#at this point I barely even check my AO3 inbox anymore

[sun-moon-stars-jedi]

Thanks to comments like this, probably never

[stolen-pen-name23]

hiii idk if u still take prompts but "i’m never going to let [her/him/them] hurt you again" for Obitine?

Ahhh thank you for the prompt! This is actually the last prompt in my inbox! I'll open up prompts again soon, but for now, I'm going to try and focus on a few bigger projects.

This one got away from me, so you can read the whole thing under the cut, or read on Ao3!

---

When he is brought to her, it is like he isn’t even there.

“What’s wrong with him?” Satine asks when Anakin stumbles down the ramp of his ship, Obi-Wan slung over his shoulders. His eyes are open but vacant, almost as though in death.

“He was drugged,” Anakin growls.

“What did they give him?” she asks.

Anakin’s eyes are dark with rage. “I don’t know. But I can assure you, Duchess, that the ones who did this to him are dead.”

Satine bristles.

“Self-defense, my lady,” Anakin says before she can say anything about fair trials or neutral zones.

“Uh-huh,” Satine accepts mildly, paying more attention to Obi-Wan and his current state.

“Is there a medical facility here?” Anakin asks.

“I sent for healers as soon as you called,” Satine says. “They’re awaiting him in my quarters.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Anakin says, the tight line of his jaw softening ever so slightly. “Lead the way.”

Satine leads Anakin through the palace entrance and down the long and winding corridors that lead to her quarters. Guards flank them on either side, though Satine thinks their presence to be unnecessary with Anakin there — even if he is carrying another Jedi with him.

By the time they reach her rooms, Anakin is panting. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he sets Obi-Wan down with gentle care.

Obi-Wan is fully unconscious now — a fact Satine is grateful for. The vacant staring was unsettling, especially coming from Obi-Wan whose eyes were always so full of life and curiosity. Conversely, a wild look still lingers in Anakin’s eyes, and it flashes as healers descend upon them.

“Can you tell us what happened?” one of the healers asks Anakin.

“He was captured by some Separatist scum. I found him, but he was drugged. I… I can barely feel him,” Anakin says, panic finding its way back into his voice.

The healer whips her head up and looks at him more closely. “Are you okay? Were you drugged too?”

“What?” Anakin asks. “No, I was never—”

“These two are Jedi,” Satine interrupts. “They share a mental bond. They can sense each other through it.”

“Ah,” the healer says. Whether the healer feels any ill-will towards the Jedi, as many Mandalorians do, she does not give it away. She continues to work dutifully on her charge.

“What are you doing to him?” Anakin asks as the healer begins drawing blood and waving scanners over Obi-Wan’s body.

“We’re just running some tests. We need to figure out what he was drugged with. I don’t want to give him anything that might mix poorly with what he was given.”

Anakin nods, but Satine can still see the way he clenches his fist and jaw.

“We need you two to give us some room,” the healer says, before she seemingly remembers who she is speaking to. “Respectfully, Duchess,” she adds.

“Of course,” Satine says graciously. She takes a step back, but sees Anakin frozen in place. Gently, she grabs his elbow and nudges him along. He follows her to the edge of the room, where they wait for the healers to help Obi-Wan.

Satine doesn’t know how long they stand there, hovering awkwardly from afar, when a scanner goes off.

The healer picks up the scanner and examines it. “Good,” she says to herself.

“What was that? Anakin asks.

“The results from his blood test. The drug they gave him was a pretty heavy-duty sedative. Not the type we use in med centers and certainly not comfortable, but it won’t kill him. He’s going to be groggy and confused when he wakes up, but he’ll be fine.”

Satine and Anakin let out a breath at the same time.

“You two can stay here with him if you wish. We’ll check up on him in a few hours, but do send for us if he wakes up or appears to need medical attention.

“Thank you,” Satine says, bowing her head.

Satine sits on a chair beside the bed and Anakin paces around.

“Anakin,” Satine says calmly. “You heard the healer as well as I did. He’s going to be alright.”

Anakin pauses in his pacing and moves to stand next to where Satine is sitting. “I know. I just… I can barely feel him,” he repeats. “I was… when they first drugged him, I thought…”

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Satine said sympathetically, standing to meet his gaze. “But he’s alright.”

Anakin offers a small nod and takes a shaky breath. Satine notices the dark circles under his eyes and the unusual pallor of his skin. “You should rest.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Anakin says stubbornly.

“He’ll be just fine right here. Anakin, you’re exhausted. I don’t need to be bonded to you to see that,” Satine says.

“Why are you…”

She nods her head at Obi-Wan. “He would want me to make sure you’re okay. And I care about your well-being too.”

Anakin blinks his eyes a few times. Whether he’s trying to wake himself up or fight back tears, Satine isn’t sure.

“But, I—”

“Go, Anakin,” she says softly. “You are dead on your feet. Go get something to eat and a couple of hours of sleep. I’ll watch over him while you’re gone, alright?”

Satine watches Anakin’s reluctant gaze fall on Obi-Wan.

“You’ve done enough for him, Anakin,” she insists.

Anakin stares at Obi-Wan for a moment longer.

“You’ll send for me if he wakes up? Or if anything changes?”

“Of course,” Satine says. She turns to a guard. “Take him to the guest quarters, please. Make sure some food is brought to him.”

“Yes, Duchess,” the guard says.

Anakin looks taken aback by the accommodations—unused to such opulence—but he goes along with it easily enough. A guard leads him away, but another guard remains in the room.

“You may leave us,” Satine says.

“Yes, Duchess,” the guard says, though she can see the hesitation in his eyes.

She sits on the bed and leans back against the headboard. She looks down at Obi-Wan where he lays, still asleep.

“What am I going to do with you,” she murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

The hours march on like so many dutiful soldiers and Satine feels them weighing heavily on her. She is about to submit to sleep when Obi-Wan stirs beside her.

“Obi?” she whispers hopefully.

He lets out a quiet whimper, and it is then that Satine notices the sweat coating his brow.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Obi, wake up.”

If Obi-Wan hears her, he is ignoring her. He tosses his head to the side and a sliver of light from the high windows rests on his face, revealing a tear track. His chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Wake up, Obi-Wan,” she says again, more forcefully this time. His eyes flash open and he blinks at her.

“Are you with me?” Satine asks.

Cloudy eyes look right through her, unfocused and unsure. I guess not, then.

“Come on, snap out of it,” Satine says. “You’re okay.”

“No,” he murmurs weakly. “Stop, stop.”

Satine yanks her hands away from him.

“Obi, please,” Satine says. “Obi-Wan, it’s me.”

Obi-Wan turns his head to her. The fog lifts from his eyes. “Satine?” Obi-Wan asks, confusion still evident in his tone.

“It’s alright now,” Satine soothes. “It was just a nightmare, you’re safe.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You’re safe,” she reaffirms.

“Where…?”

“You’re in the palace,” she says.

“Palace?”

“My palace. On Mandalore.”

“Why…?”

“You and Anakin were far from Coruscant and you needed medical attention. Mandalore was the closest stopping point to your location. Anakin called me in a bit of a panic. I told him to come.”

“I was with the Separatists,” Obi-Wan says, his fingers clenching around the blankets. “They had me, they…”

“Shhh. It’s alright now. I’m never going to let them hurt you again,” she murmurs, knowing she has no real power to actually keep him safe from the Separatists, but she is willing to say anything to calm the Jedi lying in her bed. “Besides, if I can’t keep you safe, Anakin will surely protect you from them.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes flashing with a mix of concern and fondness. “Anakin was here. Where…?”

“I sent him to the guest quarters to get some sleep. He asked me to wake him if you woke up, but I’ll give you a few more minutes to wake up.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and looks at her incredulously. “You asked him to sleep and he just went?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, my dear. People have a hard time saying no to me. Even your supposedly bull-headed Padawan.”

“There is nothing ‘supposed’ about it,” Obi-Wan says in indignation, becoming more coherent by the minute. “He is bull-headed.”

“Oh, so he does take after you then,” Satine smirks.

Obi-Wan scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Mmhmm.”

Obi-Wan glares at her but tilts his head back, his energy fading once more.

“You should get some more rest.”

“I don’t want to. I’ve been resting.”

“You’ve been drugged. That is not the same as resting.”

“Ah yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, rubbing his eyes. “That explains a few things.”

Dust dances in the beams of light cascading through the windows. The sweet melody of a bird welcoming the morning permeates the silence that stretches between the Jedi and the Mandalorian. Satine grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and caresses his knuckles with her thumb. He doesn’t shrink away from the touch.

