You know I am dying and you won’t cure me?”

“This is not a cure, Bardolph, I was cursed to become a monster every full moon. The first time I transformed, I stayed trapped in that state for three years. I could not control anything the monster did, I am grateful it stayed in the forest.” Red explained. 

“You’ve been transforming a whole lot more now.” 

“At the cost of my sanity.” 

“You look sane to me.” He snapped. 

Red glared. “You do not understand, I am driven by bloodlust. I have no sense of reason, I could only watch in horror as the monster in me tore apart its teeth with no remorse. If I had stayed here when I transformed, I would have killed you!” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I cannot recognize my own family in that state…” Red lowered his gaze. “... I know because I couldn’t recognize you. You were only prey.”

“You didn’t know I was there.”

“Yes I did, but to the monster inside of me, you were nothing to me.” 

Bardolph frowned, he turned back to his knives. Red frowned. “Bardolph, promise me you won’t go after me again. I don’t want to hurt you, it’s not my nature, but it is the wolf’s.” Bardolph only nodded his head. 

The next full moon, Bardolph kept his word. And then the next, and the next, until Bardolph decided not to. He followed after Red. 

The monster charged at the man, but Bardolph did not move, and the wolf bit his entire arm. Bardolph screamed in agony. The monster left him for dead when a group of deer caught it’s attention. Bardolph dragged himself home. Red returned in the morning and smelled the blood. 

“I told you. You promised!” Red growled out. His eyes glowed gold.

“Think of it this way, you didn’t kill me!” 

They didn’t speak for weeks, and when the full moon arrived, Bardolph screamed in agony, transforming into a monster. When morning came, Red dragged Bardolph back to the house. Bardolph was overjoyed that he had returned human, and soon his senses began to grow. 

Red only watched in silent horror as his friend became overcome with bloodlust in his human form. Craving live chickens and pigs for food instead of cooked meat. Liking the blood clean off the plate. He grew more violent, and tempmental. Bardolph had left for the city, the night before a full moon. He assured Red that he would control himself. Red didn’t believe him. 

Bardolph had killed an innocent woman. Red was too late to save her, Bardolph had lost him in the dizzying streets. Red watched in horror as Bardolph begane to feast upon her. 

“Bardolph.” Red pulled the man off of her. “We’re leaving now.” Red ordered, Bardolph whimpered, as if a scolded puppy before he snarled.  Breaking free of his hold, he ran. Red chased after him. 

The full moon rose to its peak, Red clutched his clutch his agony.  The curse mark of the wolf, the wolf was the darkest black, its jaws began to close on his heart. Red refused to turn just yet. “Bardolph please!”

But Bardolph couldn’t stop the transformation, and screamed in pain. Red panted for breath, he couldn’t hold on much longer. Right before his vision faded to black, he saw a large chestnut brown wolf stalk towards him. 

The city was filled with screams in horror as two giant wolves fought each other for dominance, the smaller of the two landed a large wound across the larger wolf’s back, over his right shoulder. Three slash marks from it’s claws. The larger wolf, wounded and in pain, managed to grab the smaller wolf’s jugular, ready to tear it apart. Just as they both began to whimper in pain as the sun began to rise. 

Red left the city, returning to the snowy mountains. Where he recovered from his wounds for a year. He returned to the human world in search of Bardolph, to take responsibility for what happened. How his curse turned a man into a monster in both mind and soul. But he never found him. 

Years went by, how many Red wouldn’t be able to tell you. Only that he would search for Bardolph. But only come across more people cursed to be like him. Red noticed that he didn’t age. He couldn’t die. No matter what he tried swallowing silver, he tried everything. But he would not die. Red grieved for those who didn’t survive the turning, and grieved even more for those who did. And for those who were born with the curse. 

Red started into the large puddle. His face was covered in black fur, his ears were alert, and his eyes glowed gold. For the first time in a century, Red’s consciousness finally broke through the insanity. He finally saw himself in what he had become, he wasn’t angry or bloodthirsty. The eyes that stared back at him were his own, even if they were gold. For the first time in his cursed life, he accepted the wolf as part of him. They were one and the same. Luara’s curse brought the worst in humans, she didn’t turn him into a monster. It was always a part of him, she only brought it out. He growled at his reflection. There was no denying it anymore, He is the wolf. 

Tag List: Let me know if you wish to be added!

@spookypotato @purple-amaranthe @violetatapiamills

[98prilla]

To The Dead

Next

Previous

AO3

...

He was trying.

 He really, really was, trying.

 But he couldn’t get Roman’s words out of his head.

 And he’d heard the others, talking to the air, talking to him, they probably thought he didn’t, but he’d always been good at lurking in shadows, in pretending to not exist, he wasn’t surprised, he was able to mask his presence well enough no one could sense him near.

 He’d heard Patton and Janus’s pleas. He’d heard Logan’s well reasoned arguments. He’d heard Roman’s apologies. He knew Roman was blaming himself, that it was tearing all of them up inside, but the thing was, Roman was right.

 There were too many things, that could go wrong. Too many ways he could hurt them, too many ways he could destroy them, and he refused, he refused to drag them into his self-destructive spiral.  

 So, he stuck to the shadows, where no one could find him. He hid in the corners and under the couches and under the beds. He didn’t use his room, not since then they’d know where he was, and he stayed away as much as he could. He was exhausted and unfocused and half even deader than he already was, but he couldn’t let himself rest or he’d fizzle into view.

 The closest he’d gotten was that night, with Patton. Everyone else had already been in their own rooms, and he felt guilty, Patton was staying out there for him, after all, and the least he could do is make sure he was comfortable. And now Patton’s words were rattling around in his skull, too, fighting against Roman’s, and he felt torn in two entirely different directions.

 Maybe that’s why he found himself here, lurking in the shadows of Patton’s room, melted into the ones in the corner of the room. He heard the door open, and he took a deep breath as Patton came in, flopping face first onto the bed, slightly alarmed to hear sniffling emerging from the pillow his face was shoved into.  

 Slowly, he emerged from the wall, his inky, tarlike form slowly forming into something more solid, something that almost felt right, though it had been so long since he’d been anything other than a blob of darkness or a splotch of shadow. But as his form settles, it feels more and more… right.

 “Pa… Patton?” He asked, voice rusty and hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. Patton gasped, shooting upwards, and all at once Patton’s eyes were on him.

 “Virgil!” he flinched back at the volume, form already destabilizing, it was harder to hold now, that he hadn’t in months. “sorry, sorry. I’m just… I’m glad to see you, kiddo. We've been worried.” He said softer, wanting to lunge, pull Virgil into a hug, but knowing he'd run if he did.

 “so-rry. I-" he flinched, a strange feeling coming over him, an almost nausea, almost vertigo, and he found himself on the ground, gasping as cold washed over him.

 “Virgil!” he could tell Patton had yelled his name several times, but he couldn’t seem to hear right, the world was blurring and going fuzzy. Not just the world, he was blurring, his form bleeding away like a water color painting. He felt Patton's hand on his arm, trying to say something, then the world shifted out from under him, Patton's hand swiping through empty air as he vanished.

…

He stumbled hard, shoulder ramming into the wall, as he heaved in several deep breaths, trying to keep from full out panicking.

 He felt weird. Solid. His body had weight, his form wasn’t flickering, he was leaning against the wall, but it wasn’t their wall. The house, he was in the house.

 His breath sped again, remembering, shaking, crying, pulling at his hair as he screamed into a pillow, His words echoing in his head, he hasn’t been back here, not in the living room, since then, since he'd done it. He could feel the shadows darkening, starting to move of their own accord, starting to whisper.

 “What the fwuh?” His eyes snapped open at the question, frantically taking in the scene.

 Staring at him were two guys, both wearing twin expressions of shock and fear. Around his feet was a star in a circle outlined in chalk, a candle at each nexus.

 “Summoning circle? What amateur fucking shit is this? Watched full metal alchemist a few too many times?” He choked out, biting sarcasm masking his fear and panic, trying to get the shifting tendrils of shadow slowly climbing the wall under control, succeeding in at least halting their growth.

 “We… we were trying to summon Patton.” The shorter one said. He huffed, vision spinning.

 “Well good job, dipshit, you summoned the literal opposite of that ray of sunshine. Now get me out of here!” He demanded, teeth grit against the strange cold seeping into his bones, the dark tiredness starting to fill him.

 “Um. We don’t actually know how.” The taller one admitted sheepishly.

 “Who are you, anyway? We only knew Patton and Roman.”

 “Uh, no. You don’t get to interrogate me after practically kidnapping me.”

 “Kidnapping… you showed up!” the short one, who seemed to have an attitude.

 “oh yes, because I looove getting dragged to the physical plane of existence and talking to two idiots who think the funnest thing to do is harass people who probably don’t want to have memories of their recent demise brought back to the surface!” He shouted, breathing picking up again, hands clenched into fists, shadows wavering and breaking over the room, though he kept it in enough it didn’t attack, claws and glowing eyes and teeth ready to bite.

 “You’re… Virgil, aren’t you?” He flinched back at that, shaking harder. “Oh shit, dude, I’m-"

 “What? Sorry? Yeah, me too, now let me out!” he snarled, eyes flashing dark voids of shadow, his shadows writhing, and he found he had the anger to control them, and he hissed as one swiped through the chalk, releasing him from its hold as he struggled to stay standing, the circle giving him a truly physical form, draining his own energy to do so.

 “We aren’t fucking toys. We’re people. We all died horrifically, at our hand or at others'. So next time, leave me the hell alone.” He snapped, his shadows encasing him as the solidness faded from his limbs, as his form fell to shreds, as the last of his energy was sucked from him, realizing the circle draining him dry, the crackling electric backlash of breaking the spell hit him full force, sending him reeling.

…

He fell, unceremoniously, crashing down from the ceiling and landing hard on the floor, crying out at the pain that shot through him, his vision flickering. He felt cold, icily cold, exhausted, drained, empty, barely, barely there.

 “-il…-ear me? Virgil!” Roman’s panicked voice cut through his haze, though he found he couldn't answer, couldn't even nod. He was so purely exhausted, he was barely staying together at all. “Oh, love… it’s ok, I’ve got you.” He felt Janus lifting him up, and realized he must have landed in the living room. He thought he should be worried about that, for some reason, but his mind was already hazing over with fog. “Logan! Patton!” He called, the spirits appearing after a moment, any reprimand at being disturbed vanishing as Logan took in the state of Virgil, unconscious and form flickering, not the usual black, but a soft, faded gray. The same kind of gray that he’d seen on the others, on himself, when the wraith was draining them of their soul’s essence. Something had very badly damaged Virgil.

 “What happened?” he demanded, trying to be steady, to keep Patton beside him from panicking.

 “I don’t know. He… he showed up, in my room, then vanished, like he got pulled away, I tried to hold on, but I fell right through him!”

 “Then he fell from the ceiling and crashed to the ground.” Roman finished, lacking his usual bravado.

 “Lo, is he-“

 “No, he’s not fading. Whatever started the drain has stopped, he’s stable, if very weak. An attempt at summoning, if I had to guess. Likely, they didn’t use anything to power the spell itself, so it used Virgil himself. He’s lucky he was able to break out, as he must have, for it to hit him this hard. Otherwise…” Logan trailed off, unwilling to finish that sentence, knowing from the silence the others knew his meaning.

 “He was going to talk to me.” Patton said softly, tucking back a strand of Virgil’s hair, who didn’t seem to register the motion at all, lying still and pale as stone.

 “He still may. He just needs to rest and recuperate, Patton. He will be all right.” Logan reassured, resting a hand on Patton’s shoulder for a moment, before turning away, trying to hide his fondness behind a frown. “Though we should figure out what exactly they did, and stop them from doing it again.”

 No one noticed the green eyes glowing in the corner, alight with anger, at the state of his friend, because Virgil was a friend, whether he liked it or not. It was long past time the humans take notice of him, after all, and this would be a much needed… learning opportunity.

…

“well that could have gone better.” Thomas muttered, shivering slightly. The darkly moving shadows had vanished along with the ghost, the circle now smudged beyond recognition, the icy cold temperature of the room slowly returning to normal.

 “No kidding. How’d you know that one’s name?” Joan asked, still staring at the spot he'd vanished.

 “He… the real estate agent. He had to tell me, the previous tenant, Virgil… died, here. To suicide.” Joan let out a low breath, collapsing back onto the couch, grabbing a pillow to hug to their chest.

 “shit. No wonder he wasn’t happy to be here.”

 “It looked like it was hurting him.” Thomas murmured, remembering how Virgil was clinging to the wall, barely staying upright.

 “That's what happens when you do your research through google search, you silly billies.” They both stared at the glowing green eyes floating above them, the slow Cheshire grin forming out of nothingness to accompany it. “Someone gets hurt.” The voice growled, and suddenly it wasn’t a single pair of eyes, it was thousands, a towering mass of writhing tentacles and blindingly black light, a cavernous maw and a million gnashing, reeking tooth beaked mouths screaming.

 They both gasped for air as the vision vanished just as quick as it came, a few mere seconds, a glance at the clock revealed, though it had felt like they had been trapped with that Lovecraftian creation for hours. Thomas could still feel the vibrations of the clacking beaks, hear the echoes of distant screams, and he could tell from Joan’s horrified expression, they had seen it too.

 “I’m not exactly a fan, of people hurting my friends. Especially when they can’t do much in way of defense or… retaliation-“

 “We didn’t mean to!” Thomas blurted, before the sinister presence could throw them into another nightmare. “We didn’t… we didn’t mean to hurt anyone. We just… Patton seemed lonely. So we were trying to find a way to actually see him, and… and we obviously didn’t do it right. And I’m sorry, for hurting him… Virgil.” He finished, a frown on his lips, thinking of the pain on the ghost’s face. “Is he… is he ok?” He asked, heart pounding a thousand beats a second, terror racing through him.

 “Well, well, well, isn’t that interesting. The human has a conscience.” The voice echoed from every direction, bouncing around the room in the most disorienting pattern, one moment directly in his ear, the next all the way in the kitchen, the next above them near the ceiling, those green eyes and grin always in the corner of their eyes, always vanishing as soon as they turned to look.

 “And what about you, short stack? Got anything to say for yourself, before I decide what to do with the two of you?” Joan gulped, holding the pillow tighter, knuckles white.

 “Uh. He was right. Virgil. It’s not… we shouldn’t treat this like a game. You’re people. Not entertainment. But we do really want to get to know you all… to help, if we can. Even though we’re generally pretty shitty at showing it, that’s what we were trying to do. Help.” They managed, wincing as a dark chuckle rang through the room.  

 “Help, huh?” They yelped as they felt something cold wrap around their ankles, suddenly yanking them off the couch, dragging them across the floor, across the kitchen, to the basement door. Blinking their vision clear, adrenaline racing, they both practically held their breath as they watched a shimmering outline form, cringing as it was filled in with bones, then veins and arteries, pulsating flesh and decaying organs, finally a layer of skin growing over it all, putting a face to that Cheshire grin, the electric green eyes, as the being towered over them, smile wild and manic, eyes ablaze, a morningstar resting over his shoulder, his outfit some weird mix of sparkling satin and menacing velvet. They both flinched back as he leaned down, examining them, before extending a hand.