“You know,” she says, breaking the silence, “it seems that every time we are together, one or both of us is always in some form of mortal danger.”

“Yes, well, it certainly keeps our relationship interesting,” Obi-Wan replies. He chuckles lightly to himself.

Satine scoffs and rolls her eyes at him. “That doesn’t make me feel better about it.”

“Well, if it does make you feel better, I’m not in mortal danger anymore.”

“No,” Satine replies, continuing to circle his knuckles with her thumb. “No, you’re safe now.”

Satine hopes it will stay that way, even for just a little bit longer.

[gryffindorcls]

The Purr-fect Gift

Summary: Years after the reveal and the start of their relationship, Marinette and Adrien move in together. To her dismay, Adrien has become distant and quiet after the move. Marinette just wants things to return to normal, but Adrien has a surprise for her that will change their lives forever.

Length: 2,894 words This is my Secret Santa present for @luminousinthedark from the APS server! You asked for fluff and romance so cheesy that it would make Plagg question his life choices, so I tried to think of the most romantic thing that could possibly happen between these two dorks. Don't let the beginning fool you....the end is **very fluffy**. I hope you enjoy it!  Happy Holidays! :D (A shout-out to my super awesome beta @misscongenialityofmlb for taking a look at this!) — AO3

Fanfiction

Marinette checked the time on her phone for the thousandth time that day, cringed at the numbers on the screen, and repocketed the device. She stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to see over the throngs of people blocking her view of the register. Crossing her arms, she began tapping her foot on the hard tiled floor.

“Girl, chill.” Alya rested her hand on her shoulder. “We’re almost to the front. I pre-ordered the new iPhone for Nino, so once we get there, we should be done pretty quickly.”

“Sorry,” Marinette mumbled, taking a peek at her phone screen again.

“You can go if you need to. I really don’t mind waiting by myself.”

“What! No! I promised that I would wait with you. I’m fine.”

Crossing her arms, Alya shot her a disbelieving look. “Uh-huh, and I’m the Queen of England. What’s going on with you today?”

“What do you mean?�� Marinette straightened her posture and did her best to smile.

Alya shook her head “I haven’t seen you this jittery in years.”

“Jittery? Me? Pshh, no!” Giving up the ruse, she slumped and groaned. “Is it really that noticeable?”

“Yes, it is. Now spill! What’s going on?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe you can start with why your eyes have been glued to your phone all morning.”

She shoved her phone into her pocket, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks. “I’m just a little anxious about getting to lunch with Adrien and Nino on time.”

“Since when are you concerned about being on time? I think the boys know by now that Miss High-Fashion has a tendency to be fashionably late.” Alya put a hand on her arm. “What’s really going on?”

“I don’t even know how to put this. I...I’m worried about my relationship with Adrien.” Marinette buried her face in her hands. “And I don’t know what to do.”

A fire ignited behind Alya’s eyes. “Did he do something to you? Because if he did-”

Marinette waved her hands in front of her. “No! No, it’s nothing like that! It’s just that he’s been a little, what’s the word, distant?”

“How so?”

“Ever since we moved in together he’s barely been home, and right before he left two weeks ago he canceled our plans to decorate our Christmas tree. He was gone all day, and he got home an hour before he had to leave for the airport.”

“Ahh, I see.”

“Yeah, and even though he got back yesterday, I haven’t seen him yet. When he suggested that we all meet up for lunch today, I was kind of hoping that it meant that maybe things would go back to normal.” She threw her hands into the air. “I don’t know. Alya, help me!”

Alya tapped her chin. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“I would, but he’s never around! I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Maybe we’re moving too fast, and it’s scaring him. Or maybe he’s still overwhelmed about the whole...well, you know...reason why we don’t have to transform every day and fight Akumas anymore.”

“I doubt that. He loves you so much. You’d have to be blind to miss it.”

“He’s changed.”

“Marinette, listen to me.” Alya grabbed her shoulders. “If he’s acting weird, it probably has nothing to do with how he feels about you. That boy has been in love with you for years. Are you forgetting that this is the same human you gave a constipation prescription to when we were fourteen? And then he filled it without questioning why you needed it. You weren’t even dating yet, and he was willing to do anything to make you happy.”

“But-”

“No, buts! He loves you. He’s your ‘kitty’ and you’re ‘his lady’. You two are made for each other.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Girl, the sheer number of pictures that I have on the Ladyblog of Chat Noir looking at Ladybug while she’s not looking should be proof enough.” Alya leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “And if that doesn’t help, I have a whole folder on my phone of pictures where he’s looking at you outside of the mask.”

“He did once tell me that it was always going to be us against the world.” Marinette shrugged. “Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Before Alya could answer, Marinette’s phone went off several times in her pocket. She pulled it out, tapped on the notification, and read the text in her inbox.

Adrien: [11:16] Hey there, beautiful.

Adrien: [11:16] Something came up, I can’t make lunch today.

Adrien: [11:16] Sorry

Adrien: [11:17] :(

Her heart dropped. She sighed before typing out a short response.

Marinette: [11:17] no worries

Marinette: [11:17] see you later! <3

“What’s up?” Alya asked, “Are the boys already at the restaurant? Tell them we’ll be there in like thirty minutes. There are only ten people in front of us now.”

Shaking her head, she tried not to cry. “No, Adrien can’t make lunch. He’s just going to meet us back at the apartment later tonight.”

“Hold on." Alya whipped out her phone. "Let me text Nino.”

Marinette hugged herself. The air around her was cold, and she felt so small and alone. How could this be happening to her? Before they moved in together, everything had been fine with her relationship? What changed? Why now? What was she doing wrong?

“So, I texted Nino, and he’s with Adrien. Neither of them will be joining us for lunch.” Alya pulled her into a hug. “But everything is going to be okay. Trust me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“No.” Marinette shook her head. “At least not on purpose.”

“Look, you’re my best friend, and I propose that we have a girls’ day before we meet up with the boys later.” A smile lit up her face. “How would you feel about getting our nails done after the two of us grab a quick lunch?”

Marinette’s sadness was quickly replaced with confusion. “Our nails? At a salon? Since when do we pay for manicures?”

“Since today! So, what do you say?”

She didn’t want to spend another day sulking in her apartment. Perhaps a day out would do her some good.

“I guess that could be fun?” Marinette shrugged. “Just as long as we can grab some cookies for Tikki before we go. She’s been asleep in my bag all morning.”

“Yes!” Alya threw a celebratory fist into the air. “Works for me! Trixx needs some food, too. I’m sure he’d appreciate having something to eat while we get pampered.”

“A little pampering sounds nice.” Marinette looked down at her nails. “Maybe something festive? A bright red? Or sparkles?”

“Yes! That’s the spirit.” Alya slung her arm over her shoulder. “And maybe while we’re at it, we could get our hair and make-up done, too!”

“Wow, nails, hair, and make-up? This is starting to sound like we’re getting ready for a photoshoot, not a night in.”

“Why should model boy have all the fun? Besides, I’m sure he’d love to see you all ‘dolled-up’.”

Marinette laughed and did her best to imagine the smile on Adrien’s face when he finally saw her later that evening.

***

To her delight, Adrien did smile when she walked into their apartment, but it was quickly overshadowed by the hasty hello and peck to the cheek that he gave her before rushing off to the living room. Feeling her heart sink, she hung her coat on a hook and made her way to the couch.

The plan was to decorate their tree with Alya and Nino, but everything that could go wrong went wrong. The lights shorted out when they plugged them in, and at least twelve ornaments shattered when she attempted to hang them.

Adrien didn’t say a word as he cleaned up each little mess she made. He merely smiled and grabbed another ornament for her to put onto the tree. As the night wore on, he moved further and further away and made little to no eye contact with her. He even disappeared into their bedroom several different times.

Just when she thought the universe couldn’t possibly make her day any worse, Marinette managed to burn a batch of Christmas cookies that she’d put in the oven for them to enjoy when they were done decorating.

When the smoke alarm finally stopped beeping and the panic in the kitchen had subsided, Marinette reached her breaking point. How was she supposed to convince Adrien to keep living with her if she kept messing everything up?

Sure the broken ornaments were on par with her usual clumsiness, but burnt cookies? She was a baker’s daughter! Burning cookies was something that just didn’t happen to her anymore.

Unable to hold back her tears any longer, Marinette bolted from the kitchen, ran into the bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. After unceremoniously flopping facefirst onto the bed, she sobbed into a pillow, not caring about ruining her professionally-done make-up.

She’d tried so hard to make tonight perfect, but of course, she wasn’t even capable of making it okay. Even after she’d calmed down a little, Marinette cringed at the idea of rejoining the group. She wasn’t ready to see the look of disappointment on her boyfriend’s face.

If he didn't before, he definitely regretted asking her to move in with him now.

A knock at the door sent her flying towards the tissue box on her nightstand. There was no way she was letting anyone see her like this. Especially not…

“Hey, Marinette?” Adrien...of course, it was Adrien. “Can I come in?”

His voice sounded so unsure, and it immediately broke down her resolve. “Sure.”

She hastily wiped her hands at her face as the knob turned and the door slowly creaked open. Adrien poked his head in, locked eyes with her, rushed to her side, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, love.” His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Please tell me what’s wrong. What can I do to make it better? Is it the cookies? Because we can just make a new batch. It’s okay.”

“Everything.” The floodgates opened, and Marinette buried her face into his chest, sobs racking her body once again. “I messed everything up! I know that you probably regret moving in together, and I was hoping that I could change your mind tonight, but I failed.”

Adrien pulled away, his eyes filled with concern. “Marinette, what are you talking about?”

“Y-you’ve been avoiding me, and I get that this was a big step and that you might not have been ready…”

He cut her off. “What? Marinette, no! Moving in with you was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. What made you think something like that?”

“Well, I barely saw you before you left, and you keep making excuses to not hang out or be in the apartment. Please don’t hide how you feel from me.” She sniffled. “It’ll hurt, but I’ll be okay.”

“Marinette…” He grabbed her shoulders and shook his head. “I love living with you.”

“Please.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I just need to hear the truth.”

“But I am telling you the truth. I don’t regret any part of our relationship. If anything, you’re the reason I’ve made it through all of this insanity the past few years. I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel like I didn’t want to live with you anymore.” He scratched the back of his neck and chuckled nervously. “I actually feel quite the opposite.”

The feeling of hopelessness began to ebb away under his unwavering gaze. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Then why do you keep disappearing all the time? We’ve barely seen each other in weeks.”

“Oh, uhhh, right.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a really good reason for that.”

He pushed himself off of the bed and made his way over to the dresser. After fumbling around one of the drawers, he pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box topped with a sparkling golden bow.

“I had this custom made for you, and there was a problem with my order. I was trying to take care of the issue the day I left. That’s why I canceled all of our plans.” He held out the box for her to take.

Marinette took the box and examined it.

He sat back down on the bed and clasped his hands in his lap. “I was going to give it to you while we were decorating the tree, but I got kind of nervous.”

“Is that why you kept avoiding me tonight?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Why? I love everything you give me.”

“This is just...really special, and I wanted the moment to be purr-fect.”

She giggled. “A cat pun...really? I thought we were having a serious moment, Chaton.”

“Well, it made you smile, didn’t it?” He reached up and brushed a stray hair away from her face. “I want to look back and say that you were smiling when I gave this to you.”

“This must really be some gift.”

“It is.”

“What is it?”

“How about you open it and find out.” She turned the box a few times until she found the tape holding it together. She carefully removed the outer wrapping and pulled out a small, plain cardboard box with a lid. Marinette took off the lid to reveal an elegant black velvet box with a small silver clasp. It fit in the palm of her hand, and the more she stared at it, the more things began to make sense.

“Adrien, is this…” The words died on her lips when she looked up to find her boyfriend on one knee.

He took the box out of her hands, opened it, and turned it around, putting its contents on display. In all her years of dreaming about this moment, the ring he’d chosen was more beautiful than anything she’d ever imagined. She was left breathless as she watched the ring’s three stones sparkle under the glow of the ceiling lamp.

Knowing what was coming, her heart pounded against her chest. Her head was swimming amongst the clouds, and the colors around her suddenly seemed brighter and more vibrant. Her nightmare had turned into a dream–a beautiful, wonderful, and surreal dream.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you are the light and love of my life.” The happiness radiating off of him was palpable. “When you dropped into my life, you filled a void I didn’t even know was there. You stayed by my side through every bump and struggle with nothing less than unwavering encouragement and love. Without even trying, you helped me grow into the person I am today. You accept me for all that I am, and I can’t even begin to thank you for that. I love you more than anything, and I want to build a life with you. I want to grow old with you, get a hamster, have children...I want it all.”

“Adrien…” Her hands were covering her mouth.

He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

Marinette launched herself off of the bed and tackled Adrien to the ground in a crushing hug. “YES! YES! OH MY GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING! YES!”

Now it was his turn to cry. “Wait, really?”

“I have been dreaming about marrying you for thirteen years!”

“But...that’s when we met.”

“And when I fell in love with you.”

“Oh, yeah…”

“My amazing, Chaton...Adrien, I love you so much.” She held his face in her hands. “I would love nothing more than to marry you.”

Before she had time to react, his lips were on hers. She slid off the bed, sunk to the floor, and erased the remaining space between them. Her hands were in his hair, desperate to feel him even closer. All too soon, they pulled away, gasping for air.

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you, my lady. You’ve made me the happiest cat in the world.”

She leaned in and kissed him again. This time, it was a chaste peck on his lips that she knew left him wanting more.

“Marinette, no,” he whined, “come back.”

“I will," she said with a teasing lilt, “as soon as you finish what you started.”

“What?”

“Or do I have to put the ring on myself?”

“Of course not. Your hand, my lady?” He picked the box up off of the ground, plucked the ring out of the cushion, and slipped it onto her finger.

And just like that, all was right with the world. She always knew that she and Adrien were a forever kind of thing, but before today, it always felt abstract. Now, it was more than a daydream. It was their future, and it was real.

They kissed again and again until their lips were chapped and their cheeks hurt from smiling. Sooner than they would have liked, they decided to rejoin their friends; however, before she shut out the light and walked out of the room, she stopped to admire the ring once more.

It was a perfect fit...just like them.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (15/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” And Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: Feedback is very much appreciated!

Link: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

“Belated happy birthday.” That first greeting was underwhelming in the deafening silence.

The room had been strangely quiet and it had been that way since he first entered, a far cry from the air during their past sessions. Shela should have waved one hand as he closed the door behind him. Even before he got to the seat, she should have been throwing multiple questions in succession.

What else did you get written?

Anything happening in school?

How’s Hange?

Oddly enough, Shela had only followed him with her eyes as he entered the room. The silence had felt like something pounding in his ears and her gaze had become something worth trifling his own consciousness with.

To top it all off, it had ended so anticlimactically with one greeting that Levi was left utterly confused as he sat on the chair in front of her.

What do you want her to do? Levi found himself asking silently as he matched Shela’s stare with his own.

Her blue eyes though were still warm, her eyes wide with what could have been curiosity. Levi started to suspect that it had all been a figment of his imagination that only a while ago they were watching and observing. Even as he settled on his seat, he sensed there were still questions up in the air that Levi could have grasped if he reached hard enough.

“Is that why you called me here? A free birthday session?” Levi asked.

“I just thought it was a good first greeting.” Shela’s voice was casual, innocent, and almost annoying.

Something wanted to burst out from inside him. That excuse of a greeting had only done the bare minimum to help it. In fact, it had done worse. It poked at him, whispering to him to figure out for himself what the hell that something was..

He was in no mood for a guessing game though. And he hadn’t been for the past few weeks. “Then why did you call me?” He asked. It had been a tall order to match her gaze, to come up with the right answers to questions she hadn’t even asked yet.

Shela shrugged. “I just wanted to check on my favorite patient.”

“I haven’t been your patient in a while.”

“We had scheduled sessions. You just didn’t go to them.”

“I was busy…. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do than chase one patient?”

Shela raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to come here? You had a choice to answer that message and believe me, you’re free to leave if you want to Levi.” She gestured her hands towards the door in one long exaggerated movement.

One movement that only served to sink Levi deeper into the sofa chair. In those few seconds as Levi leaned back, he saw once again the gradual shift in her gaze from something innocent to something cold and observing, and it was as if she was studying some sort of a specimen. And he was the specimen.

He was certain that was the exact same gaze he felt as he went through the door. But it wasn’t at all unfamiliar. Those had been the eyes she gave after all when she had asked the precise questions that broke the icebergs inside him into chunks instead of winnowing through the hard surface.

Why did that gaze in particular have him tense up at that exact moment? Levi didn’t have to wait too long for an answer though.

“You haven't written in a while,” she said.

“I deleted it.”

Shela didn’t look too surprised though. “Why?” She asked.

“It just seemed like a useless thing to do.”

“Why would you say it was useless?