 “Seems like you two can use all the help you can get. Now, if you’re gonna go full in on this, you gotta learn the basics, and if you abuse what I teach you…”

 They shivered, seeing crimson blood splash across their hands, teeth ripping into their jugulars, shadowy creatures clawing them to shreds, screaming though no one else could hear, unable to move their bodies as inch by inch, their skin was stripped from their flesh, ants eating them from the inside out.

 “And it’ll be twice as bad if you harm any of them ever again. There won’t be anywhere you can hide, that I won’t find you, and believe me, it’ll be a pleasure.” Their vision cleared, the images wiped away like fog on a bathroom mirror, forgotten nearly instantly, though the feeling of dread and terror lingered. “So. You in, or are you pussies?” Joan snorted despite themselves, earning an eye roll from Thomas, and a slight upturn of the lips from the being, though he still glared daggers at them. Thomas took a deep breath, accepting the outstretched hand, surprised as he made contact, and it helped pull him to his feet, solid, though it didn’t feel quite… real. Joan followed suit a moment later.

 “Ok. I want to learn.” He answered solemnly, Joan nodding in agreement, gaze serious in a way it rarely was.

 “Me too. If we’re gonna be the crazy ghost house people, we might as well really go for it.”

 “It’s been a while, since I had such willing students. Oh, this’ll be fun!” He clapped, eyes swirling, teeth slightly too sharp.

 “So… when do we start?” Joan asked, and Remus tsked.

 “Patience. I have to get back before they wonder where I’ve went, and you have to start living like a normal person and not staying up until two scrolling tumblr!”

 “What does that have to do with ghost summoning?”

 “Nothing, just good life advice. Take from me, who’s never actually been alive!” Thomas and Joan exchanged a puzzled look.

 “Aren’t you a ghost?” He cackled, a wild, howling sound, that sent shivers down their spines, as he wiped away tears from his eyes, floating on his back in midair.

 “Oh, sweet summer children, you naive innocent fools, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood, otherwise it would be so very easy to break you. No, no, no, I’m not a ghost at all. I am a poltergeist!” He declared, suddenly close to Thomas’s face, gently booping his nose, those swirling eyes far too close for comfort as they stared into his. “And you may call me Remus.”

[serzhantkris]

Rebel Yell- 5

Summary: Let’s get something straight: he does not love you. He knows that for sure, because he doesn’t want to scream at you and he doesn’t want to get married, and that’s the only things he knows for sure about people who are in love. And he was doomed to kiss with his fists and scream and be angry and blame everyone but himself for the rest of his life. So, no. Billy did not love you. Billy Hargrove x Hopper!Reader

Word Count: 2599

Warning: sexual situations

Masterlist

The fluorescent lights overhead are a stark contrast to sitting in the dark of Billy’s Camaro. They buzz quietly, obscuring everything beneath with a yellow-ish glow. Benny’s Burgers is almost empty, except for two or three other groups of teenagers who, like you, had come to appreciate the hole in the wall just outside of Hawkins. It was on the way back to town, between the trailer and the drive-in, and Billy had stared at the building with trepidation before you took his hand and led him inside.

The table was a little wobbly, but it didn’t stop Billy from leaning with his elbow on it as he plucked fries from the paper-lined basket in the middle of the table. He was eyeing you carefully as you stood a few feet away, jamming down the button on the jukebox to skim through Benny’s records.

Leaning forward, he took a long drink from the vanilla shake in front of him as you slid quarters into the machine and punched in the number. The jukebox was quiet, but he could still make out the sound of Bob Seger’s voice drifting through the old speakers. You slid into the chair opposite him, glancing out the window at the near-empty parking lot as flecks of water hit the glass.

Billy looks around the restaurant. “You didn’t tell me you were takin’ me to a shithole.”

“Hey,” you jam a finger at him pointedly. “This is the midwest, Billy. Shithole is our whole aesthetic.”

Billy rolls his eyes, plucking another fry between his fingertips. “That didn’t sound like a disagreement.”

“It’s charming. You know, like you,” you say, reaching for one of your own, swiping it through the top of your shake. “And it has the best milkshakes in town, and that’s what you were looking for, wasn’t it?”

Billy blinks incredulously at you. “Did you just dip your french fry in your milkshake?”

“Uh, yeah? Everyone does that.”

“No,” Billy snorts. “They don’t.”

“They do in Indiana and New York,” you argue, doing the same with another fry. “Since I’ve never been anywhere else, that’s ‘everyone.’”

“New York?”

Nodding, you repeat the action with a third fry, but this time, you hold it toward him. He shakes his head, leaning back from you with his nose scrunched. “One french fry, Hargrove.”

A sigh falls past his lips and he leans forward, letting you put it between his teeth. Chewing slowly, he makes an unsure face and sits back in his seat. “You been to New York?”

“Lived there,” you mumble, wrapping a hand around the cool glass. Condensation runs between your fingers. “Up until about five years ago.”

“What for?” Billy shifts in his seat. “I mean, why’d you move?”

The glass freezes your hand and you grip it a little tighter, taking a long drink to avoid looking at Billy. “Divorce, mostly.”

A pain shoots to Billy’s temple that has nothing to do with the cold shake on his tongue. He swallows it, hard, and his fingers tap absently on the table. “So, your mom. She’s still in New York?”

You nod, reaching for a napkin to dry the glass. “What about you? What brings you to Podunk, Indiana?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s listening to the crackling of Night Moves, counting breaths between guitar chords. “My dad wanted to move. So we did.”

The look on Billy’s face stops you from pressing further. The sudden need to know more about him is overwhelming, and the straw in your mouth is the only thing slowing you down. “Okay,” you sigh, pushing the shake forward. “Hamburgers or pizza?”

Billy’s eyes found your face again. “What?”

“Hamburgers or pizza,” you repeat. Billy twirls a french fry between his fingers. “This is me getting to know you. Without asking for a tragic backstory. I’m not ready to find out you’re Batman.”

He smirks, subconsciously dipping the french fry in his shake before tossing it in his mouth.

“I fucking knew it.”

“Shut up.”

~~~~~~~~

Streaks of water paint the outside of the window as the rain comes down on Benny’s Burgers. It’s almost louder than the jukebox, spitting out music in a buzzing hum.  The quiet chatter of the chef and waitress is muted by the swinging kitchen door. The diner has all but emptied out, leaving you and Billy alone in the dining room.

Neither of you really knew how long you had been sitting there, tossing questions back and forth as you scooped your fries through your shakes- sometimes reaching over the table to steal some of each other’s flavor.

Now, though, the two of you fill the diner with your laughter as you suck down the last of your milkshake, pulling your bottom lip in your mouth to get the whole taste. Billy wraps his hand around the top of his empty glass, toying with the straw between two fingers as he thinks up a question.

“Okay,” he finally says, pushing the glass aside. He leans forward on his elbows, hands clasped together and a serious look smoothing out his eyebrows. “Serious question this time.”

On the other side of the table, you can’t help but giggle. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be serious.” He continues to stare at you and you let out another laugh, covering your mouth with your hand and clearing your throat. “Okay, okay. Ask me your question.”

He waits for you to put your hand in your lap. “Tell me about Kurt Kelley.”

You frown. “This again? Billy-”

“Listen, if I’m gonna hear rumors about you when I’m in the shower, they better at least be accurate ones.” The serious expression doesn’t leave Billy’s face, even if his words make you want to smile or roll your eyes. You look at the table, where the paper-lined basket is empty and stained with grease.

“Nancy Wheeler is one of my best friends,” you start, pinching the paper between your fingers, just for something to do with your hands. “She asked me to go with her to Steve’s for this- this get together, or whatever. It was just us and Steve, Tommy and Carol, and Kurt. And our friend, Barbara.”

You inhale sharply, hoping Billy doesn’t notice the hesitant way you included Barbara in the list. But he doesn’t even blink, silently listening with his eyes trained on your face.

“Eventually everyone split up. Steve and Nancy, Tommy and Carol- you know how it is. And we’d been swimming, you know, so Kurt gets me to go inside with him to get towels. Next thing I know, he’s kissing me-”

Billy’s hands clenched.

“And I shoved him off, called him an asshole, and walked home, still dripping wet. I left, and he told everyone that I was a prude bitch. Which of course over time turned into variations of me being either stuck up or a slut.”

He’s quiet for a second, but there’s no mistaking the hard glint of anger in his eyes. “He’s a fuckin’ prick. Some guys can’t handle rejection.”

You smirk, looking up at him. “Some guys? What about you?”

Billy snorts through his nose. “Most of the time, I shrug it off and ask someone else. Eventually someone says yes.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rolling a torn bit of napkin in his fingers. “Sometimes I corner them behind dumpsters.”

Billy smiles to himself when you laugh, his heart slowing down just the slightest. He made a mental note that if he ever ran into Kurt Kelley, he’d give him a kiss with his fist.

“Shit,” you mumble. “It’s late.”

Billy swivels in his chair, following your gaze to the clock hanging over the door. It’s 9:52, and there’s no way you’re getting home by ten. He turns, reaching in his jacket pocket. Crumbled bills hit the table as you both clamor to your feet, shuffling through the empty diner to the door. The bell jingles as you step out and under the awning, the sound of rain beating on the fabric replacing the muffled music. The two of you stand still, watching the rain as a car drives past. 

“I’ll race you,” you elbow him in the ribs and he rolls his eyes, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

“You’re gonna get soaked anyway.”

“Yeah,” you hum, the grin spreading from ear to ear as Billy fixed the collar of his jacket. If you kept smiling like this, your cheeks were going to burst. “But not as much as you if you don’t win!”

Billy’s about to ask what the hell you’re talking about, but you’ve already snatched the keys out of his hand and took off, running through the rain toward the driver’s side of his car, fully intending to leave him locked out in the rain. Billy’s boots splash through puddles as he chases after you, the rain soaking him to the bone even through the denim. 

You barely reach the door when Billy grabs your shoulder, spinning you around and slamming your back against the car door. The keys fall onto the wet pavement, but neither you nor Billy notice. His mouth is on yours, the kiss wet from rain and tongues. One of his hands catches the back of your head, holding you against him. His fingers curl as his body presses against you, pinning you between him and the car. Your heart beats faster and harder than the rain coming down on your heads when he grinds his hips against you. 

He pulls back, just enough to get his breathing under control, his forehead pressing against yours. Small spurts of cold air tangle between you, keeping you connected as Billy’s free hand reaches past you to fumble for the door handle.

“Told you you’d get soaked if you lost,” you mumble, gripping the lapels on his jacket. He kisses you again, harder, tugging you away from the door as he yanked it open.

“Get in the fuckin’ car.”

The windows are already starting to fog over when your back hits the seats. Billy throws the soaking denim jacket over the front seat, kicking his shoes off as he clamors into the back with you.

Billy hovers, taking a careful look at you as he leans down, one arm holding him up as a leg slips between your thighs. There’s not enough room- never is enough room in a car- but he makes it work, skimming the other hand to rest on your thigh under your skirt. His hand is cold and water from his hair drips on your face and neck.

He dives down, getting a taste of the rain and milkshake on your lips. “This what you want?” His voice is deeper, more gruff than before, and as his mouth leaves yours, he finds your eyes with his. You nod, suddenly shy despite having been perfectly willing to let him rub himself on you outside the car. 

His hand glides higher, resting carefully over your underwear. Involuntarily, your hips twitch toward his hand and he grins, bending down again to press careful, tender kisses along your jaw. His lips drag along the bone to just below your ear.

“Something tells me that’s not rain,” Billy’s thumb brushes over the wet spot that’s forming on your underwear, earning a whimper when he presses against your clit. “You’re so wet. Were you thinking about me in the diner?”

Your hand flies up to tangle in his hair, tugging gently as he lowers his head, lips and teeth nipping at the side of your neck. “Billy, please-”

“Please what?” His tongue runs along a vein in your throat, soothing the pain from his teeth. His thumb presses harder against you, rubbing circles over your clothed clit. Your forehead hits his shoulder, mouth agape as he grabs the fabric and pulls it to the side. 

Two of Billy’s fingers prod at you, teasing your opening as you squeeze him between your knees. He chuckles to himself, sliding the fingers into you. Your moan fills the car, hitting the fogged windows and filling Billy’s ears.

“What do you want, baby?” The car is filled with the sound of his fingers fucking you. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the dark, wet fabric of his shirt. 

His hand pulls away, leaving you abruptly cold, and you groan against his collarbone. He chuckles deep in his throat, his chest vibrating, and you decidedly have had enough of his teasing. 

He’s startled when you shove him back onto his heels, one hand grabbing the back of the seats to steady himself. You silently thanked God for Billy’s inability to button his shirt as you reach for him, letting your hands run down his damp chest to his belt. He grabs onto either side of your head, kissing you deep as you unfasten it, shoving the denim as far down his hips as the position he’s sitting in will allow. 

You swallow his moan as you wrap a hand around his erection, swiping a thumb over the head. His hips jerk toward you, desperate for more as your hand moves in long, languid strokes. 

“I want,” your words are muffled against Billy’s mouth, his lips parted, tongue flicking out to taste the words leaving your lips. “I want you to fuck me, Billy.”

A growl shoots up Billy’s throat, his hands pushing your head back until both of you fall onto the seats. The cold metal of his pendant hits your collarbone, but Billy is warm, his body holding you tightly between him and the Camaro’s leather. He grabs your leg, fingers digging into your flesh as he shoves it out of the way to fit his body all the way between your knees. 

The free hand pushes your underwear aside. The tip of him slides against you, slippery and wet, and Billy reaches down to grip himself, and a second later his hips jerk. He fills you in that one thrust, pushing the air out of your lungs and into his kiss. He’s big, and the bite of having him so suddenly disappears when he starts to move against you. 

Billy’s wet hair sticks to your skin, strands of it licking your cheeks, some of it tangled in your hand. You grip the wet shirt, twisting the fabric in clenched hands as his hips snap against you. The leather seat slides under you, but Billy keeps you both from falling with a sturdy hand planted on the car floor. 

It’s messy, Billy’s thrusts filling the ache in your belly and your moans hitting the foggy windows; his mouth tasting the rain and sweat along your throat until he buries his face in your collarbone. His thrusts are a drum beat solo, every plunge of his cock inside you hits you like a snare. 

“Billy- Billy-“ His name tastes like vanilla and salt on your tongue, burning in your throat. You legs squeeze him and you can feel him smile against your skin, that tongue flickering against his lips as you come. The drumbeat is lost when his teeth nip at your skin, fingers digging into where he has his hold on your hip. His heavy breathing turns to pleading grunts as he thrusts just a little harder, strokes just a little shorter. You cling to him when he comes, suddenly more desperate than you had been while he was fucking you. 

Billy remains still for a long moment, his ear pressed against your sternum. Listening to the erratic flicker of your heart, nothing exists beyond the confines of these leather seats. 

Taglist Open

@william-hargroves​​​​ @killer-queen-xo​​​​ @sallyp-53​​​​ @cloverrover​​​​ @scud994​​​​ @nighttwingg​​​​ @yaidothat​​​​ @abiwebb12​​​​ @camillewester​​​ @vespertxne​​​ @potatoheadthewise​​ @tearsforhan​​ @leedelee14​​ @crowned-gemini​​ @ericuhlorain​​ @frozenhuntress67​​ @chloe-skywalker​​ @thatpunkmaximoff​ @elishaletterman​ @winchestersister55​ 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Status Change (baon)

Summary: Okay, so what, Red is sick.

Why the hell does that mean he has to be in Sans's house?

Notes: Let me apologize for the timeline being all over the place with these two. 😭

This is set not long after Monsters come to the surface, long before Red and Sans try on a little round of 'assholes with benefits' and waaaay before anything else. Hope that makes sense!

Tags: Kustard, Prequel to the series, Hurt/Comfort (kinda), Sickness. Pre-relationship

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

“what the hell is he doing here?”

The last thing Sans expected to find when he came back home from a trip to nap on one of the park benches was his Underfell clone in his bro’s room, snuggled up tight in Papyrus’s bed. The only reason the blasters weren’t coming out was that Paps wasn’t in the bed with him. Also, Red looked pretty unconscious but Sans wasn’t counting on that to stop him from pulling some shit.

Papyrus was dabbing at Red’s face with a wet cloth, the joints in his fingers still glowing faintly green from what must’ve been a wallop of healing magic. It was practically crackling in the air still, like the world’s kindest static electricity.

“He is sleeping,” Paps said, with enough of a ‘duh’ tone that Sans couldn’t stop a grin, “a state of being that I assumed you would easily recognize, since you practice it so often.”

“uh huh. why is he sleeping and why there?”

“From what I understand, he has been ill for days.” Papyrus tossed the wet cloth into a bowl and stood, and Sans frowned inwardly as his brother wobbled on his feet. Trying too hard to heal the asshole, for sure, like he deserved Paps’s personal attention. He had his own fucking brother to look after him, thanks, and if Edge didn’t want to put on the nurse costume that didn’t mean Papyrus had to start digging through his closet for one, even if he had the legs for it.

As if sensing Sans’s internal grouching, Papyrus said, quietly, eh, well, quietly for him. “Edge is still out of town and Red refused to go to the hospital, so I brought him here.”

Great, that was all they needed. Even after finding their strays a home, looked like some of ‘em couldn’t stop from coming back to check the ol’ food bowl. He and Paps had been about as helpful with the other skeletons as anyone could expect by Sans’s account; having four clones show up on their doorstep, two apiece, should’ve been enough to throw anyone off their game, especially when they worked through the data to figure out how it all happened. But not his bro, no, ‘course not. Papyrus was delighted for the game to go into overtime. He welcomed ‘em all in like they were long lost family, planning movie nights and summer barbecues with the ‘cousins’ before they’d even gotten up to see the sun.

Meh, it was easier for him, though. Paps got off lucky in that department, at least his murder clone kept mostly to himself while he got his new life into order and his mirror twin only wanted to smoke and lay on the sofa while Sans got stuck with the energizer rabbit version of Suzy Homemaker and the asshole.

None of that was Papyrus’s fault, though.

“yeah?” Sans barely gave the lump under his brother’s blankets a glance. “if you’d left him on the street, someone would’ve called an ambulance eventually and they coulda strapped him down. That’d save the two of us from playing pair-of-medics.”

“Sans! First, that would be rude!” Papyrus scolded. “And second, if you think for one moment I could leave a skeleton Monster who looks so much like you lying in the street, then we need to have another Brotherly Bonding Night, I believe it’s your turn to pick the game. And third, I think everyone knows he would have taken a shortcut to anywhere to avoid that whether it was a paramedics or more. They would have knocked on our door for help and we would be here anyway, so by bringing him here, I eliminated at least three steps! It was efficient!”

Guess Sans couldn’t argue that. He could damn well argue what came next, though.

“Now, sit with him while I make some soup! We still have some tomatoes on which I can demonstrate my might!” The way he pounded his fist in his hand didn’t bode well for the kitchen, but eh, at least the flavors were getting better. It was when he backtracked to the first part of that statement that Sans stood up straighter, appalled.

“why do i gotta sit with him?” Sans whined. His plan that he’d just come up with was to hide in his bedroom until the asshole was out of the house.

“Because of the two of us, you are the expert in seated occupancy.” Sans let his grin widen. Trust Paps to be able to sling some shade even healing-exhausted. His bro was the coolest.

He looked back at their uncool guest and scowled. “and why does he need a babysitter?”

“Because he is vulnerable and if he wakes, he will feel better if someone is keeping watch.” Pretty thoughtful, even if it was for a guy that didn’t deserve it.

A Check tossed his way might still show Red’s name as ‘Sans’, but that was about where the real resemblance ended. From the moment he’d landed in their living room, Red was all out proving he was an asshole through and through, nothing was holding his skeleton together but hot air and snark, frosted with violent tendencies. About the only thing that kept Sans from tossing his ass back out into the snow was Papyrus.

He’d toned back on the snark these days, a little. One might even suggest that lately Red treated Papyrus rather fondly, if one was crazy and/or an asshole, or somehow otherwise emotionally degenerate.

Sans wasn’t the emotionally degenerate one, so he flung himself into the chair, waving Paps off to the kitchen before he could ask for anything else that Sans wouldn’t be able to turn down. From this angle, he could actually see Red or what little of him wasn’t buried into the blankets.

Yeah, okay, Red looked like shit. His skull was chalky-pale where it wasn’t pink-streaked by sweat, sockets closed to hide those creepy red eye lights. Those sawblade teeth were parted while he drooled messily on Paps’s clean sheets. Who knew what the fuck the asshole was sick with, low HP made ‘em prone to catching any ol’ germ floating around. Probably Sans shouldn’t even be sitting here, he was gonna get the Ebott Mountain Spotted flu or something and—

“don’” It wasn’t more than a frail whisper, Red’s teeth barely moving.

“huh?” Sans leaned in, tilting his skull for a better listen. Red stirred a little, rolling on his back, but didn’t seem to wake. His brow bone furrowed, making the crack that ran through his one socket gape disturbingly wider.

“don’,” Red mumbled again, wispy low. “don’t. pap.” He started shivering, little unbalanced jerks rocking him, setting his bones rattling like castanets.

Sans frowned, leaning in closer. Nightmares he had some passing familiarity with, though he suspected the Fell bros had a hellava lot more viewing material. He wasn’t real sure about those two; he could see their souls, their sins, and still couldn’t quantify them. Oh, sure, he’d done a song and dance for Asgore about ‘em, how Edge’s LVL was caused by him being a soldier, not a serial killer and Red didn’t have any at all. But that was about all he got from a shallow peek into their souls and he hadn’t really wanted to take a high dive into the deep end of their sins.

Still, he’d never met anyone whose soul gave him so little damn insight and he morbidly wondered if it was because they’d learned to keep it pretty close to the chest, pun intended, ‘cause of the state of their world. Edge wasn’t the chatty sort but he’d told them enough about Underfell to make Sans pretty glad the Universes toppled the way they did.

Red was still shaking, kicking off the blankets and his bones were flushed with fever. He made a hissing, hushing sound, blurred and slurry, “don’ cry, baby bro, i gotcha. won’t let ‘em, shhhhh.” He struggled to roll over again, smearing crimson sweat on the sheets as those knifey fingers of his stabbed right into the mattress while he groped for nothing, letting out what was almost a sob, “paps!”

It was pretty fucking stupid the way those few words made Sans’s soul lurch. So fucking what, the guy cared about his bro. Didn’t make him less of an asshole.

And it didn’t mean shit when Sans reached down to pick up the wet cloth Paps’d been using, wringing it out and gingerly wiping off Red’s face even as he kept a close eye on those Edward Scissorhands of his. Yeah, he was gonna get sick, for sure, the germs were probably parading up his arm even as he dabbed away that trickling sweat.