“I was wasting a lot of time with it.” “So you did continue writing after our last meeting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just a guess… You only deleted the file a few weeks ago so it must mean you were thinking about it.”

Levi’s eyes widened and soon, he was starting to rack his brain for an explanation. “I don’t remember sharing you the file…”

“Hange told me what happened.”

“So you asked her about me?”

Shela shook her head. “No Levi, she approached me. She was worried about you.”

Hange. Levi found himself taking a glance at his phone in the silence that followed, the third message from the top of his inbox. Last touched weeks before.

He had decided to spend the holidays and his birthday back home. He liked to tell himself that he had only done that because with his hectic student-athlete schedule the past few years, he never had the chance to spend more than three days worth of holidays back home. When at home though, all he had done was lock himself in his bedroom for days on end.

Levi couldn’t convince himself for long. He had only gone home to avoid Hange, to avoid any reminder of the past few months and to avoid the almost nagging regret at having deleted the file.

With the file gone, he had felt like something was missing, painfully missing.

“And I’m concerned about what’s going on between you two,” Shela said.

“You’re paid to be concerned.”

“Oh? So you think I only became a therapist to get paid? Believe me Levi if I didn’t care I wouldn’t have called you here today. I could have gotten another patient and have been paid this extra hour.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you ask me to come here?” Levi felt stinging behind his eyes and a knot in his throat as he spoke up. A part of him actually contemplated leaving at that moment, yet it had been brushed away so quickly by something else, an odd feeling of desperation. He wanted something from her. Hell, he wanted something but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

“I told you, I was worried and I wanted to make sense of this with you,” Shela answered. The answer had been underwhelming to say the least especially with the way she narrowed her eyes at him.

And if Levi hadn’t been so desperate for any sort of closure, for that particular reaction he so looked for, maybe he would have just stood up and left.

Shela wasn’t done though. “Are those memories trapping you?”

Memories? Since when had it been about memories? “What memories?”

“Memories of Commander Hange. Captain Levi,” she said confidently, as if they were her memories to begin with. She spoke in such a way that she could have even been talking about real people. Very real people.

Such confidence, such forcefulness and her attempt to shoehorn all that into his reality sent a sudden sting through his chest. If Commander Hange was real, that meant she really died, that meant she really burned alive up there in the sky.

Levi would have preferred that image to have just been a figment of his imagination. “They’re stories.”

“Yet for a while you wanted to believe they were memories right? So what happened in between Levi? What did I miss?”

“I realized… They weren’t real…”

Shela let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re still trying to deny it huh? You’ve always been difficult to crack…” She cleared her throat. “So, Hange told me, the commander died. Then you deleted the file and now you don’t wanna talk about it right?”

Levi didn’t reply.

Shela continued to speak, seeming unfazed. “Here is something I noticed about you. When you injured your knee, your first instinct had been to insist you’re okay then soon you shut up and find something else to cling to--- writing. When writing started to hurt, suddenly you decide to delete the document then tell me everything’s fine. What are you gonna do now? You’re gonna find a new hobby?”

Academics, jumping. He thought to himself. Levi had spent the past few days isolated in his room back home, finishing his own thesis and following the jumping tournaments of his own teammates. As if there was much else to do anyway.

Shela rested her chin on her hands and stared straight ahead. Her eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, as if the answers were found beyond the wide window behind him. “I started to think to myself… Why did Hange’s death of all things hurt you enough to cause that same grief? I read your story, you could have mourned Erwin’s death, you could have mourned your Petra's death, mourned Isabel or Farlan’s death. Why Hange’s? Why did she push you to the edge enough to delete the file?”

“It built up,” Levi answered. That was the most natural explanation right? Or at least the most natural he could think of.

Shela nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Let’s move on to the next question then. Do you think that Hange’s death was any special? If there was something that made it the tipping point in the first place?”

“Can’t a tipping point be something small?”

Shela shook her head. “Tipping points can be small I agree but remember, when you told me you weren’t going to write anymore? It was as if you knew what would be happening next. You looked terrified.”

Somewhere along the way, the remnants of Shela’s gentle facade had completely fallen, replaced by something stone cold, yet confident and almost mocking. Levi was starting to get a little more irritated at such assumptions. Regardless of whether they were true or not.

“So tell me Levi, what makes Hange so special? What made Captain Levi so hesitant to write the next part? Then what made this Levi here want to delete it soon after writing it?”

Levi only had to look behind him, at the sky just outside the window to articulate it for himself. It was surprisingly easy to grasp. It was a simple feeling after all that never left. “It hurt,” he admitted. He could have said more but he had found himself at a loss for words a second later as he imagined the rumbling before him and that one silhouette that disappeared into the blue.

“And if you’re that invested in Hange’s death. I’m sure Erwin’s death, your special squad’s death, should have hurt as much right?”

“They hurt too,” Levi added. He started to become a little more aware of himself. They hurt too but as much as Hange’s death? Not enough for sure to even have him consider deleting the file.

“Then why didn’t you delete the file if they hurt? From what I could tell Captain Levi was inseparable from Erwin.”

Levi let his eyes fall to the empty coffee table in front of him, searching for something worth a distraction among the pockmarks of the wood. Shela’s eyes were getting sharper by the second.

“I’ll ease you into my theory slowly and feel free to tell me if I’m wrong...you and Hange were inseparable right?”

Captain Levi and squad leader Hange Zoe. They were from different teams but they did hang out a lot together. With that quick recall, Levi nodded.

“And you lost a lot of people in your life… So I started to wonder, if Captain Levi spent so much time keeping his distance, being aloof, completely aware that the everyone could end up dead, why did he cling to Hange?”

“Captain Levi cared about a lot of people.”

“I wasn’t denying that Levi. I was asking you, why did he cling to Hange? Why were they inseparable? Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? All three at once?”

The last three words had been things Levi found himself musing over as she continued to talk. But then, he couldn’t figure out for himself the answer. “We couldn’t fall in love. There was a war.” Those words had come out on their own. He only realized seconds later that it didn't answer the question.

Shela gave him a cat-like grin. “We? Huh?”

Levi cleared his throat. “They---,” he corrected.

“Okay, you’re beating around the bush a little too much. I’ll tell you my theory and if you don’t make the effort to figure it out for yourself, this will be my assumption. You didn't think she’d die. You didn’t expect her to die so you took her for granted. Am I wrong, Captain Levi?”

“Took her for granted…” Levi almost spat out those words as he said it. “You can’t just assume that…”

“By take for granted, I meant ‘I can get past pain, death, loss, as long as she’s there’ and for what? You just assumed she was immortal didn’t you? That she couldn't die, since she's always been there. And so the moment she died, suddenly grief hit you like a bus.” She straightened herself up on the seat. “Maybe you thought you would have died first?” Shela pressed.

“I was dying in the woods. I thought she’d be the one to survive the whole time.”

“But you know, it’s not uncommon for people to be this way. To have this person there and just assume that person's immortal, or to think ‘as long as this person is here’ I’ll be okay. It’s only natural that humans find hope in the living. For example,a lot of parents do that too with their own kids and that’s why parents losing their kids are one of the most devastating cases of grief I’ve encountered…” She trailed off. “But I digress, There’s one question about you I’ve been exploring for a while and I’ve always wanted to ask. You might not know the answer yourself but it’s worth a try.” Shela paused and looked at him expectantly.

Even when he sat on her chair, frozen by her cold stare, he still managed to force a nod.

“Why do you remember? Why is Captain Levi forcing his own memories to live on? Unless he had some unresolved feelings right?”

Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? You took her for granted.

Even when moving, Levi let those words, those suggestions run free in his mind. The feeling, the ache in his chest, the weight on his shoulders and the knot at his throat that only evolved into some tremble in his lips. It was everything at once, Levi was sure.

Maybe, I took her for granted. Maybe I should have stopped her. Levi thought to himself. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud yet.

“And something tells me you don’t regret much Captain Levi Ackerman,” Shela said. The gentleness in her face was back. “But maybe if you allowed yourself to regret back then, maybe all these feelings of regret, grief… They wouldn’t have bundled up now, you wouldn’t be hurting like this. You didn't let yourself experience grief and loss… You didn’t let yourself regret even in your deathbed. Now, everything just comes pouring out in your next life because you just let it build up inside you?” She had phrased it as a question but as Shela enunciated those words, Levi couldn’t help but see deep thought in them, as if she had discerned and answered the question for herself already.

“How can you assume that?” Levi challenged. It was a weak attempt, at that point he was starting to get more and more convinced. It had just been a matter of reality pulling him away from an almost ethereal concept.