Red quivered again, wracked with shudders, mumbling out their brothers’ shared name with disturbingly poignant despair and suddenly, Sans couldn’t stand to watch it anymore.

“paps is fine,” Sans said, softly, “he’s fine. he’s safe.”

’Safe’ seemed to be the magic work, Red sagging back into the sheets with a weak sigh. Sans kept up those low reassurances until Red settled a little more, leaning into the cloth as Sans wiped his face, those almost-sobs clotting into snoring. Sans dipped the rag into the ice water again, wringing it out some and setting the cool rag on Red’s forehead.

“fucking asshole,” Sans muttered, hopping down from his chair to pull the tangle of blankets back over Red before he could get a chill and make a stupid cold even more complicated. Sooner the asshole got better, the sooner they could kick him back to his own house.

Until then, Sans climbed back in the chair and settled in to keep watch. Didn’t mean anything, he’d told Papyrus he would, was all, and he’d done worse things before than sitting around watching Red sleep.

And when Red stirred again, calling weakly for his bro, Sans didn’t hesitate to tell him he was safe.

-finis-

[ghosthunthq]

The Bones in the Acid 4

By: @sprghosthunter​

Prompt:  crime investigation AU

“Hey Mai.” Yasu dropped a large file on her desk. “I think I found something interesting. See,” he flipped the cover open, “Look at these bodies. All we have are a few bone fragments. We didn’t get an i.d. on any of them. But, this was before our time here. Obviously, these are cold cases, but what if ours is related to all these?”

Mai reached for the photographs in the file and frowned. “Yasu, one of these is… at least fifteen years old.” She paused and chewed on her lip. Had their killer really been killing for fifteen years, possibly more? “The location… they were all found in the same area. And our body… it was there too.” 

Yasu drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah. Sounds like a serial killer to me. Do you think we could send these remains over to Naru, and have him see if they were dissolved by the same kind of acid? It might help narrow the field in terms of suspects.”

Chin in hand, Mai nodded. “You’re right. Why don’t you take them over? And have him call you if he finds anything.”

Frowning, Yasu gave Mai a sideways look, “Usually you like to handle these things yourself. Did something happen between the two of you again?”

“Other than him being a total ass?” Mai raised a brow as her tone lowered.

Hands in the air, Yasu moved back and said, “Alright. Didn’t mean to touch a soft spot. I’ll handle all this for you. I’ve got a copy of the file for him too, so you can hold onto that one. Let me know if you see anything else of interest.”

…line break…

“You have at least seven different sets of remains,” Oliver mused as he peered inside the box Yasu handed him.

“Seven?!” Yasu blurted, “We thought it was only four! How can you tell just by glancing?!”

Oliver deadpanned, “I’m good at my job.” He placed the box onto his desk and removed the file that had been included. As he scanned the pages, he asked, “I assume Mai isn’t far behind you. What else have the two of you got?”

“Ah,” Yasu rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s just me. Mai’s doing her own stuff at the moment.”

Mai… wasn’t coming…?

Oliver’s eyes glazed over with shock for a brief second. As he moved to sit, he removed his glasses. Placing the files in his lap, he continued, as if the information hadn’t bothered him in the least.

“I see. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“That you can’t easily deduce, no,” Yasu sat across from the scientist, “but there is one thing I think I should tell you.”

Listening, Oliver slouched back. “Alright.”

“Stop fucking with Mai’s feelings.”

“I don’t believe I-”

“Oh yes you do,” Yasu interrupted. “I know all about what happened after the last case we worked with you wrapped up. I don’t know what you did this time, but whatever it was, you hurt her.”

“I didn’t do any-”

“You clearly did something, Naru. Mai’s got buttons. You know that. By the looks of things, you pushed one pretty hard.”

Oliver looked away. He truly believed that he hadn’t said anything wrong to her… but… recalling the previous night, he realized he might have struck a nerve with Mai. He had only offered her sympathy… and a photo. What had been wrong with that?

“So, that’s all. You’ve got everything we have. Call me if you find something new.” Standing, Yasu offered a bright smile. As he turned, he smacked straight into the man that had walked through the doorway. His glasses fell to the floor and he stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry, sir!”

The man replied as Yasu knelt down onto one knee and blindly reached for his glasses, “It’s no trouble.” He turned his sunken eyes to Oliver and grinned, “Dr. Davis, I do believe we had a meeting scheduled for today.”

“I believe one of my staff explained to you that I was busy,” Oliver replied. The anthropologist closed the folder resting on his lap when he caught sight of his potential sponsor gazing at them. 

Yasu rose to his feet shortly after clutching his essential eyewear. As he was cleaning the thick framed lenses, he squinted, looking at the man before him. He recognized the man through his blurry vision as Kaneyuki Miyama. Yasu recalled meeting him briefly at a fundraiser Oliver had his interns organize several months prior. Kaneyuki was also a notable business man in the region. He owned several industrial sites and was a well known philanthropist. His most sizable donation to date had been made to the local children's hospital. The man practically had it built and staffed.

“Yes, she did, however, I was hoping you had a moment to reschedule. I would like to invite you to my estate this Friday afternoon. We can discuss your next project, as well as the substantial funds I plan to offer.” Kaneyuki slid a boney hand into his pocket and offered Oliver a card. He glanced up at the security camera as he moved closer to the anthropologist. Rather than an actual camera, only two wires hung from the wall. With a frown, Kaneyuki turned his attention to the artifacts littering Oliver’s work space. The corners of his lips twitched into a forced smirk.

Yasu, glasses properly positioned, observed the man’s behavior as he stared at the remains Oliver had been studying. It struck Yasu as odd. 

“What a fascinating project. May I ask what it is?”

Reaching for the card that had been offered, Oliver sighed, “That is classified information, I’m afraid. As for this Friday, I don’t believe I will be finished with this.”

Kaneyuki didn’t look at the scientist. Instead, his gaze continued to hover over the partial remains. “Just for lunch then. I insist. I’ll send a car for you.”

Oliver glanced at the agent still standing in his office. Though Oliver’s understanding of social interactions was limited, he thought Kaneyuki was acting strange. Never before had Kaneyuki displayed such interest in any of the ongoing work for the bureau. Yasu met Oliver’s eye and silently conveyed a warning. Something really wasn’t… right about Kaneyuki.

“I will have to decline,” Oliver stated, breaking eye contact with Yasu.

Chuckling softly, Kaneyuki attempted to persuade the young scientist again, “Only for an hour. I assume it shouldn’t take any longer than that.” He turned his dark colored eyes to Oliver.

“Mr. Miyama,” Oliver rolled backwards, adding distance between himself and Kaneyuki, “There are more pressing matters that warrant my attention at the moment. As soon as I am finished assisting in this investigation, I will contact you.”

…line break…

“So, Naru said it looked to be from seven victims?” Mai repeated to Yasu. 

“That’s right,” Yasu replied, leaning against the exterior of the building. “But I noticed something strange. So, you know Kaneyuki Miyama?”

“Of course,” Mai answered. Who didn’t know him? “Why?”

“Well,” Yasu pushed himself off the wall and wandered towards the parking lot, “I think something’s up with him. He stopped by Naru’s lab today. Apparently he’s going to sponsor another dig. Anyway, I sent you a few pictures I snuck while he and Naru were talking. The guy was insistent Naru go to his estate this Friday. It was a bit creepy in my opinion. And on top of that, he kept looking at the remains we gave to Naru.”

“Huh, let me check the images you sent. That does sound a bit suspicious.” 

The line crackled and Yasu sighed, “The dude just really bothered me. And I think he got under Naru’s skin too. Never seen Naru freaked by anyone’s behavior before.”

“Naru? Freaked by some old guy’s behavior? Oh, that’s rich-” Mai paused. She coughed, “Ah, yeah, I see. I just got the pictures…”

“Told you, freaky enough to bother our King of the Dead,” he attempted to lighten the mood, but Mai didn’t react to his antics.

“This picture you got, it looks like he knows something about our case. He’s not even looking at Naru, just the remains… Hmmm…” Yasu could hear Mai shuffling papers before typing on her keyboard. “I’m going to look into him. Finances, employees… the works. Yasu, do you mind following him for a bit? But don’t get too close, of course! You’re right. Something’s up with this guy.”

…line break…

Mai laid in bed, thinking over all the evidence that had been gathered. It turned out that the remains were doused in the same acid as the ones she and Yasu had found. Another fact that had been interesting was Naru’s estimate on age. All the remains belonged to people that were no younger than 25 when they died. It was an odd pattern. Why young adults? What motivation could someone have had to kill young adults over a span of fifteen years?

Mai tossed herself onto her side and yawned. 

Then there was Kaneyuki. Mai still had no idea if he was connected to any of it or not, although her investigation into his business had led to some interesting discoveries. Kaneyuki was a meticulous guy. A few years back one of Kaneyuki’s workers had been caught embezzling, and was understandably fired, but it didn’t stop there. The worker’s two brothers and cousin were fired as well, then all evicted from their rentals, of which Kaneyuki owned. He even forced the extended families of his terminated employees to vacate his properties as well. Mai thought it was just nuts. She thought it was even more impressive such an event wasn’t reported in the media. Mai assumed Kaneyuki had offered up a good deal of money to keep the press out of it. It would have totally blemished his holier than thou image.

Still, there was a lack of concrete evidence tying anyone to the murders. But after hearing what Yasu had described, and looking over the photos he sent earlier that day, Mai had a gut feeling Kaneyuki was involved. His behavior had been more than unusual. Plus, the constant insistence that Naru go to his estate, alone…

Why couldn’t they have met anywhere else? Why had Kaneyuki been so dead set on meeting Naru at his home after catching a glimpse of their evidence?

It was just so fishy.

She fidgeted again, landing on her stomach before her thoughts drifted away, allowing her to sleep.

[cosmiceverafter]

All I Want for Christmas is You

Michael Guerin finds the true meaning of Christmas for the first time in his life.

This ficlet is a Christmas/Holiday gift for the Junkyard; the best group of people I know. I love you all so much!

Happy Holidays Everyone! Enjoy. xo. 

You can read on ao3 as well! 

Christmas was something Michael Guerin had never truly experienced, especially with a family of his very own. Now here he was, sitting in front of an evergreen tree with the love of his existence, a dog that liked watching TV, and a kitten that spent more time in his hat than in anyone’s arms.

“It’s definitely a good one we have here,” Alex said, eyes gleaming with wonder as he looked up. Michael smiled as he looked at Alex marveling at their tree.

Last Christmas, Alex gave Michael his heart, unfortunately, Michael wasn’t ready and gave it away. This year, everything was different.

“I’ll trust you in the tree department because to me…looks a little, I dunno, sparse?”

“Michael, that’s the point. We picked a tree that was forgotten. One left behind. We’re making a stand. No tree left unloved.”

“Wow, you’re passionate about this, babe,” Michael laughed as he picked up Boots who was rubbing against his ankles.

Alex stroked Boots who was now purring in Michael’s arms, “I think for me, I just have never enjoyed Christmas. Getting with my family, well, it wasn’t exactly a treat. And being with you and our little ones here, it’s just special.” Alex smiled, “So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a bit passionate about spending the holiday with my true family for once.”

“You, Alex Manes, are the real gift.” Michael leaned in and kissed the love of his life on the lips gently. It started to grow more intense, as it always did when Boots tapped his chin with his white paw. “Alright, alright.”

Alex laughed and grabbed Boots out of Michael’s arms, “Ready to decorate?”

“So what, we put these little blue balls all over the tree?”

“Well I don’t know about the blue balls, especially for you,” Alex winked with a mischievous gleam, “But yes, Guerin, we put the little ornaments on the tree…but first the lights.”

Michael was actually feeling excited, that is until he had to help string the lights. It took them a few tries when finally Michael used the help of his powers to get it just right.

“I know what you did there, love,” Alex replied as he stood back looking at the tree. “And honestly, I applaud you. Stringing lights is a real bitch.”

“Yea, you humans, and these little mundane traditions. Let your alien lover be of assistance.”

“Does that same offer apply in the bedroom?”

Michael scooted closer and grabbed Alex by his hips, pulling him in, “Darlin’, your wish is my command.” And he dashed them to the bedroom.

***

Decorating a tree was hard work, especially when you made love in between stringing the lights and hanging up a few ornaments here and there. But Michael couldn’t help it, his man looked too damn good and happiness shone through him like the gleaming star at the very top.

The tree was just the beginning of the festivities. Within the next few weeks, their group decided to do several activities with each other, because as Liz had stated, “That was having the Christmas spirit,” whatever the hell that meant.

Pulling Isobel away from her long list of holiday to-do’s had been a real challenge, but deep down, he knew she just wanted to be around them anyway.

That hadn’t stopped her from insisting to take him shopping. He didn’t see what the big deal was. The plan was just to give everyone a tune-up on their car, and he was going to do it, not Sanders. Well, Isobel nixed that idea as quickly as a snap and told him he was going on the top of her list of priorities. Cue major eye-roll.

He had never really seen this side of her around the holidays, especially with Noah now out of the picture; it was quite a sight. Max had quickly declined her many offers and gave Michael a look of good luck. He hadn’t understood, but then... he did. At one point, after she had dragged him around their small town for hours, he muttered “Christmas Nazi” under his breath.

Isobel didn’t find it amusing.

Overall, Michael was still grateful for her. They had lots of laughs, especially when he got her to let loose and have a few festive drinks, including the strong eggnog served at the Wild Pony.

When she jumped on stage, not during karaoke hour, and started singing Santa Baby, he saw Maria staring at her with what didn’t appear as an annoyance for once, but more like admiration sprinkled with something else Michael couldn’t quite place.

Something must have been brewing in the wind of Roswell.

When they all decided to go sledding down Warf’s Hill, Michael didn’t understand the appeal. What was so fun about riding down a mountain of snow in a plastic case?

Well, he changed his mind quickly as the thrill of soaring down the freshly fallen snow whirled and brushed around his face. It was such a rush.

However, the best part came when he decided to add a bit more speed onto Valenti’s sled. The good doctor was screaming bloody murder as he went over a snow jump. As Michael laughed, he caught a look at Alex who knew exactly what he had been up to and was now shaking his head. But Michael saw the hint of laughter in those cheeks of his.

Karma had definitely paid him a visit as he ate ice on the Roswell Skating Rink. Michael was about to curse the entire experience when he got a look at Alex gracefully skating up and down the sides wearing his Santa hat.

He was so beautiful; he always managed to take Michael’s breath away, even here in the cold.

So Michael took the chance of falling again, just to go around one more time holding his man’s strong hand.

It had been worth it.

A few days before Christmas, a few of them went to see a showing of White Christmas at the movie theater. Michael had never seen the movie but was equally touched nonetheless. The music, dancing, and the story spoke out to him, especially as he saw a small tear run down Alex’s cheek.

He gently stroked Alex’s arm and when Alex smiled at him, he knew that all he would ever want for Christmas, was Alex Manes.

***

On Christmas Eve, Alex decided he wanted everyone to join them for a Christmas pot-luck at the cabin.

Michael had to laugh when Isobel instantly bonded with Boots. He seemed to adore her, just like he did with Alex.

Buffy, on the other hand, was getting all the loving from Kyle on the floor. He was such a dog person. Then they both turned their attention to Christmas Vacation, where there were laughter and barking.

The roast they attempted to make was burned and a bit dry, but in the end, no one even cared. They were all together and that was what mattered.

Michael looked around the table and smiled. Max and Liz were clearly whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears—disgustingly so.

Maria and Isobel were in a conversation that seemed more like their usual banter. But if Michael didn’t know any better, he’d say there was a bit of flirting going on, which was what he had assumed was happening at the bar that day. Isobel kept eyeing the mistletoe hanging from the wooden arch in the cabin, and Maria did have that little gleam in her eye. Very curious.

Kyle was in another discussion about Star Trek being practically the same thing as Star Wars, and his love was getting all irritated, which Michael thought was amusing and cute as hell.

Halfway through dinner, Boots had jumped onto his lap as he always did when Michael and Alex were eating. The kitten, when taking a break from his hat, loves to curl up with them. It was a sense of security—one that Michael understood. It was the same feeling he felt when wanting Alex to hold him. To love someone and to be loved in return.

Alex had given Buffy a special dog bone for Christmas, and she seemed beyond happy and content as she munched on through.

Seeing everyone carefree and happy, made Michael’s heart swell. He had never had this. A group of friends that they had chosen to call family. It was a special moment, one he would cherish.

After everyone left, Michael spent the rest of the night kissing Alex all over his beautifully toned body. As they curled up in front of the crackling fire later on, with their four stockings hanging ever so perfectly, Michael knew he never wanted this to end.