Soon, he did grasp it, the thing he had been looking for, that one feeling he had been desiring since the start of the conversation.

It manifested first as a knowing smile. And before Levi could respond, grip on to some decent comeback to her long winded tirade, he found himself hesitating, focusing instead on how his shoulders dropped and how the wind was knocked out of himself slowly and the quick movement as he shifted his weight to his hands pressed on the sofa.

“I’m not assuming how you feel. I’m laying out some information, coming up with a theory and leaving it in the air for you to decide whether it’s true or not.” She didn’t continue from there. Instead she dropped her clipboard on the table and walked towards one of the bookshelves, pulling out a blue binder.

“What if it's too detailed to pass up as a reasonable theory?” Levi managed to say. He found himself counting the lines on the wooden table in front of him. In a daze, he had been too distracted to reorganize for himself, Shela’s theory. And he started to even doubt his own ability to respond.

“I’ve been seeing other patients, I think I’ve encountered enough to make some fair guesses. Besides, I told you I’ve been studying reincarnation for a while.” She dropped the blue binder in front of him on the table. “But you still think it’s too detailed to be believable huh? What if I told you I experienced it too? That's why I know the details."

Levi could only stare at the blue binder. He only got so far as to hover his hand over it before he hesitated. He looked up at her, following her as she sat back on the chair in front of him.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked.

“Should I open this?”

“I wouldn’t have put it there if I didn’t want you to read it Levi,” She was looking at him expectantly as if she was excited for him to see what was inside.

Levi started to wonder why he even hesitated. Regardless, he still went at it slowly. The plastic cover on the binder was warm to the touch and for a second or so, he allowed himself to pinch at it, see where the plastic would give into the pressure.

Maybe he had been on that for a second longer than he should have. He was still hesitating. He was still nervous.

“What are you scared of? It’s a binder,” Shela said.

“What’s inside?”

“It’s my research on reincarnation.”

“For your PhD?”

Shela paused for a second before answering. “I created two pieces of writing for my PhD, something stomachable by the scientific body and something just for myself,” Shela explained. “Because I honestly don’t think anyone would have believed it either if I was telling them I was seeing very clear visions of a past life.”

Do you really believe these were memories from a past life? Levi muttered. For a second, he had wondered if he had said it loud enough for her to hear. But when he opened the binder, he quickly realized he didn’t need an answer.

The title of the work was generic, easily forgettable. But the subtitle underneath and the author’s name spoke to him in ways Levi couldn’t fully comprehend just yet. Comprehension came quickly after running his eyes over the title then the subtitle underneath

He read her name out loud. Her first name settled at the back of his mouth and he couldn’t be too sure if he had pronounced it correctly. But when he said it a second time, the name rolled off his tongue too easily, as if it was all too familiar. His mind had just taken a split second longer to process it.

From my past life? Levi thought to himself. At that point, he couldn’t be too sure. It had seemed like too distant of a memory. He never had to use her name with her after all. He only remembered her having taught him to pronounce it eons ago.

Her last name next to it was all too familiar, yet surprising. And Levi had little to no problem, saying it for himself, even when still recovering from that small bout of surprise.

“Ackerman’s my maiden name,” she explained. “And I’m sure you saw it already, my first name is a little old fashioned.” She didn’t seem so self conscious though, as if she was aware that many lives ago, she had been teaching him to say it back when it had been just the both of them in the underground city.

Levi said her whole name out loud again. As soon as he looked back up at her, putting name to face, he found himself transported back to that small room, running his hand over her curly black hair and locking gazes with those piercing cold blue eyes. Then, they were his only source of comfort, his sanctuary.

And he never did figure out if he said it right back then in the underground city. Just to make sure though, he read it aloud in front of her again, willing himself to say it clearly and firmly.

“Written by: Kuchel Ackerman.”

***

Bookends. That’s how it seemed at least. Levi had two pages written out by that night.

He had his earliest childhood memories up there, everything as visceral as possible from the sights, to the scents, to her touch. With not too much context though, his earliest memories stuck to him as comforting sensations more than anything. Within an hour of writing, he gave up and concluded that he never did remember much of it.

Right under those early childhood sensations, articulated to the best of his capabilities, were memories after Kuchel’s death, training to fight in the underground. Then, written below that were narrations on life after the war, his remaining years on a wheelchair, travelling around Marley, joining the peace ambassadors on occasional trips.

There was no transition between them, nothing more glaring than paragraph breaks.

They were two sections with little to no connection to each other. But Levi at least knew for himself, that in-between would have been those long winded narrations on his life in the survey corps and his life during the war against Marley.

For some reason, he wasn’t too bothered about the missing parts though. As if he had already accepted for himself that he made the decision to delete it.

Finishing what he started. That’s what it felt like and that’s all there was to it. Reading Shela’s own work after all had him somehow accepting that they were memories more than dreams.

Something that had to be immortalized somewhere/ The acceptance though that the grief, the loss and the pain were memories not dreams was slow going. The dreams had been painful, realizing they were someone’s reality, only aggravated it.

Kuchel’s words echoed in his head. The last questions she said before they separated that day. Back then, she had escorted him to the door of her office and they had stood there for a few minutes before parting ways.

Can you let it go?

I don’t even know what I’m trying to let go of. For all he knew, something died in him back in that day in Odiha. Consequently, there were emotions he couldn’t even access, as if part of life had ended for him in that single moment.

You can’t access or comprehend those emotions because you didn’t let yourself feel it. You didn't ride through it.

And she had pointed it out then. Captain Levi had never been the most emotional person because he had never allowed himself to feel.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret. And when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go. I know you will.

Opening the laptop wasn’t easy. Staring at the blank document sheet and deciding for himself the first words to say took ages longer than what he would have liked.

As soon as he had decided for himself that he was going to write though, everything came out so seamlessly. He only had to hover his hands over the keyboard, feel for the right keys, for them to start moving on their own. It turned out writing with little regard for grammar and punctuation or for unwelcome emotional reactions, was oddly liberating.

He had started off with bullet points but soon enough the sentences were too long and the bullet points were rendered useless. Eventually, he scrapped the bullet points altogether.

“There was a peace treaty,” Levi said aloud as he typed it out. “Armin and the others, they became peace ambassadors…”

“And Mikasa…” Levi trailed off as he remembered. She was back in Paradis, back in their old town of Shiganshina where Eren’s head was laid to rest. He thought back to Mikasa and for a second he almost felt guilty for even questioning her decision to stay with Eren. “If this was how it felt for you, I wouldn’t be surprised why you’d be hesitant to leave him,” Levi said, he leaned back on his chair, stretched out his good leg and stared blankly at the ceiling above him.

The pain was similar, he was sure. He had seen flashes of visiting an empty grave as he wrote. The white ceiling above him and the contrast it provided made those dark memories all the more vivid.

The face he had been longing to see though, as he stared at the grave then, was just a phone call away. And before he even noticed it himself, he had reached for the phone next to his laptop, turning it screen up.

He had no one else to call so her number and their message thread was still one of the first on his inbox. Even if he hadn’t opened it in weeks.

Of course, it would. Hange had sent messages multiple times the past few weeks..

December 23 8:15 AM

I heard you went home.

December 25 12:01 AM

Happy Birthday! :D

January 1 12:00 AM

Happy New Year! Wishing you a bright new year and a speedy recovery

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

Levi didn’t scroll up past those last few messages. The rest had been paragraphs worth of apologies even he didn’t want to ponder.

Besides, there were more important things to him then, like finding the right words to say as a response to that latest message.

He sensed closure there. Yet, he wasn’t ready for closure. His mind was scrambling for some way to reopen the conversation then.

It was late at night though. Levi was exhausted and impatient. He was sure if he sent something and slept it off, he should wake up to a message the next morning.

So the message he sent then had been automatic, typical. It didn’t require too much thought to compose.

January 9 11:17 PM

Hey, when are you free to talk?

He decided then, he could leave it to his future self to come up with another response in the morning.

***

Levi’s sleep was light, light enough that the quick ping of his phone was more than enough to wake him up. He was awake enough to reach for his phone on the side table, pull it under the blankets with him and open his messaging application.

It wasn’t Hange who had messaged.

“Coach?” Levi muttered as he sat up in bed.

Sorry if this is pretty last minute. Mikasa agreed to meet at the track today this afternoon around 3-3:30. You think you could make it?

Levi typed a short text accepting the invite and sent it out.

He pulled at the curtains of his window. The sun was out already. He stared back at his phone at the upper right of the screen.

9:23 AM.