He could lie here with Alex Manes for the rest of his life and be happy. Of course, it wouldn’t be complete without their “toddlers.” Buffy was curled up in front of Alex as he rubbed her ears, both of them closing their eyes. Boots was, of course, lying again in his hat, but was still within reach.

He fell asleep with love dancing around his curls.

***

When Christmas morning arrived, there was snow falling from the sky.

Alex was humming “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,” as Buffy happily pounced out in the snow; her inner puppy coming out to play. Boots was still eyeing the star at the top of the tree, hoping to just make it up. Before he could make a jump for it, Michael scooped him in his arms. Boots gave a grumpy meow, but soon was purring away as he stroked his soft white and black fur.

They enjoyed their black coffee and cinnamon rolls and went out to play in the snow with Buffy, who they couldn’t seem to get back into the cabin. Boots watched from the window but didn’t seem too bothered. He was busy washing himself looking rather content.

Finally, it was time to exchange gifts.

Buffy had finally come in when Alex had yelled treat! In her stocking, there were new chew toys and an alien stuffed animal that squeaked. She still worked on the bone from the night before; a very happy beagle indeed.

They had gotten Boots his own little cowboy hat to wear from Amazon. He wasn’t a fan, but they were able to get a few pictures to share with the group and get a good laugh. Making it up to him, they gave their little kitten a few catnip toys, a new scratch post with an area he could rest, even though Michael knew to just give up his hat by now, and some delectable chicken stuffed treats. It was purrfect.

Pausing to both laugh, Boots had crawled on top of Buffy and was playing with her ears. Buffy, the saint, didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Until she rolled over and Boots ended up on her belly. The two of them went together like peanut butter and jelly.

When it was time for their exchange, Michael ended up getting Alex a new leather jacket, which was just as much for his enjoyment as it was for Alex’s, a beautifully bound journal so Alex could start writing music again, and a picture of the two of them looking at each other smiling in a wooden frame. Liz had snapped the photo when they were all at the Crashdown Cafe one night.

“It definitely captures how much we love each other, doesn’t it?” Alex said with a warm smile, leaning over to share a kiss.

All of these gifts were fine and everything, but what he had really wanted to get Alex, Isobel quickly said it was too soon for. Well, nothing was too soon when you were with your one true love.

Alex had given him a few new shirts and murmured in his ear to keep them unbuttoned as he stroked his chest. Michael didn’t know if he could carry on opening his gifts, he wanted to open something else, but Alex pressed on. He had also given him several old books that were classics, including A Christmas Carol, one Michael had wanted to read since forever. After all, he too wanted to see what the big deal was.

When Michael leaned in to thank him, Alex pulled away to grab something else. It was a small wooden box in the shape of a cabin.

Michael looked up at him and Alex smiled. He twisted the roof of the house and there, lying in the box, was a key.

“Is this…?”

“Yes,” Alex answered. “Move in with me, Michael.” It wasn’t a question, it was a hopeful statement, one Michael clearly heard in his tone. “You’re practically here every day, and honestly, when you are here...I feel even more at home.”

Alex pointed to Buffy and Boots, “With them, here as well, this is our family. We belong together in this space.”

Michael was unable to form words, he was so moved.

“So what do you say, love?” Now Alex asked. “Will you two move in with us?”

Squeezing Alex’s hand, he leaned in and kissed his lips softly, “Yes, Boots and I would be honored to officially move in.”

Michael knew he needed to go back to that jeweler and get Buffy involved to help ask the question he wanted to ask. The forever-and-always one.

As they kissed, he smiled knowing that all he would ever want for Christmas, and all the days after that, was this. This tiny oasis they created within the wooden walls of this cabin.

So this was Christmas. He finally understood.

[ficauthor]

Just a tiny misunderstanding

This is for @sugarglider9603‘s monster pat AU, people have been tossing around this idea of Virgil accidentally marrying Roman for awhile now and I could not help myself. I have been writing this for two days now, sorry if there are any grammar mistakes.

And thank you sugar for answering my asks about the au, and @broadwaytheanimatedseries thank you for telling me about the lore and different things about the universe. I hope you both enjoy.

Also I’m gonna post this on my ao3 of the same name so don’t freak if you see it there.

(also I based the fae marriage thing on how the Greeks used to propose cause I’m a nerd)

((Also also Roman’s mothers names are based off of names from the Victorian era cause why not))

Word count: 8,124

Honestly Virgil wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, he wracked his brain to think but honestly, there was nothing. The only thing that he’d done that could have been of some concern was when he was hanging with Roman he tossed him an apple and had misjudged the space thus hitting the other in the face. But that was an accident and Roman didn’t really seem hurt.

That’s Fae magic for you, his only response was to grin widely and kiss Virgil passionately. A strange form of reassurance but Roman had been and reacted weirder so Virgil had tried to brush it off. But over the next few weeks he was acting…

Strange

Not in a bad way, but he was more affectionate and…

More protective?

Virgil couldn’t be certain about that one though that was until.

“Your fairy prince is acting unusually,” Logan commented hardly looking up from his book. It was a formal title for Virgil’s boyfriend, but it was far less formal than it used to be.

The statement, however, sent a small shock of panic through Virgil’s system, if Logan had noticed to then…

“Care to explain that statement, Lo?” Virgil asked fear encroaching on his mood, but he only let frustration taint his voice.

Logan saw right through it, he sat up straighter in his chair, placed his bookmark (a woven charm from Patton) into his book (again from the kind-hearted giant) and spoke again, however his voice was much softer like he was afraid of spooking Virgil. Like Virgil was a deer in the woods that needed to be coaxed.

“I’m sensing you noticed it too?” Logan asked though he wasn’t great at reading other peoples emotions he’d known Virgil for almost all of his life.

Virgil sighed and collapsed on Logan’s lap rather dramatically (what could he say Roman was rubbing off on him) his back leaning on the armrests.” Don’t get me wrong I appreciate all of the extra affection he’s giving me… but,” Virgil furrowed his brow remembering the other night.

They’d just finished, well a rather heavy make-out session, they hadn’t gone much farther but they both were certainly on an emotional high. Then Roman had looked out, to the side just beyond Virgil, he’d gone to follow his gaze but the other took his cheek gently in his warm hand,” don’t worry about it love,” the way he said it sent a shiver down Virgil’s spine, that someone so powerful would care for him so much. But there was an underlayer there, something under his affection that he couldn’t quite place.

Which was fair the other wasn’t quite human, so of course, his expressions would be different than Virgil was accustomed to, but this was one he’d never seen before. It was almost guarded, but then it was gone and Roman was asking if Virgil wanted to cuddle and watch a magic projection.

Virgil of course agreed, the system of crystals that the fair people had that could broadcast moving images that told stories was breathtaking to the dark man, it wasn’t anything like human’s modern technology.

“Virge? Virgil?” Logan was shaking his shoulder.

Virgil was on the floor now and Logan was kneeled in front of him, his brows furrowed as he gently shook the younger male.

“Huh?” Virgil was dazed the dregs of the memory still pulling him in, and there was something…

Something there in the corner of the room.

“You weren’t responding, you appeared to be, ah, spacing out.” Logan spoke his normally restrained tone painted ever so slightly with a thin coat of concern.

Virgil blinked further pushing himself out of the memory, he also tore his gaze from the spot he’d been staring at blankly, there was nothing there anyways,” had I?” the blue-clad man nodded,” sorry L, it’s just,” he chewed his lip back and forth playing with the muscle nervously trying to  calm himself. “It’s just that roman is starting to worry me.”

Logan made a face,” if he’s threate-“

“No nonono!” Virgil cut him off frantically, he didn’t want his friend to enter what he’d dubbed, the mama bear mode,” if anything he’s been much more affectionate than normal, almost like he’s making up for something. And he’s always so tense, and even when we’re cuddling it’s like he’s waiting for something,” Virgil felt ill at the thought a pressure rising in his throat at what could cause his boyfriend to be…

“It’s almost like, he’s scared…” Virgil’s voice was small.

Logan nodded,” well perhaps there is some sort of fae event going on currently, perhaps he is just nervous,” Logan offered,” to be far he does participate in the fae equivalent of professional make-believe perhaps that is what has put him on edge.”

Virgil shook his head, he wasn’t looking Logan in the eye anymore the overwhelming sensation that he was going to throw up was tangent and pushing in on all sides now. “He doesn’t have a performance coming up, and that’s different, he’s always,” Virgil searched around the room eyes flitting from corner to corner as he tried to find the words,” more collected. I don’t know.”

Virgil’s voice cracked at the last three words; he’d been really trying to figure out what was wrong. But every time he asked Roman managed to distract him or change the subject. Did he hate him now? Was he being overly affectionate to make up for the fact that he was going to break up with him soon? Was he-

“Virgil,” His friend made a face, his perfectly pushed back hair falling out of place slightly,” in for four Virge,” he said calmly.

The dark clad man was already hyperventilating he hadn’t even noticed he was so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with his boyfriend that he was hardly able to focus. His sweaty hands were balled up clenching his tattered cloak the familiar coarse fabric bringing him to reality a little bit.

But still the worried thoughts dumped on him like a snowstorm, kicking up occasionally appearing to get lighter but then the heaviness was there again, thick, cloying and sticky, not leaving and chilling him to his core. His head felt like it was being squeezed he couldn’t leave, and he felt like he was watching a stranger in a daze.

Logan’s soft words filtered in and out of his warped pained reality, it was like his ears were an out of tuned radio struggling to stay connected and pick up a signal.

Thoughts blurred…

Was Virgil even breathing? He felt constricted and hot and like he was gasping for breath like a snake was constricting on his lungs.

What was that voice?

Who was there?

  Why were they helping him?

His focused on the sounds of the voice, it finally registered, that was his best friend. And slowly his breathing slowed a little and the violent feeling that he was going to throw up subsided a little.

Once he’d finally managed to school his breathing again Logan was still going through his breathing exercise count.

They were silent for a moment, nothing exchanged between the pair as Logan allowed him to catch his breath,” I am going to get Roman,” Logan said.

Virgil was frantic again,” what no what if someone in the village sees him? What if the others fre-“

The other put up a hand to stop him his dark brown eyes swirled with concern,” one,” he raised a finger,” this house,” he gestured around for emphasis,” is just around  the edge of the monster forest, nearly outside of the main radius of the village.”

That made sense to Virgil, he couldn’t really argue with it, his and Logan’s houses were both on the outskirts of the human civilization. Virgil for his anxiety and natural skittishness around others, and Logan because he enjoyed the quiet that then allowed him to do his work. Not to mention no matter anyone’s opinions on monsters and whether they were good or not very few ventured into the forest.

“-econdly,” Virgil hadn’t heard most of the others statement for the first one. Damn it he’d spaced out again, what was with him this afternoon he kept looking into that corner of the room and getting so damn distracted. “Our village was one of the first ones to agree to a tentative peace deal with the monsters under the rulers Joan and Tayln’s behest. This is one of the most open-minded villages to be a part of. No one will attack him.” Logan smirked,” besides most people are afraid of the fae it’s hardly likely they will even have the courage to speak to him to realize he’s far too dramatic and good-willed to actually hurt anyone.”

Virgil chuckled a little,” he is a dork,” he smiled fondly the sentiment loud and clear despite the fact that he hadn’t said it.

His dork.

Logan stood up and brushed off his pants and shirt,” now if you excuse me, I will go fetch his royal pain in the ass and you two will sort out your drama or so help me.”

Virgil nodded, “thanks Logan,” he smiled.

The other nodded and in the next few moments, he was out of the house, the door closing with a soft click. And like that Virgil was left alone in Logan’s house, the sound of a soft fire crackling merrily his only true company.

Virgil eventually stood up his knees creaking slightly in protest, his bones tired from sitting in the same position so long. He stretched his back out arms extended outwards, he slouched over immediately afterwards his back falling into its normal slump.

He needed to do something with himself, something that would take a few moments and free up his mind a little bit from its thoughts.

But what?

He scanned his best friends home searching frantically for something to distract him, he didn’t understand Logan’s collection of crystals. And frankly he was scared to fiddle with them, he’d never been particularly interested in Logan’s books. Even the ones written by Patton bored him. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He and Logan had been some of the smartest kids at school, but academia was not something that interested him. And the second he was allowed to he dumped any tolerance he may have had for it.

His gaze flitted to the kitchen, there were pots and pans, and

A tea kettle.

Virgil was up in an instant busying himself with the actions of filling the kettle, setting up three cups and preparing three separate teas. The loose leaves piled in the bottom. Now all that was left for him to do was wait, the soft rumbling of the slow simmering water being a soft comfort.

But his nervous gaze was already searching, around the room some and he searched for some form of entertainment. Again, the crystals were out of the picture, some had enchantments, and others were attached to a system of wires that Virgil didn’t trust his luck to try to tamper with.

The tall bookcases were all filled with research notes, there was only one shelf that Logan had that wasn’t strictly non-fiction. However, even then those were scribed oral folktales that their village had been passing down for generations. Virgil could mess with the fire or cuddle up to the heating stone, but his mind was racing far to fast for that.

Again his gaze snagged on that damn corner, Logan’s house was one of a simple and efficient layout, the kitchen, main entertainment area, and dining room (well it was intended to be a dining room but Logan had long since converted it into a lab and office combo) were all one space divided by small half walls pillars and furniture, the only real rooms were Logan’s bedroom and Bathroom. And there in the far-off corner closest to a window was something.

He couldn’t really see anything at first, but it eventually grew more prominent as he stared on, it was like a mirage in the distance, a distortion from the heat, something intangible and uncertain. In a daze, Virgil stepped forward trying to get a better look at the strange corner.

The house plant in the corner was, well it looked like it was waving, it was akin to when you looked through bubbles but there was no shine just distortion.

Shaky step after shaky step Virgil was feeling his thoughts start to melt away and a soft warbly kind voice was speaking to him.

At first, it was unintelligible, just syllables and letters he was aware of almost as if his head was underwater, but slowly the words grew clearer, as he stepped closer.

He  p

Wee  wa  t   he p

Fo  ow   s

Follo

We want to help

Follow us

Yeah, that sounded reasonable to Virgil for some reason, there was a small worry in the back of his skull, jiggling around something that sounded an awful lot like Logan trying to supply him with information, but his mind was in a daze.

Wil-o’-the-wisp.

The voice told him firmly and helpfully. They were guiding lights, some benevolent, some cruel. And that voice that was supplying the information about them told him not to follow. That it was foolish. But the rest of his mind felt like it was submerged.

Let us help you.

Virgil was tentative that last string of common sense telling him to not listen, telling him to run in the opposite direction. And he almost tugged himself via that string… but then, they said all the needed too.

Answers about Roman

And like that, they had the scissors that they’d needed to cut his link to reality. He was moving forward and was almost within arms reach of the wisp.

It popped out of existence and then it was by the window, the sound of there whispers was drowning it was almost like a shrill loud whistle, it kept his thoughts from functioning and their magic had him ensnared.

Like a fly in a spiders web, he did exactly what it wanted, he opened the large window, an idle thought to close it behind him was there for only a moment but it was quickly abandoned as the honeyed words of promises led him closer and closer to the spider's den.

“You left him at your house alone!?” Roman asked concern lacing his normally regal tone.

Logan’s brow furrowed,” yes what is the matter, Roman? This is exactly why I came to ask you to talk to him. He has been very concerned and your acti-“

Roman was stepping back running forward his wings flapping, he was five feet away almost in the air when Logan jolted realizing the other’s actions were strange. “Roman!” he bellowed as he ran after him.

He’d never quite trusted the fae and this was not helping his case. He wanted to trust the fae, for Virgil, but every time he did the man did something foolish or reckless, or just without any common sense. It was like for him logic was metaphorically thrown out the window. Logan loathed such a thought, he ran after the prince his breath growing labored, “Roman!” he shouted. “Wait just on mome-“

Harsh pressure was digging into his upper arms, and the ground was falling away. A scream ripped out of Logan’s chest as he swung his feet violently, his hands covering his eyes. He’d been comfortable with Patton picking him up, the others large warm hands always stabilized him, and made him feel safe. But this was not safe, Romans hands were warm yes but not the comforting warmth of his Patton. They were long thin spindly fingers and it almost felt like a bird had grasped him.

Logan was swearing up and down his normally low voice a breathless shriek.

Roman apologized but he left it at that until they were descending on Logan’s front lawn.

“What the” Logan took in a few breaths schooling his words and expression,” why Roman?” he asked teeth gritted as he tried to calm his seizing respiratory system.

The prince was shushing him holding a hand to his ear,” do you hear that?” Roman asked with a faint whisper.

“Hear what?” Logan asked voice at a normal tone.

Roman stepped forward and with a quick flash of red magic, he unlocked Logan’s front door and entered his home.  Then Logan could hear it: the loud shrill shriek of his tea kettle screaming through the small house. It was a deafening noise in the otherwise silent home.

Roman was moving through the house frantically examining the rooms, his eyes flashed a glowing red a few times. The smell of oranges, nutmeg, and sandalwood, which were the familiar smell of Roman’s magic wafted through the entire house as Roman seemed to perceive something that Logan couldn’t, and a disconcerting growl escaped deep from his chest.

He took the kettle off of the hot eye a puzzled expression flitting across his face, but then he sized up the teacups and he seemed to be putting together something that Logan couldn’t.

“Roman?” Logan asked he was wrenched with worry his stomach tied in knots and fear was threatening to engulf him.

He’d noticed that Virgil was gone, how could he not, the window was wide open chilling his house with the late fall air and the tea kettle had been screaming only moments before. And Romans actions were not helping with the thick foreboding air that had descended on Logan’s small home. Logan was normally so calm, so collected, he normally put on this front, this air that he couldn’t be affected, but this rattled that like an earthquake to a shabby but well-presented hut.

Roman didn’t respond he was muttering in a language that Logan could not understand and a small flicking blue light that he couldn’t focus on for longer than a few seconds was hovering right by the prince. He continued in a language that Logan could not understand the prince was yelling, shouting something. And while he couldn’t decipher the words, he understood that it was filled with rage and disbelief.

The wispy creature, a wil-o’- the-wisp if Logan was correct (And if he was that thought chilled him to the bone) continued to talk to Roman for what felt like an eternity, and then it vanished, just a pop and it was gone.

“Roman?” he called out again in concern.

Roman jumped he looked over the human a few times, it was like he’d forgotten about him,” Wait here,” he begged.

“If I don’t?” Logan asked the tone catching him off guard.

A sorrowful expression, that’s all Logan could describe of the others face,” then I’ll have to make you stay,” the hollow way he said it, it wasn’t a threat it wasn’t even a promise, it was a regret.

“I’ll stay,” Logan whispered.

Roman nodded the thanks apparent in the motion,” I-I’ll be back.” He walked to the front door before stepping back,” I’ll tell Patton to come over so you’re not alone,” And with that he left Logan alone in the house.

Half thoughts and words were starting to swirl in Virgil’s head again, the blank nothingness that had encompassed his being was fading away, and he was shockingly aware that he was alone in the forest in the center of a damned fairy circle. This was not Romans circle though; this one was circled with entirely different plants and flowers than Romans. Suddenly there was a flash and a tall woman appeared before him.

She was breathtaking, if Virgil wasn’t as gay as they came, he’d probably be taken with her. She like most fair people looked like she could be both 20 and 60 aged and ageless. Virgil realized as the last dregs of the wisp magic faded just how lucky he was that he’d stumbled into Roman’s circle instead of this one all that time ago. Roman looked like a man. A stunning breathtaking man that also looked like a piece of artwork, but except for a few things he looked relatively normal.

This woman, however, defined otherworldly, she looked like she brought definition and weight to the scared whispered folklore of Virgil’s childhood.

The lady spoke, but Virgil didn’t understand the language, she paused and swapped to another. She continued in a few others before Virgil spoke up.

“H…h-hello,” he made a gesture with his hand that might have been intended to be a wave, but he wasn’t quite sure himself.

“Hello,” she paused before smiling,” Anxiety, I believe my son calls you?”

Virgil must have made a face, but he couldn’t be sure his heart was beating so loudly he couldn’t think. None the less she supplied an answer,” Roman,” Virgil nodded now in understanding.

The smile was wider,” you’re so cute I could eat you up!” she exclaimed.

Virgil whimpered, he’d heard that phrase before, from humans and even Patton but this woman, he wasn’t sure of her intentions, regardless of who’s mother she claimed to be. Virgil wrapped his arms around himself hiding them under the cloak so that he could grip his hands around his iron daggers.

Maybe it was a little distasteful to have iron weapons when you had a boyfriend whose main weakness was said weapons and almost those alone, but Virgil liked to think about it as protection in case Roman couldn’t protect him. He didn’t draw them out yet however, the fae were powerful beings with important laws that dictated their magic. If he were to draw a weapon, she’d have grounds to use it against him.

He may be in her territory but because of the circumstances, the law of the fair people might just allow him safety for a bit longer. He just had to watch his next few actions carefully and not offend her.

“Now I know you’re a little skittish but me and my wife have been dying to meet you and Roman has refused to bring you along.”

She said it all in a way that reminded Virgil of his own mother (well it reminded him of the few memories he had of her),” can you believe that? Won’t bring you to meet his own mothers,” she said it was such an air it was familiar enough to Roman’s dramatics that Virgil was relaxing slightly, his grasp on the blades slightly looser, but the grip was tighter in an instant.

He couldn’t be tricked by them even if they were Roman’s parents. The woman walked forward her hands held outwards dramatically,” just so you know there is no funny business, I’m going to take you to my home for tea with my wife.”

Virgil made a noise of protest his hands moving off of his daggers in shock as she put both hands on his shoulders and there was a flash of magic that dragged with it the smell ginger, and a fruity smell he couldn’t place.

Roman was terrified, the second he’d spoken to that wisp he knew that it was one of the chaotic ones, it had chirped off gleefully that it had directed his sweet anxiety to another fae, and not just any other fae his mothers. Gods that made him nervous, if his mothers talked to him? The anxious butterflies that were only caused by his sweet husband were starting to tear up his stomach.

Husband.

If that word didn’t stir up a lot of emotions in him. He was glad that it was Anxiety how had taken the step, he’d long since learned not to push the dark clad man. And he absolutely adores the idea of spending forever with him, but they’d not been dating for that long and had known each other for barely much longer. The commitment of it was terrifying, he barely felt ready for it. But he couldn’t tell the other, not after he’d been so courageous to do so, not after he’d been so bold when he was normally so, well, anxious.

“Roman!” A peppy voice called out.

He looked down, oh it was Patton, good because he didn’t want to make another stop or to search for him,” can you go to Logan house and stay with him something is going on and I told him I’d send you over.”

“Is he okay?” Patton asked his pointy ears tilting down.

Roman was already looking off in the distance,” oh, yes he’s fine, I just uh my mothers, uh, Anxiety, I gotta go.”

Patton nodded and began the trek to the scholar’s home.

The prince hardly thought as he made the trip to his mothers’ home, his all-encompassing thoughts were:

Get to Anxiety

Make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack

Protect him.

His mothers had never really been part of the human hunts that so many of their elite fae peers had been a part of, they were ahead of their time in that aspect. But they’d also never interacted with humans directly, their circle was too deep in the forest; when the peace treaties were sent by the two human rulers the messengers ended up finding Roman instead. Which was fine his mothers’ didn’t find an offense to that they enjoyed their seclusion, but they didn’t understand humans’ limits, they didn’t-

Roman’s stomach churned at the thought, if they exposed him too much to certain magics, he might fall ill, that was a mistake they’d fallen upon a few months back. The human vessel just wasn’t durable, it was fragile and as strong as his beloved was, he still was limited. Roman’s stomach felt much like it had a mind of its own crawling up his throat, Anxiety had iron daggers. He hid them from Roman and tried not to show them to him.

But none the less Roman knew about them, how could he forget when anxiety had pulled them against him at their first meeting. A guarded man like him, of course, had weapons, and considering that he had to fight from an early age to survive Roman didn’t care, Anxiety would never hurt him, and considering how much power he had he couldn’t blame him if maybe Anxiety just wanted something to make him feel safe.

But if Anxiety got scared he might pull them on his mothers, and then, then Roman’s mothers might get offended and his mothers were forces to be reckoned with when they were offended.

Before the prince knew it he was at his mothers’ cottage, they did have a castle but they often stayed in the cottage for comfort, and from what Roman had told them they knew that Anxiety had a nervous disposition and was prone to getting scared easily.

Roman threw the door open to the main entertainment space,” Mother! Mama!” he shouted,” were is he!”

Virgil was quite nervous there were two very powerful fairy queens attending to him handing him food and drinks and talking to him. The taller very muscular one, the one that had greeted him in the clearing was sat on a chaise. She’d greeted herself as Ada after they’d gotten into the fairy realm. Once she had directed him into the home she was covered with a bright flash of warm light and her appearance fell. She was still beautiful, still had terrifying pointy teeth but she looked far more human. She still had the pointed ears and the face and body markings that denoted she was something else but the aura she had before faded away.

As it did she apologized informing him that she still had to keep up appearances and if she startled him it wasn’t her intent.

And the other slightly shorter one was sitting in a wood carved chair that was decorated with the most dramatic curls and delicate flower petals. She was also beautiful, she had a round large nose and big expressive eyes, but they were lined with dramatic face markings and makeup. She was kind of adorable in a strange sense, very round and huggable, but there was something behind her eyes that told Virgil that he should still be weary of her.

And they were doting on one another, they threw soft actions and kisses at one another like he and Roman threw nicknames and cuddles.

“I-is it safe to eat or drink this? Uh- your majesties?” Virgil asked the women holding a sandwich nervously.

The shorter one smiled,” Oh our roman got himself a clever one, didn’t he?” she asked looking up at her wife,” he even makes sure the food won’t trap him!” she preened. “also call me Evangeline, your majesty sounds so formal! And we're practically family!” she smiled at him.

The other woman smiled,” anxiety how did you meet our son?”

Virgil chuckled,” I sort of fell into his fairy circle after getting lost.”

“Why were you lost?” Evangeline asked. “Also, yes you can eat the food we have no intent on trapping you.”

Virgil ducked his head,” well human’s don’t have the best perception of monsters and my best friend was dating Patton-“

“Oh,” Ada cut in,” the giant boy? He’s a friend of Roman’s.”

Virgil nodded,” well I didn’t know Patton was a cool person yet, and I was scared cause all I had been taught was to fear monsters and because I didn’t know how to react I tried to walk home but I’d never been in that section of the forest before and after hours of wandering I fell down a small cliff and into the circle.”

The two women nodded in sympathy,” our raisings were much of the same,” Evangeline added on,” don’t trust the humans don’t talk to them the normal nonsense.”

Ada nodded,” we’re very eager however for this promised new era of peace between us and the humans, the royal Joan and Talyn have only been able to extend to us informal treaties, but we understand it’s tough to erase the years of misunderstandings on our end as well.”

Virgil nodded his arm that had been under his cloak was loose around the hilt almost in a resting state. He picked up his teacup and took a tentative sip. It was a nice spiced blend with just enough sweetener, it was one of the best teas he’d ever tasted.

Suddenly the door was being busted down and the sound of Roman shouting was filling the room.

Logan was pacing up and down up and down, he wanted to follow the fae prince get answers, but something had rattled him and if that were the case then it could be nothing good. Logan’s floor was no doubt being rubbed down from the pacing the varnish slowly getting removed. But Virgil was out there having probably been swept away by the wisps. The situation did not lend itself to, particularly pleasant thoughts.

There was a slight shaking of the ground, Logan’s heart skipped a beat, he knew that thudding rhythm, he flung the door open. Patton wasn’t far away just at the edge of the forest only a few dozen feet from Logan’s house. Logan ran forward the jumped up into Patton’s arms. Patton scooped him up in his arms the warm embrace surrounding Logan and calming his thoughts.

He was able to think more logically now, his thoughts slowly organizing as Patton kissed his forehead,” you okay Lo-lo?” he asked his voice a low rumble.

Logan nodded,” better now, do you understand what’s going on?” he asked.

Patton smiled,” let’s get in your house first and I’ll tell you while we cuddle.” He said stepping forward putting Logan down on the grass gently

“Do you have a potion on you or do I need to grab one from my stash?” he asked, unfortunately his house was far too small for his boyfriend so he had to drink a shrinking potion, both so he could fit for them to cuddle, and so Patton didn’t draw any un-needed attention. While their village was one of the more open-minded, there still were hunters that passed by.

He shook his head nuzzling into Logan’s side,” I don’t have one on me no.”

“I’ll go grab one,” Logan left a soft kiss on Patton’s knuckle.

Patton chuckled at the soft gesture, Logan was only in the house for a second his crate of the potion was right by the door and in a moment Patton was shrinking.

For some reason, maybe it was just the ingredient ratio, whenever Patton took the shrinking potion he was shrunk, thankfully with his clothes, down to a height shorter by just a few inches than Logan. Patton wasn’t holding back anymore he was running forward jumping into Logan’s arms a kiss a whisper away.

He was only a hair away, that question in the air as Logan held him up under his thighs, Logan vanished the remaining distance surging forward. Patton’s tail was wrapped around Logan’s leg , he smiled into the kiss and he could feel the other smiling back as he stumbled into the house eyes closed.

They were chuckling into each other's lips, Logan raised a hand to Patton’s face, he backed away catching his breath. “I love you,” Patton whispered.

“I love you too,” Logan returned the sentiment. He backed away though reality returning to him.

“You’re worried about him aren’t you?” Patton asked.

“Roman told you what was going on?” Logan searched Patton’s face as if he was trying to find an answer.

Patton’s expression was soft,” yeah he told me a little bit, enough that I could gather that his moms had basically kidnapped Virgil.”

“They won’t hurt him right?”

Patton shook his head,” Nah,” he plopped down on Logan’s bed. Logan sat next to him and began to play with his soft hair,” Roman’s just a little bit worried because he doesn’t want his moms to talk to his husband.”

Logan sputtered,” when did they get married!? Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding!”

“Wedding?” Patton asked,” they got a fae marriage.”

“What does that entail? And why didn’t Virgil tell me?!” Logan was standing now Patton’s head falling from his lap and onto the bed.

“Lo-lo,” Patton sat up and wrapped his arms around his lover,” I’m sure there’s a good reason he didn’t tell you. I didn’t even go, apparently, Roman was really caught off guard about it. It hit him in the face so to speak,” Patton chuckled.

“Hit him in the? Patton dear I’m lost what are you talking about?”

“Virgil threw an apple at him and it hit him in the face.”

Logan was blinking taken aback,” apple?” he paused his mind trying to add two and two,” do you mean to tell me that a fae proposal is throwing an apple at your lover?”

“No, that’s the marriage.”

Logan was silent, he was at a loss for words the way Patton said it, so nonchalantly,” okay, you got me, dear, I almost believed you.” It was a good joke, Logan had to admit, that something so mundane something that humans do literally all the time could have such weight attached to it.

Patton’s expression remained serious,” is this not the same for human culture?”

Logan shook his head,” of course not that would be ridiculous, if it were then me and Virgil playing catch with apples as kids would make us married ten times over.”

Patton covered his mouth with his hands,” this means that for Virgil he’s been put into a marriage with Roman for two months that he doesn’t even know about! He hasn’t even told Roman his name yet!”

Logan nodded part of him found some humor in this and eventually he would tease Virgil about this but for the moment being, “I do not believe that this will go ideally, most likely Virgil is going to panic.”

“It’ll work out,” Patton said nuzzling into the scholar's neck pulling him onto the bed,” Roman revealed to me that them being married made him uneasy since they hadn’t been dating that long but he was under the impression that it was what Virgil wanted.”

Logan groaned chuckling all the same,” they are fools sometimes but at least Roman is not being reckless by desiring to marry a man he when he doesn’t even know his name.”

Patton sighed,” I’ll be glad when Virgil finally tells Roman his name, it gets confusing sometimes to keep straight what I’m supposed to call him.”

“I agree, but it is a big step for him, he doesn't want to just tell him he wants to give it to him.”