He was oddly disappointed. Other plans meant he didn’t have to think about the ignored message at the top of his inbox. He had sent the message at eleven last night. It had been almost twelve hours since then.

Was she taking a really long slumber? Or was she just ignoring him?

Nothing much to do until three so Levi opened his laptop and worked on his own thesis. Working on something as utterly boring and monotonous as a school requirement though didn’t make time run faster.

Levi was sure he had gone through at least fifty articles of doping cases among professional athletes. When he looked back at the clock though, he saw only two hours had passed.

He ordered lunch. Time went notably faster when he was just scrolling through his social media, yet excruciatingly slower still than what he was used to. And the main culprit? Hange’s online status and her activity on social media.

Hange was still liking photos which meant one thing: She was ignoring messages.

He went down to pick up his delivery from the dorm lobby and on the way up, he took a detour. All the way to Hange’s room on the other side of the building, a five minute walk for most people. For Levi it could have been ten minutes or it could have been ages. He still had that awkward gait which made the journey all the more frustrating.

The hallways were quiet but it wasn’t unexpected. School didn’t start for another two weeks. Hange’s room was along the quiet hallway and Hange had always been loud. So the stark contrast had been unsettling to say the least.

What do you expect her to do? Run down the halls screaming your name? He thought to himself. For some reason, that was what he was expecting and that was what he would’ve liked.

He took advantage of that silence. He padded lightly through the hallway, attempting to segregate the sounds of the creak of the floorboard with whatever he sounds he could make out from the rooms.

Nothing much. All silence. Of course it would be silent though, that wasn’t Hange’s room yet.

Her room was towards the end of the hall, the third to the last door to the right. Eventually he got tired of keeping his footsteps and his awkward gait light and he found himself scurrying--- at least to the best of his own injured abilities--- towards the door.

He willed himself not to make a sound. He wasn’t sure though if he had been the sneakiest.

He was still quiet enough at least to hear something. He had to press his ear to the door to hear it clearly, the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard, the sound of books hitting the desk and a loud yawn that had been very much Hange’s.

The loud yawn in particular sent a twinge up his spine and an ache in his chest and Levi had to swallow hard to get his bearings. He missed her.

He knocked on the door once. Then twice to make sure she heard it. Then he waited five long seconds for any response.

There was no response. He slapped the door. Still no answer.

Within a few seconds more, he started to get self conscious. She didn’t reply to his messages while being glaringly online. She was blatantly ignoring his knocks on the door. Did she actually want to see him?

And Levi was starting to notice the growling of his stomach. It was enough of a reminder that he hadn’t even had breakfast that morning.

A little disheartened, he made the journey back to his room.

***

The coldest point of winter was coming. Levi would have noticed it by just looking at the calendar. It had been a while since he stood outside long enough to let the cold sink deep under his skin.

And he was only reminded of such weather patterns when he stepped on to the open air track which was understandably empty. Two in the afternoon shouldn’t be too cold but that day in particular had Levi shivering, his teeth chattering in such an unfamiliar way.

That would have been expected. He didn’t spend much time outdoors anymore, Maybe that had explained that sudden, unfamiliar susceptibility to the cold. He could never be too sure though.

He scanned the field for any sign of Mikasa or his coach. What first caught his eye then had been the horizontal bar, set up where it always was. He hadn't returned to the field since his injuryand seeing the bar like it always had been, sent a wave of nostalgia and longing through him.

For a while, he was fixated and for a few seconds more, he vacillated between sitting on the bleachers or walking to the middle of the track where it was set up. Alone in the field though with nothing much else to do though, he opted to pass the time reminiscing

The bar was set high enough for Levi to have to reach up but still low enough for him to be able to grip it hard. It was cold to the touch. It was a fair distance away from him and it hovered over him, masquerading as something almost unattainable.

But maybe it was unattainable. Levi found himself strangely sad at the distance, still unable to fathom that only a few months ago, that bar had been a very easy height to clear.

“Hey… Your coach said you’d be here.”

Levi quickly turned towards the voice.

Mikasa stood before him in joggers and a sweatshirt. Her hair clipped back, red blotches on her cheek. Levi only had to listen to her breaths and notice the way she curled her lips as she took steady breaths to conclude that she had been running.

“Coach is training you now? In the middle of winter?”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to try out your track for myself. He left the club room and the equipment room open and told me to just try it out while he goes out to check on your team.”

“What made you change your mind?”

She avoided his gaze. “To be honest I’m still not completely sure about this yet. Your coach knows I’m not. But I thought I’d try it out, get to know your school more.”

“It’s a good choice,” Levi said.

For a second, the two were silent. Levi chose that moment to look back up at the bar in front of him but he could see from his peripherals, Mikasa still hadn’t looked away from him. So he waited.

She spoke up eventually. “Hey, about what happened at the diner… I’m sorry about that. I know I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I heard about your injury a while back, even before we met. Even if I don’t like jumping that much either, I think it would have hurt too…”

I’m fine. That had been his first instinct and he had opened his mouth ready to say it.

That’s your homework. Ride through the grief, the loss, the pain. Kuchel’s voice tore into his train of thought.

Will that actually help? He had been riding through that grief last night as he wrote, he had let it wash over him then. If he had been a little more introspective, he would have realized although it did hurt, it wasn’t a heavy, crushing type of hurt. It was a pain that still allowed him motions.

It granted him enough control to still function as a person. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.” But it was still hard to admit. “It takes time,” Levi added as he looked back up at the horizontal bar and behind it the clear blue sky. The color blue was bright, warm yet melancholic.

Mikasa didn’t reply. Her stare though seemed more focused. When Levi looked at her, made eye contact, comprehension washed over him. He knew she understood. And he caught that comprehension quickly like some contagion.

He spoke up again. “Eren means a lot to you huh?”

“We grew up together, lived along the same street. We went to the same school since kinder. And since we were young, he'd get agitated a lot, pick a lot of fights and I always had to look out for him.” Mikasa put one hand behind her neck and craned her neck to look up at the sky. “I almost hesitated to even try jumping since I wouldn’t be able to protect him as much anymore…”

“Why did you start jumping then?”

“After I got scouted in sophomore year, Eren convinced me to try it. He was the one who wanted me to widen my world.”

“And he talked to you again about this?”

“He and Armin did. They told me to consider this.”

“Then it should be an easy decision.”

Mikasa smiled. “I know it’s supposed to be an easy decision. But how I feel about Eren doesn’t make it easy.. I’ve known Eren my whole life and don’t get me wrong, I’ve never lost him but... Somehow, I can imagine how it would feel like to lose him. So I don’t wanna let go.”

“But losing people, losing things that are precious to us is a fact of life. We’re gonna deal with it anyway. Besides, you’re not losing him, he’ll make college in a year or so.”

“He won’t make Paradis University.”

“You’ll have him on the weekends.”

“But will I be able to handle that set up?” Mikasa met his gaze again. She never lost Eren or so that was what she said.

Will I be able to handle it? Yet why was Levi seeing grief in her eyes? Why did such a strong wave of comprehension hit him almost violently in that moment where their eyes met?

Empathy? It was an easy answer to pick up for himself. But maybe it ran deeper than that, because suddenly, Levi was aware of the ground under him, the cold air caressing him, the loud rustle of leaves. He was feeling everything at once. And with it, he felt the twinge in his stomach, the pang in his chest, the knot in his throat.

The grief never left. The loss never left. And the pain gripped him tightly then. Letting himself feel it had left him with a strange bout of confidence, and a wave of liberation that seemed to stick and when Levi spoke up again, he wondered if he was speaking for himself or for her.

“You won’t know if you can handle it until you ride through it yourself.”

Mikasa seemed convinced.

His coach had arrived a few minutes after the conversation, incessantly apologizing about the traffic. The usual pleasant exchange followed.

“How are you?”

“Slowly learning to walk again, focusing on academics.,” Levi answered. “How’s the team?” They were preparing for nationals. He didn’t need an answer. There were still things his coach knew though which couldn’t be researched and he was still invested in any response his coach could give.

“They’re preparing for nationals, training in the indoor gym.” The indoor gym a few minute car ride from their campus. Levi had been training there every winter and it was easy to picture the drills they were probably doing then.

It soon evolved into some unnecessary athlete propaganda which Levi surmised was to entice MIkasa.

“The scouts for the national team have been watching Elijah closely. He’ll probably be getting an invitation soon after nationals are over,” he said, soon after the pleasantries had died out into an awkward silence. Greg turned to Levi. “They were asking about you too. You’d have gotten the invite. No one’s forgotten about you.”