Patton sat up,” give it to him? Does he know how big of a deal that is?”

Logan nodded, once he and Patton had introduced themselves, they had said ‘you may call me’ it was subtle but very deliberate. They couldn’t have it used against them because of very careful wording, not that Roman would but it was good practice to measure one’s words exactingly near the fae.

“Virgil is very aware, he’s wanted to tell him for a while, but he keeps getting frightened, not that I can blame him it is a rather large step in their relationship.”

Patton snorted,” Bigger than accidental marriage?”

“Yes, well,” Logan was chuckling too,” biggest intentional step then.”

They were laughing now holding one another in each other’s arms just enjoying each other’s company. Logan felt calm and at peace, it wasn’t very often that his mind could be calmed, a good book, some fascinating research, those did the trick for a while, but nothing really relaxed him like his boyfriend.

Patton was swirling patterns onto his arm eyes closed, Logan took in the sight. His soft turquoise almost star-studded fur, his slight under bite. His round nose and glasses

All perfect.

Logan raised a hand an lightly brushed his thump on Patton’s cheek, the other opened his blue eyes lazily. They looked like perfectly cut crystals to Logan, magnified perfectly by his slightly askew glasses.

“Do you ever think about it?” Patton asked softly his purr vibrating loudly in the cold tinted fall air.

Leaning into the hand his own still idly drawing swirls and patterns into the others dark skin.

“Think about what?” Logan asked his heart melting at the way Patton’s face squished into his hand.

Patton was quiet for a moment, Logan almost thought he fell asleep, but his eyes were open again and his words were tentative and soft,” us, one day, getting married?”

Logan’s heartbeat went up to levels that probably put him at risk of a heart attack,” I-I,” he stuttered his mind reeling from the idea. He’d never actually thought about it, he was always so caught up in the moment that honestly, a future was intangible. But hearing that right then,” I am now,” he admitted sheepishly.

“And?” Patton asked voice soft and gentle as he snuggled closer to the scholar.

Logan swallowed his pooling spit and collected his thoughts,” I am not opposed to it, but I am nervous.”

Patton turned his head slightly a brow softly quirked the question in the air,” it is just that, Human’s right now are turning finally to see that just because you’re monsters it doesn’t make you inherently evil, and I will admit the thought of those few that won’t listen to reason scares me.”

Patton grumbled lowly,” well I won't ever let them hurt you Lo-lo.” Patton hugged him close nuzzling his face into Logan’s chest.

“That is not what I am afraid of,” Logan ran his hand through the other's hair, he accidentally bumped his hand into the base of Patton’s antlers. They were just as soft as the rest of him. “I’m afraid of what they will do to you,” Logan admitted not much louder than a whisper. But the words might as well have been a shout.

Patton detangled himself from Logan,” It won’t happen,” Logan went to speak unwanted tears forming in his eyes,” No,” Patton cut him off,” sweetheart listen, it won’t happen. We’re friends with the next in line of the fae royalty, and we know people with direct connections to the human throne, we’re safe.”

Patton grabbed Logan’s hand which was still pinned under his face, he held Logan’s hand to his heart,” I’m safe.”

Roman scanned the room and there closest to the door was Anxiety, he scanned him up and down nervously. One hand was out of his cloak that was good, but the other was in it, no doubt wrapped around the hilt of his dagger.

“R-roman,” Anxiety said, his face relaxing slightly.

Roman put a hand to his husband’s face, Anxiety leaned in ever so slightly,” are you alright my love, no panic attacks?” he asked his red tinted brown eyes scanning his fae for every expression and microexpression he could.

Anxiety smirked,” I’m fine princey, just a little surprised, it’s not every day you get magically kidnapped by fae royalty.”

Roman looked down ashamed,” I supposed that might be my fault, they’ve wanted to meet you for a while now and you’d think they’d have the patience to wait but no,” he looked up at them and shot them a look.

“They did seem eager to meet me yes,” Anxiety agreed, nerves still an undercurrent to his tone but his tone was as calm as it’d been since Roman had heard him that afternoon.

Roman’s mama clapped her hands,” well if you’re done modeling after your mother and being overdramatic,” Roman’s mother made an offended noise, Anxiety made a near-silent chuckle,” we were just about to show your husband your baby portraits.”

“WhAt!” Anxiety shouted his face red as he stood up.

The three fae looked at him bewildered,” is there some sort of human taboo against showing newlyweds one another’s baby portraits?” his mother asked in concern. It was a fair question one he himself was actually wondering now considering his husbands panic.

“I-I no, we,” Anxiety was looking between all three,” married? When?”

Roman studied him carefully, did he hit his head? Had the magic from traveling between realms altered his memories. Roman stepped closer,” are you okay, love?” he put a hand on the others forehead,” are you feeling unwell?”

Anxiety’s eyes were filled with fear and confusion as he looked frantically around. “Hey, hey, hey,” Roman repeated himself a few times,” what’s the matter? Anx dearest,” Roman spoke carefully after he waited for the other to breathe for a moment,” are you alright?”

Anxiety looked up panic still splayed on his face but he was already attempting to cover it up with his normal disinterested expression,” s-since when were we married?!”

“When you threw that apple at me?” Roman said confused.

This deepened Anxiety’s troubled expression,” humans,” his eyes darted to Roman’s mothers. “we, it’s not, I didn’t. besidesIhityouinthefacethat’shardlyromantic!” Anxiety looked over at the two women,” not that I wouldn’t but we just,” he looked back at roman,” we haven’t been dating that lo-“ his voice died in his throat as he gestured wildly trying to explain himself.

“Oh,” Roman said softly as he added it together,” Oh!” he exclaimed hitting himself in the head,” I’m sorry Anxiety I completely forgot humans have different customs.”

Anxiety’s rapid breathing slowed,” you’re not mad at me?”

Roman shook his head, at that moment however his mother decided it would be the perfect moment to speak up,” you-you’re not married?”

Virgil was jumping up again he’d seemed to have only for a moment forgotten about the two women,” no- not that I would- I just- it just- humans don’t normally- after such a- a short period of time.”

Roman was elated, Anxiety didn’t want to get married just yet either, part of him felt bad for feeling relieved but he was glad that they were still on the same page relationship-wise. “Well then,” Roman spoke up,” Mother, mama, this is my boyfriend.”

Anxiety smiled at Roman a soft look in his eyes, they’d have to talk more later but for now, they had Roman’s mothers to talk to.

“So, baby portraits?” his mama asked, perhaps she was trying to smooth over the afternoon, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes that definitely suggested otherwise.

“Mama!”

“So, humans have an exchange of rings and a huge party?” Roman asked a slight bit of excitement peeking through his voice.

Virgil giggled at his boyfriend, his reaction caused his entire being to feel like it was being swaddled and hugged. It had been a few hours since they’d gotten back from the fae realm, and because of the magic exposure, they decided to continue their conversation at Virgil’s house. His house was much like Logan’s but instead of science stuff and crystals and books, he had different trinkets from Roman, posters of his favorite bard groups, and general décor that tended to fit the macabre.

“Yes, it’s incredibly dramatic,” Virgil said drinking in the others face as they lay next to one another on Virgil’s old rickety bed. “but don’t let that fool you the wedding industry is a sham.”

“Wedding,” Roman said testing out the word as if he were tasting it, Virgil’s heart fluttered at his expression,” Well when we are ready for marriage, I will sweep you off your feet!”

His stomach was exploding with butterflies his heart squeezing at the words ‘when we are ready’ not just him both of them. “So, you’re not disappointed that we aren’t actually married right now?” Virgil asked voice small.

“Anx,” Roman said softly as he pulled the shorter male closer,” of course not,” he was quiet for a beat,” I was actually scared after the initial shock wore off because I hadn’t really realized that I wasn’t ready either.”

Virgil hugged him, Roman embraced him back his fingers playing with his hair they were quiet for awhile neither speaking just enjoying each other’s presence. “Roman?” Virgil eventually spoke. The fae hummed in response his fingers continuing their ministration in Virgil’s messy hair,” sit up?” he asked him.

The prince did disentangle himself with a grumble,” I wanted to cuddle,” he pouted.

“W-we can get back to that,” Virgil promised running a hand through his hair as he too sat up,” I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay? Roman asked his expression mainly blank but Virgil could see just a small little inkling of confusion.

“My n-,” he took in a shaky breath, he could do this, he wanted to,” My name is-“

His gaze darted up to Roman who’s eyes were as wide as Virgil had ever seen, his mouth was open slightly in shock. “I-I,” Virgil clenched his fists letting the sensation of his fingernails biting into his flesh ground him,” sorry I just got nervous.”

“Anxiety you don’t ha-“

“It’s Virgil!” he exclaimed, he nervously started muttering to himself,” it’s like a band-aid you just gotta rip it off.”

Roman took Virgil’s face in his hands gently,” Virgil,” he said in an almost reverence, it was like before when he was playing out the syllables of 'wedding' but now instead of just tasting it, he was savoring it. “Virgil,” he repeated clearly enjoying the way the word fell off of his tongue and into the air between them.

“I’m going to kiss you now, is that alright with yo-,” Roman warned but Virgil beat him to it, he surged forward his lips crashing into the others. Romans lips were soft plush and felt like he moisturized them regularly. Virgil knew that his were chapped but Roman simply pushed back into the kiss meeting Virgil’s passion.

Roman accidentally pushed too far however and Virgil fell back onto his bed bouncing up a little as they detached slightly. Laughter burst from Virgil’s chest and Roman laughed back, he began to pepper Virgil with kisses every time he came up, he whispered his name like a quiet prayer.

“T-that tickles roman,” Virgil attempted to hold back his laughter.

Roman quirked an eyebrow as he hovered over the other,” oh tickli-“

A knocking from the front door interrupted them, Roman groaned and Virgil let out a laugh,” that’ll probably be Logan, you did just leave him with no expli-“

“I will be opening the door in one minute, if you are not fully clothed by then, then it is your fault!” Logan interrupted again his tone not betraying any amusement.

Virgil could hear Patton exclaim in shock, he laughed as he clambered up to answer the door, and for once there was nothing wrong in his life.

[lavieenprose]

on being ill

“On Being Ill” isn’t just making a case for illness as a literary subject, but for the brute, bare fact of the body itself. By insisting we acknowledge that we sweat and crave and itch all day (“all day, all night”), Woolf reminds us we have the right to speak about these things—to make them lyric and epic—and that we should seek a language that honors them. The man who suffers a migraine, she writes, is “forced to coin words himself, taking his pain in one hand and a lump of pure sound in the other.” What does it sound like, this strange, unholy language of nerves and excretions? How do we articulate the kind of pain that refuses language? We throw up our hands, or we hurl our charts: one through ten, bad to worse, from the smiley face to its wretched, frowning cousin.

Woolf’s argument may have been more urgent in her time than in ours—we have more records of the “daily drama of the body” now than we did then—but when I first read her battle cry, her call to arms (not just arms but legs and teeth and bones), it felt like encountering a long-lost relative: the banner I’d never known I’d always been fighting under: Bodies matter—we can’t escape them—they’re full of stories—how do we tell them? Her argument might have the urgency of a battle cry but it’s also vulnerable; it’s posing questions; it’s got mess and nerve—it’s leaking some strange fluid from beneath its garments, hard to tell in the twilight, maybe pus or tears or blood. Even her syntax feels bodily—full of curves and joints and twists, shifting and stretching the skin of her sentences.

People have often told me my own writing seems to be all about bodies. A woman from a writing workshop once suggested I call my collection of stories Body Issues. (I didn’t have a collection of stories: If I did, I wouldn’t have called it that.) But I’ve never wanted to write about “the body,” by which I mean I’ve never set out with that explicit intention; I’ve only ever wanted to write about what it feels like to be alive, and it turns out being alive is always about being in a body. We’re never not in bodies: that’s just our fate and our assignment. (In her beautiful memoir The Two Kinds of Decay, Sarah Manguso writes that she despises “the body” whenever it describes anything but a corpse, and I love that, though I use the phrase constantly anyway.) To my mind, the more aggressive choice is writing that isn’t physical; this insistence carries the burden of intentional absence.

All that said, I’ve always felt a certain shame about the ways my writing keeps coming back to bodies, which is why I loved finding Woolf. My shame felt such relief at the prospect of her company. My first novel was all about addiction and eating disorders and sex, and there was food everywhere, some of it gone rotten. I used the word “sweat” too many times (my editor told me); there were too many fluids (my editor told me) and far too many bruises (my editor told me) and even worse, too many of these bruises were “plum-colored”—for this last one (my editor told me), we would both get mocked, if we didn’t get rid of some of these plum-colored bruises right away. A certain shame hung over the whole narrative, like a faint body odor I couldn’t smell because it was mine: There was too much body, and this too-much-body risked banality and melodrama at once. I’ve always wondered if this shame about writing about the body is connected to the shame of quasi-autobiographical writing, that sense of failing to imagine beyond one’s own experience. Is writing about bodily experience somehow the extreme form of this failure, the ultimate solipsism? You haven’t even gotten beyond your own nerve endings; it’s no accident they call it navel gazing.

I often think of an old painting I once saw that shows an injured body pointing at its own open wounds. The most graceful victim, of course, is the one who doesn’t need to point at his holes or ask for sympathy—who doesn’t take up the lump of pure sound, who just keeps quiet. The way I imagine being scolded goes something like this: There’s something selfish about talking about bodies too much if the bodily experience fueling everything is your own.

I often think, also, of a cross-country race I ran in 10th grade: I tripped on a slab of concrete sticking up from the dirt, about a hundred meters after the start, when the pack was still dense; and I was trampled by the horde of 15-year-old girls running behind me. It was pretty minor, as tramplings go. But still, it was a trampling. I got up to run the next three miles of the race but I was shaken up and bleeding. I wasn’t running well at all—nothing close to what I’d need to do to place well for our team.

When I reached my coach, who was calling out our one-mile splits, she said something to the effect of “Why are you running so slow?”—only perhaps not so delicately phrased. I remember the awkward way I tried to point at my own wounds without slowing my (turtle) pace; and I remember how badly I wanted her to see the streaks of dirt-clotted blood; I almost stumbled again in my urgent need to show her the proof of my stumbling.

That memory has become the vessel for a certain kind of shame—the shame of pointing too overtly at what hurts, jamming the laser-pointer of language at some wound and then expecting it to yield wisdom or explanation. My coach didn’t want the epic or lyric account of my damaged body, she just wanted me to keep running, and hopefully pick up the pace.

I’m still haunted by the specter of myself in this moment—a mute form pointing, bleeding. A few years after that race I spent a couple months actually mute: I’d gotten jaw surgery and they’d wired my jaw shut to help it heal. During those months I wrote quite frequently but it was mainly practical, because I couldn’t talk. I requested things by scribbling them in a little notebook: vicodin, please; okay ensure (my mom was always foisting Ensure on me), but are there any cans of dark chocolate left? HATE butter pecan. I asked for sheets draped over the mirrors, so I wouldn’t see my swollen face; I asked for the pair of scissors that I was supposed to keep on-hand in case I vomited and needed to cut the wires between my teeth.

Eventually I started writing poems about those quiet weeks, and the surgery before them, the days in the hospital. The poems were full of IV lines and numbness and feeling returning after numbness like water oozing back into crab holes in damp sand (“crackling lines of hurt,” I wrote). I imagined myself the bard of swelling; I wanted to write toothache lyrics for swelling—to evoke the chronic panic of its deforming sculptural practice: it shapes you into something like you, but not you. I wanted to bring that aching knowledge to my nonexistent reading public.

I turned the poems into a series and then I turned them in to my undergraduate writing workshop. The series was called “Waiting Room,” meaning the waiting room before surgery but also the injury afterward as a waiting room—get it?—the aftermath as the cramped little chamber where you wait to get better; where you have to keep waiting even once it seems like you should already be there.

I wasn’t satisfied with the poems. Pain was hard to describe. I encountered Elaine Scarry’s famous formulation—“pain does not simply resist language but actively destroys it”—which recognized but did not solve the problem. My workshop wasn’t satisfied with the poems either. Everyone wanted to know: What were they about? I thought it was pretty fucking self-evident, but no, it was a different problem: My classmates got that these poems were about pain and injury—maybe in a dental office?—but what were they really about? My workshop was thinking everything must be a metaphor for something else: the cut lines on raw gums, the self-quieting sparkle of anesthesia. But in truth, nothing was a metaphor for anything. It was more or less this happened, and it hurt. There was nothing below the surface.

At the time I took this as a verdict of poverty and lack—which is why I loved finding Woolf, so many years later, who seemed to be saying, the surface of the body isn’t poverty; it isn’t lack. She rose from the dead for the express purpose of silencing that workshop, or at least arguing against the notion that there had to be something besides bodies for these poems to matter. She was saying the surface is poetry; bodies are poetry; or poetry can be made of what these bodies need and crave and bleed and feel.

I felt her summoning an army, everyone I’d ever read whose language does some justice to the way our bodies are, the ways they betray us or bind us together: Walt Whitman’s greed to catalogue the physical forms of his countrymen, William Faulkner’s fixation on muddy drawers and the waft of honeysuckle; Marcel Merleau-Ponty’s insistence on the body as an “eloquent relic of existence.”

Woolf writes: “It is not only a new language that we need, more primitive, more sensual, more obscene, but a new hierarchy of the passions; love must be deposed in favour of a temperature of 104; jealousy give place to the pangs of sciatica.” I can see the way these marching orders have infected my own prose—even this piece, with its twisting, bodily contortions—and the way they’ve helped me claim a dialect I’d been afraid was junk, a ledger of the body’s travails, not the “Waiting Room” poems (which weren’t really that great) but the notebooks I kept when my jaw was wired silent, full of their banal complaints and requests: Vicodin, please. Where are the vomit scissors? These are daily dramas of the body, charged with force and longing; the record Woolf never found, the words that pain and pure sound made.

[batfam-imagines]

Hope

This is loosely based off another fic I wrote for one of my other blogs @mymarvelimagines here’s the link to the original fic: Is That Her? Obviously this fic has quite a few changes, so I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

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“I can’t, Arthur. I have a date tonight!”

Arthur lets out an exasperated huff, “I don’t really care what you have planned. You’re my Captain of the Guard, and I need you at this Justice League meeting. I’m going to introduce you to the rest of the JL members. Mera said I’m no longer allowed outside of Atlantis without an escort, so I’ve chosen you.”

You let out a huff and debate on just hanging up on your king, but eventually decide against it. “Very well. I’ll cancel my date, but next time I want at least 24-hours’ notice. You know I hate this last-minute shit.”

“You aren’t in the place to demand anything, Y/N. I am your king”

“Funny. I thought you were my brother. It’s you who can’t demand anything from me. I was your Captain of the Guard but got tired of all the ‘half-breed’ comments people kept making. You know damn well that I chose to live on land, so you can’t demand anything from me anymore!” You can feel the oceans magic that constantly thrums beneath your skin rising up as you speak, preparing for a fight. The days of you being an official Atlantean are long over, and sometimes Arthur willfully forgets that.

Arthurs growl crackles over the phones speaker, “Fine, you were one of my best fighters. I would greatly appreciate it if you would come with me this afternoon to the Watchtower. The soldiers still respect you, and the war council will take your word more seriously than mine. You’ve fought beside them more than I have, Y/N, you have their trust”

“And?”

Your brother groans, “Seriously? Alright, alright. Next time I need you I’ll try to give you some more notice”

“And?”

“Damnit, woman! I’m sorry! Is that what you wanted to hear? I’m sorry for being a total ass, and for trying to pull the whole king-thing on you”

“Thank you! It’s like pulling teeth to get an apology out of you!”

“Can you just be ready at 6 tonight?” You grunt an affirmation, and Arthur sighs, “You know I miss you, right? It’s just not the same without having you here”

“I know, but I’m not coming back, at least not permanently. And, you know, if you miss me so much you could swim your lazy ass back home and visit me and dad” You glance over at your aging father, sitting hunched and quite on the pier. “You should really come visit him soon, Arthur. He misses you”

“I will, Y/N. I promise, once this meeting is over tonight, I’ll be staying for the weekend. Speaking of, wear your gear, I want to show up the Bat and his brood, but keep your hood off. You’ll be getting to know everyone’s identities tonight”

“Fine, now I have to go. I need to call my date and cancel and make dad some breakfast. Oh, and warn your friends, if I get stopped by some kind of security it won’t be pretty”

“Noted, brat. I’ll let everyone know not to mess with my badass little sister”

“I’m only 8 minutes younger than you!”

Arthur lets out a barking laugh, “I’m still the oldest! See you tonight!”

–

Once Arthur hangs up, and breakfast is made, you retreat to your room to call your date: Jason. Koriand'r had introduced the two of you when the Outlaws had a mission that crossed Atlantean borders, and the two of you had instantly clicked. By the end of the mission they two of you decided to keep in touch. At first by sending letters, and once you had moved onto land by exchanging numbers. But even though you’d been talking to him, had even been considered his friend for almost a year, he hadn’t let you see his face. Whenever Snapchat was used, or the two of you video-chatted, Jason was always wearing at least his domino mask. Tonight was supposed to be the first night where you finally saw his entire face. But now you had to cancel.

Jason picks up on the first ring, “Hey, Y/N, I was just getting ready to call you”

You can’t help but smile at his sleep-roughened voice, it wasn’t easy being awake during the day when most of your crime-fighting happened at night. “Oh really? You just couldn’t wait until tonight?”

He chuckles, “Unfortunately not, sweetheart. Batman called me in on a last-minute assignment, he actually called all of us in, wouldn’t give any details until tonight though. I’m not real sure what the hell is going on, but I’m gonna have to cancel our date.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you close your eyes in relief. You really hated to cancel plans or disappoint people, and now you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about not being able to make the date. “That’s fine, Jay. That’s similar to what I was gonna say too. My brother called me, said he needed me for some secret meeting tonight”

“Crime never sleeps, doll. Guess we’ll just have to reschedule when no annoying brothers or crazy family members can reach us”

“Yeah, Jay, we definitely will. If you think you can get out of showing me your face because of one botched date, then you’re sorely mistaken”

Jason chuckles, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Y/N. I’ll text you tonight after this thing for B, alright?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll let you know how my meeting goes. Bye, Jay”

“Bye, Y/N”

–

You stroll up to the ZETA Tube at 5:55 pm, “Hey, Arthur!”

Your brother pushes himself off the disguised transportation machine with a scowl, “You’re late”

Checking your watch, you flash a bright smile, “I’m not late. You said to be here at 6, it 5:57. And plus, I just had to stop for some chicken nuggets on the way here”

“Did you get me any?”

“I did, but then I ate them”

Arthur huffs, “Rude, I freaking love chicken nuggets. You’re getting me some after this damn meeting”

You roll your eyes, “Thought you were the ‘big brother’, aren’t you supposed to take care of little ol’ me?”

“Shut up and get in the ZETA. If I’m late to another meeting Batman will feed me to his children”

“Batman’s up there?” Arthur nods as he punches in his access code, “Cool, I always wanted to meet him”

–

“So, brother dearest, what’s this meeting about anyway and why do you need me to convince the War Council to take action? You’re the king, can’t you just command it?”

“I could try, but ever since you left any war actions I make are questioned. You were the one who actually won your arena fight, you gained their respect by the old laws. I only have it because I was deemed worthy enough to wield King Atlan’s trident.” Arthur’s shoulders slump slightly, “I just need you to listen to what the others have to say, then decide if Atlantean troops are necessary, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I will”

The two of you marched into the meeting, heads held high, “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Y/N. She’s -”

“Y/N?!” A man quickly stands up from the back of the room where he’d been leaning against the wall. He wasn’t wearing a mask, none of the heroes were now that you’d had the chance to notice, but that shock of white hair was unmistakable.

“Jason? What -?”

“You’re Atlantean? Why the hell didn’t you ever tell me that?! You never fuckin’ told me that you were Aquaman’s sister!!”

“I thought would be something you tell someone on the first date! Not over the phone!”

A dark-haired man, Nightwing going by his costume, leans closer to Jason, “Is that her? The girl you’ve been talking to for months now but were too shy to meet up with? I can see why you were nervous, Littlewing, she’s -” He’s cut off as another boy, this one shorter even than him and fine-boned – probably Red Robin – shoves an elbow into his side.

“Leave Jay alone, Dick. This is the first girl he’s shown more than a passing interest in since he’s been back” The pale boy smiles at you innocently, but his eyes are calculating. He plays innocent, used to people underestimating him before he strikes.

Then your eyes turn to the smallest of Jason’s brothers, the current Robin, who has yet to say anything. He just continues to sharpen one of his many swords while watching you, and smirks when your eyes lock. You can’t help but wonder if he’s ever trained with a trident.

Superman clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the center table, “Back to the reason we’re all here … We’ve received word that your half-brother is planning to start a war, and we need to help us stop it”

“Orm is always trying to usurp Arthur and take back the Atlantean throne, this isn’t anything new. Unfortunately, he’s … exceedingly difficult to capture because several of our people are still loyal to him, and Mother does not want him killed.” You sit down next to Arthur and Batman, quickly scanning over the notes they have about Orm’s forces.

Batman turns slightly to face you, “He isn’t just planning to attack Atlantis this time. He plans to start a war between the Atlanteans and Amazons that will wipe out most of the human race. He managed to hack our servers with the help of Black Manta and found the file for when Flash went to an alternate timeline where Amazons and Atlanteans were at war, destroying both themselves and us. The only way to stop this war from happening is to work together”

Nodding along, you continue to read the list of possible plans that the Justice League have written out, “Mmhmm. So looking at these, our little brother was planning to kill Queen Hippolyta and blame it on our people, causing your people -” You gesture across the table at Wonder Woman, “- to retaliate and kill Queen Mera, thus causing a huge war. And let me guess, he would ride in, or I guess swim in, with his little army and turn the tides of the war causing the Atlanteans to be victorious. All of our people would hail him a savior, Arthur would be booted off the throne, and Orm would once again rule all the oceans as Ocean Master, but this time he would have control of the land as well”

Flash nods along, quickly demolishing 6 more hotdogs as you talk, “Yeah, that’s pretty much what’s gonna happen if we don’t do anything! You’re really good at this”

Jason leans over the back of your chair, “So, sweetheart, you got any ideas on how to stop the end of the world from happening?” One side of his mouth curls up in a handsome smirk, “’Cause, if the world’s at war, then we can’t go on our date”

Arthur’s hand tightens on his trident, “Watch it, brat. I’ll skewer you and feed you to the Karathen”

“I don’t need you to defend my honor, fish-brains, I can take care of myself” You wink up at Jason before turning back to everyone else, “As for an attack strategy, Arthur and I will go down to Atlantis and convince the War Council to mobilize our forces. We’ll set up a perimeter in Themysciran waters, that way when Orm arrives we can meet him head on -”

“Only women are allowed on Themyscira, we do not allow men to freely roam our island” Wonder Woman’s eyes lock on Arthur, “Not even kings”

You nod, “That’s perfectly fine. If you want, only our female soldiers will get close to your islands’ borders, the men can be kept further away. Queen Mera and I will need to talk you’re your queen and general about the upcoming battle, I can show you the places to attack on Atlantean armor.”

“Very well. My mother will be much more … amiable to your plans if the men stay away” Wonder Woman extends her hand towards you, “I am Princess Diana of Themyscira, you may call me Diana. Once you have met with your people, I will be the one guiding you”

“It’s nice to meet you, sorry my little brothers a little - ” You swirl your finger by your temple, “- crazy”. You and Diana spend the next few minutes discussing the layout of Themyscira, the entire time you’re completely aware of Jason still leaning on the back of your chair having a hushed conversation with his brothers.

“Okay, now that everyone knows how beautiful the island is, are we ready to talk about weapons?”

Batman’s eyes flash up to his son, “Jason -”

“I’m serious! If we base Amazon fighting technique on Diana, then they predominantly use swords or something similar, shields, arrows, and hand-to-hand: mainly close range. But Atlanteans have the technology to fight at a distance, they have weapons that only need water to power them. Both Atlanteans and Amazons are equal in strength and speed, but if Orm manages to drive the fight to the water then it’ll be a massacre! Shit, he won’t even have to drive anyone to the water, plenty of Atlanteans are trained in magic and can bring the water to the fight!”

Everyone’s eyes are locked on Jason now, and you can’t help the slow smile that splits your face. Knowing that Jason, someone who’s physically attractive and who you’ve wanted to go on a date with for a long time, is smart enough to see flaws in a potential battle is ridiculously attractive. “Then tell me, Jay, how should we plan to overcome these flaws?”

Jason flushes pink, “I-I mean you guys are the battle experts, I don’t know everything -”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Littlewing! You’re the one who pointed out the flaws, you must have a way to fix them!” Nightwing gives his brother an encouraging pat on the shoulder, “Come on, tell us what you got”

“Okay. Well, Black Manta is human, right? So if he was able to figure out how to use Atlantean technology enough to build his own suit then we should be able to teach Diana’s people enough to shoot Atlantean guns. First we need to lay a trap though, get Orm and his fighters away from the water. They’ll be weaker, and easier to take down without easy access their main power source. Plus, only royals can breathe air, so if we can plan a stealth attack and expose the soldiers to air then they’ll be useless to Orm and his cause.” Arthur looks up at Jason in surprise, both at his knowledge of Atlantean physiology and of the possibility that his strategy could actually work.

“We’ll fine tune the plan once we know exactly how many soldiers and weapons we have available to us” You glance around the room, “Meet back here same time tomorrow with more information?”

Diana nods, “Yes, that should give me enough time to contact my mother” The Amazon stands without another word and leaves the meeting room.

“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Y/N. I know you had other plans tonight” Batman stands as well, holding his hand out for a brief shake, before leaving with a swish of his cape.

The other heroes take Batman’s departure as a que and all stand to leave as well. Arthur grabs his trident from where is was leaning against the wall, “Alright, brat, looks like we’ll make it home in time to see Dad before bed”

“Wait, Y/N, before you go -” Jason scratches the back of his head lightly and clears his throat, out of the corner of your eye you can see Arthur walk over to talk to Superman, “- I know this wasn’t exactly the way our first in-person meeting was supposed to go, but you were amazing discussing battle strategies with Diana. And I was wondering if …”

“Will you go on a date with me?” You interrupt, the words coming unbidden from between your lips, “Like a real date, not one where there’s a bunch of other superheroes around and we’re trying to stop World War III. Not that you weren’t amazing -”

“Ugh, you guys are horrible at this” Red Robin just seems to appear at Jason’s elbow, “Hi, I’m Tim, Jason’s younger brother.”

“Replacement!”

“Don’t mind him, his time dead kind of stunted his emotional growth. He’d love to go on a date with you! Jason’s a total romantic at heart, so he’s the kind to pack a picnic and watch the sunset, you know? But if you aren’t into that I can schedule a dinner at the nicest restaurant in Gotham -”

“Drake, do you really think Todd would go to you for assistance if he needed to find a decent eatery? You survive off of granola bars and coffee. Besides, I have a much more refined palate, I will be assisting Todd in choosing his dates with the Atlantean” The smallest brother, the current Robin, sticks his nose up in the air with an amount of arrogance that you’ve only seen from people born and bred as royalty.

“Damian! We’ve talked about being mice to Tim! Why don’t we all help Littlewing with his date. I mean there are so many great places he can take her! There’s the pier, the aquarium -”

You snort, “Are those all water themed because I’m Atlantean?”

Jason groans, his hands raking through his hair, “Will you three go away? I don’t want to shoot you, but you’re starting to piss me off enough where I think that might be a good idea” The taller man turns back to you as his brothers make their way down the same hallways that Batman had gone down, “After meeting them I totally understand if you want to take back your offer for a date”

“Nah, they seem like fun” Jason raises an incredulous eyebrow, “To mess with that is, I mean that’s what siblings are for. And honestly Tim’s idea of a date was the one that sounded the best”

“The fancy dinner in Gotham?”

“No, no. I mean packing a picnic and watching the sunset. Picking out constellations, talking, getting to know each other more” You reach up and gently skim your fingertips across Jason’s strong jaw, “Maybe one on the beach, away from the city”

“When this whole war this is over, I’m taking you up on that, Y/N. You won’t be able to get rid of me” Jason pulls you into a brief hug before he starts backing toward the same hallway his brothers had gone down, “I’ll call you tomorrow morning when I get off patrol, alright?”

“Yeah, Jay. Talk to you in the morning”

The imminent future looks dark and full of bloodshed, but beyond that there’s hope. Hope for a future, hope to rebuild everything that will be lost, and hope for peace. Already you can feel your phone buzz with a mew message, and your brother nudges you playfully when you finally join him. There’s hope for the future, you just have to get to it.

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