Was that for Mikasa? Or for him? Soon, Levi started to ask. Was that supposed to cheer him up? Levi couldn’t gauge intention though and he found himself looking away as he started to feel the beginnings of a loss of control.

Mikasa may have sensed it. Or at least sensed that moment as a good time to speak up. “Could you tell me more about your athletics program? Levi told me a lot about his experience here and I think I might just be interested.”

The digression and the exchange that followed was quicker and more enthusiastic than something Levi would have easily caught on to. Suddenly Greg was shifting between enthusiasm and relief. And it evolved to some offer to tour her of the school. Then some mentions about dinner.

Levi though was making excuses. The campus was too wide for him to walk through injured. It was getting a little too cold. And with the peak of winter nearing, it might just even get dark in the next hour or so. His main reason for staying wasn’t among those though.

He had been sneaking glances at the bar and at the blue sky behind it. While the field was empty, while the school was lifeless and while the bar and the equipment was set up in front of him, he realized he might just have some unfinished business on the field.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll fix up the equipment here.”

“You sure?” Greg asked as he looked pointedly at Levi’s knee.

“It’s the least I can do. Besides, it won’t be too heavy after I disassemble it.” Or at least it wasn’t so heavy when Levi had carried it before. He turned to Mikasa. “Go ahead, enjoy the day,” Levi said, nodding his head reassuringly.

It didn’t take them much convincing. Greg was too excited and Mikasa started to seem eager as well to see the school.

And Levi wanted them to leave. Alone in the empty field with the equipment all set up, brought forth within him some unwanted feelings yet feelings which Levi wanted to process for himself one last time.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret.

He was riding through it already and he was at least trying to find hope in that dreadful journey that left him almost desolate. Along the way, as he started to process the emotions, he fixated on the view of the bar, and maybe just a flicker of someone flying through the blue sky behind him. He soon stumbled upon one conclusion, one conclusion that Kuchel had suggested yet he had never really thought too much for himself until that moment.

At that moment, Levi let the emotions speak for him.

Regret is an emotion. Even if you say you don’t regret, even if you come out as the type not to regret, for sure you’ve regretted things right? It was a feeling you willingly chose to brush away. Kuchel had said then, as they had gone through her case study.

Levi had done his part to brush it away, to find something else to entertain him and to only hope that the emotions leave. But they never left. The aches that came with the view in front of him only proved it to him even before, and in that moment, it continued to prove it to him much faster and in more numerous ways than he could count.

So how do I stop feeling this?

You don’t. You can’t control how you feel. You can only control how you process it. The emotions leave when they want.

But when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go...Before you know it, you’ll find closure.

Around that time, she had mentioned the word 'closure'. But closure had always been a vague word. It manifested as something different for everyone else. Levi soon realized as he started to move, it was a word that could never actually be contained to a black ink on white paper, or to spoken word.

For Levi, it had manifested at something he only sensed as something hazy. He thought he had control of his body then but along the way, it had felt like his body had assessed it for himself, the circumstances that he could only take advantage of at that moment.

He was alone in an empty field, the empty field he hadn’t visited in ages. The equipment was all set up for him. And if he closed his eyes then, allow himself to ignore the biting cold wind, the bare trees. If he just focused on the bar and the blue sky behind him, he could pretend it was summer again and before that, spring, and before that the last summer… Every single season—hell—every single day he had spent jumping over the bars.

His body was moving on its own, as if it understood the concept of closure before he did. He made his way to the clubroom.

I never did clean up after the injury. Levi thought to himself. His spare clothes, his spare pair of shoes and his face towel were all still in the locker, as they had been every time before. It was surprising, he had assumed someone would have cleaned it up.

He didn’t think too much of it though. There were other things he was raring to do. At that moment, he was just grateful nobody had half a mind to remind him, or he probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with his plans.

Levi put on his shoes, his right then his left. He changed to jogging pants and to the sweatshirt left in his locker. And for a second he did some test movements with it.

It was baggier than what he would have wanted, but he wasn’t in a competition, Levi could be as lenient as he wanted about it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Levi thought to himself as he rolled up the jogger on his left leg and stared at the braced knee underneath. He could walk, he was sure. Yet just imagining himself removing the brace, left an unsettling feeling inside him.

He ended up pondering it for a while, a while longer than he was aware of. Soon enough, he decided on wearing it on the way back to the track, to just give his knee time to prepare.

On the way back, he passed by the equipment storage and he found himself thinking a lot harder about it. He looked back to the equipment in the field. Mikasa had mentioned setting it up. She had set up the pad underneath, but it had been an incomplete set up. Or so that was what Levi recalled.

There’s supposed to be a pad on top. Levi recalled. He opened the storage room to see the weather cover and the top pad, strewn on the side.

Lugging both the weather cover and the top pad would take two trips. Levi approximated. But did he have the time for two trips?

His coach was unpredictable. And just the idea of them coming back to catch him attempting such, was something Levi didn’t want to imagine then. So he folded up the weather cover and dragged the mat behind him, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge in his knee.

“Hey, you need help?”

Levi hadn’t expected anyone to be there. And of all people, Armin? “What are you doing here?”

“Mikasa told me she’s going out to dinner with your coach so she asked me to pick up her things from the club room…” Armin started. “I was here on campus already so…”

Levi softened his gaze, only realizing when Armin had trailed off quickly, avoiding his stare that he had probably been glaring. “You’re meeting Hange?” He asked, willing his voice to mellow.

“She’s been busy with thesis and I offered to help her out… So I’m picking up the stuff and will be meeting her soon after,” he explained. “But I arrived a bit early and I have some extra time." He offered his hand out to help.

Armin was extra hands. Extra hands meant time could go faster. And for sure, he could get Armin to hide his next set of plans.

“So, why are you bringing this to the field?” He asked, as they walked along the dirt path to the field.

Levi shrugged. “I guess I wanna try jumping one more time before I leave it for good.”

“But…”

Levi didn’t have to look at him to know what he wanted to suggest. “You’re thinking about my injury huh? It’ll be fine. I just wanna get a few jumps in.”

“It might be better to wait a few months?” Armin suggested.

“The team is training outside. The field is empty. The equipment is all set up and I’m graduating soon. When else but now?” Levi asked. Thinking back to it soon after he asked though, he could have waited a few months, maybe go back to school to just try it out one last time. But as they turned the corner and as the field opened up before him, Levi only had to look once again at the pale blue sky that stretched endlessly behind the field to be reminded, it ran deeper than that.

“You can wait a few months… I’m sure your coach---” Armin started, as if he had read his mind.

“When else, but now?” Levi pressed. The sky was starting to make its slow transition to purple, then. Orange and bright red were the next colors beyond that. And Levi started to see some of the steam, the colossal titans that marched forward slowly but surely. That one flicker in the sky though, caught his attention. She was concealed behind steam, and flashes of orange and bright red.

How much time did he have?

Armin took a deep breath. “This might sound weird. I’m probably the last person you wanna get advice from… I’m younger than you… and we just met… But Hange probably just rubbed off on me but you know, I guess I’m worried. I heard about your injury months ago, before we even met, Mikasa told me… It was in the rumor mill of the high jump community.”

So what?

“It must have been devastating huh? To lose something like that... Something that has been a constant in your life for five years even ten years…”

Devastating. Was that the right word?

“You must have regretted a lot…”

Did I let myself regret it? He willed himself not to regret then. It was a conscious decision to let the emotions flow free. Soon he had to admit— albeit uncomfortably— he regretted it.

“Then I thought of Mikasa. I actually talked to her about this, about Eren. And you know I was able to convince her that there is a life beyond Eren.”

“So let me predict, you wanna say there’s life beyond jumping?” Life beyond Hange?

Armin nodded. “I know it sounds generic. You probably heard it a million times before but… That was what Hange told us when you left…”

Levi didn’t have to listen to Armin quote it to hear it in her voice.

But… You understand, don’t you? Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day. I know it’s difficult to accept. It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. I know that.

But even so… We need to move forward…

Armin continued. “Move forward… because the world was wider than Eren. And I guess in your case, the world is wider than jumping. Now that I think about it, maybe you and Mikasa were facing similar things.”

It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. But we need to keep moving forward.

“Keep moving forward… But that’s what I did,” Levi said.

“But when Mikasa brought up the injury, I noticed it and i saw it still hurt you a lot— I’m sorry if I’m just making wild guesses here. I might be wrong.”

“What else did Hange say?” Levi asked. “After ‘keep moving forward?”

It was easy for Levi to imagine her saying that.

There is liberation in riding the pain through, accepting it will happen and just believing you can get past it.

There is liberation in everything. It’s just a matter of believing that happiness will come again.

“I reflected on it too, with Mikasa…” Armin added as they settled on the lowermost bleachers, closest to the bar. “And I thought of something… What if, the reason it’s so painful is because a part of us dies when we lose something. If Mikasa decides to leave Eren, part of her will die, the part of her that clung to him, her childhood, being with him everyday. They might just fade into distant memories the moment she decides to go to university. But there’s a life beyond him. And exchange for whatever part dies with her, her world widens..."

Levi nodded, glancing subtly at the view of the horizontal bar, the sky was shifting to a bright red behind it.

“Something inside her will be reborn. Maybe like reincarnation? There’s our college life waiting after high school, then our work life after that our family life, then retirement then maybe even other lives after that… Maybe even after we die... There's another life waiting for us.”

Levi shrugged. “You might be right,” he said. There was nothing much else to say. He stood up again and approached the landing pad, dragging that extra pad behind him.

“That’s it. After jumping, after whatever we’re doing now, we’re gonna graduate, move on to our next life. Then we just trust that things will get better, we encounter new things, new people to keep us going. We’ll find something else to keep us going.”

Then an old part of us dies and we’re reincarnated as a new person. That was the last sentence, Levi remembered Armin saying, or so that was the message he remembered.

He couldn’t be too sure about Armin’s exact words. Armin didn’t follow behind him either and his voice started to fade into the background.

Even before Armin’s words could whittle into nothing though, the orange sky started to scream at him, the horizontal bar, only nearer, started to goad him in. “That’s why I wanna enter that new life with no regrets,” Levi said.

Eventually Armin gave up.

Or Levi might just have gotten better at ignoring protests. He got better at creating that world, that consisted of just him, the field, the horizontal bar and the sky. The sky that was still a bright orange, the last flash of light before night blankets it. He didn’t have much time.

So Levi gave up on putting the pad on top. He gave up on the weather cover. He unwrapped his brace and threw it towards the side of the field..

Just one jump. The inhibitor within him promised. It sent a buckle through his knee and a light twinge of pain. It could have been stronger than a twinge, but Levi refused to feel it..

There’s just one thing I need to do for myself and I’ll close this part of my life for good.

Captain Levi never regretted. Or so that was what he had willed himself to do before. But everybody would regret even at least once in their life. Levi was part of that everyone and he had kept his own regret mum inside him. It festered into a wound, then to a scab and eventually it grew to shackles that kept him from moving freely, from moving on.

Ride the pain, the loss, the grief.

So he let the shackles do their work, he let the weight slow him down as he walked towards the starting line.

For a few seconds more, he found himself having to catch his breath as the sun made its way down from the horizon. It glowed a bright red, and along the way it released flashes of orange and yellow.

Soon enough, it was just him and the sky. Then him, the sky and someone else.

“Commander Hange Zoe,” he muttered quietly, yet still loud enough to hear it himself. That word, that name, only made that flicker up in the sky a little more lucid.

The silhouette that flew up in the mountains. The silhouette that flew past the buildings and up at the colossal titans.

That silhouette that burned into nothing up in the sky.

The rustle of the leaves, the biting cold and the distant footsteps though still threatened to pull him out of that world he created for himself. With the sun starting to disappear before the horizon, before the bright red--- the flames--- burned through the flicker. Before the flicker fell to the ground and burned out, Levi knew he would have to move.

Why don’t you want to jump? Levi asked himself. His knees were still buckling. The footsteps were still moving. He could get caught soon if he didn’t do it then.

When else will I be able to do this? Levi pressed, an attempt to push his body forward. His body was starting to disobey, or at least the scabbed knee, his joints, the remnants of bruises in his neck from each painful fall that led up to his injury. The biting cold and the pain at his throat from breathing the dry winter air made him even doubt his ability to run.

Certainly, he was in no shape to jump. But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

Eventually, he did find the right question, the one that had him recalling, then feeling everything at once. And it got his body moving.

Why did you start jumping?

I had dreams. I dreamt I could fly and when I jumped, there was this sense of nostalgia…

Letting himself name the emotions for what they were, he soon realized, the comfort that came with jumping wasn’t borne of nostalgia. It was borne of regret.

Captain Levi had one regret which he never entertained. One regret that ran so deep it could never be summarized with a single question.

Should I have stopped her?

Should I have run after her?

Should I have fought with her?

Back then, he never did go after her. so he never found answers. But in that split second flying feet up in the air with just the view of the blue sky above him, he always found hints to it.

So he continued to jump, higher and higher.

You won’t find the answer, no matter how high you jump. Something inside him nagged.

But I wanna leave this part of my life with no regrets. “I wanted to save you,” Levi said. It was only himself who could have spoken or heard him. So maybe he had said it a little louder, he couldn’t tell.

The flicker in the sky started to burn and like the many times he had envisioned that scene, he expected it to fall over soon. He was certain of that.

I should have tried to save you.

Trying never guaranteed success. But trying always had that special ability of just cushioning a fall, protecting against the impact of regret that followed.

And maybe that was the right thing to do. That alone had been enough to send a burst of energy through him, to bring back the muscle memory that got him succeeding at each height, winning competition after competition.

He wanted to fly. So he ran, like he had done many times before. He let his steps bounce, ignoring the pain in his knee.

The horizontal bar was nothing but a convenient silhouette, a guide towards his actual goal.

If I tried to save you, would things have ended up different?

Commander Hange Zoe was the source of energy that got him bouncing on that knee. It got him ignoring that white flashes of pain that followed. She was up there in the sky, fighting the colossal titans and Levi was determined to fly after her.

He positioned himself to jump in that split second, like he had done many times before. As his body turned to his side though, he saw another Hange Zoe.

She wasn’t a flicker nor a silhouette though She was clearly there, chestnut brown hair, bright eyes, like she had been in every single one of the competitions. He needed a split second more to process her. He was pressed for time though so he opted to look straight ahead, to focus on the jump.

“Levi!”

Levi was already up in the air when he heard her call out, when reality gripped at him and attempted to pull him back. Suspended up in the air, floating, it had been easier to pull away.

That was his last jump, his last attempt to save Commander Hange Zoe and he would see it through

There were things though people can will with all their minds, yet their body would still choose to disobey. If the body hadn’t been such a limiting factor, maybe everyone would have been an Olympic athlete.

Levi only had that crushing lesson on reality, hit him hard when he landed painfully on pad, the bar underneath him.

The flicker that he could have sworn was Hange faded into the sky. Or maybe it had fallen over too quickly, in the few moments it took Levi to blink.

The sky shifted into a deep blue. It would shift to a darker blue, then soon, the sky would be painted black. It took the flicker in the sky that had been Hange and soon it would be taking his surroundings with it.

Right after taking her? He would have wanted to ask. He had learned it before already, reality was cruel. There was no use bargaining with it.

It was starting to get cold. The heat in that moment as he made the jump and the heat of the fiery death he had witnessed, waged war with the winter chill that was starting to eat at him too.

Too many discomforts to process at once and in that second, Levi was almost grateful for the desolation, the disappointment that was also nagging at him then.

So he gave it some traction and soon, some place in reality. “I’m sorry, I can’t fly anymore,” he whispered. Those words should have been between him and whatever flicker had disappeared in the sky.

There had been an intruder though and Levi was slow to notice it. “Levi! What were you thinking?” she asked.

Gentle hands ran through him. Familiar hands pressed at his knees, at his arms. “Just thought I’d try it one last time.” Levi answered as he turned to the voice.

Hange’s face softened as they made eye contact. “Levi… you know the momentum comes from the run… With your injury, you wouldn’t have been able to even jump heights less than two meters..”

“I wanted to. Just one last time.”

Her hazel eyes were on him again, and they could have been glistening, illuminated by the already dim light as the winter sun shone with its last few rays.

“You don’t need to...” She helped him into a sitting position and Levi followed suit, surprised out how his body was still obeying him

Need to what? He hoped to seek clarity in the seconds that followed. Shaken for sure by those bursts of movement, the pain that came and the pain he had expected to come, he found himself unable to speak.

But it turned out, he didn't need to. He couldn't speak so Hange spoke for him. “If you don’t want me to, I won't leave you,” she said.

A minute ago, it had been hot. A few seconds ago it had been chilly. When she wrapped her arms around him though, the war between hot and cold ended with a comfortable compromise. Her tight embrace was lukewarm. “I’m right here… And I'll be right here for as long as you want me to be."

[ravens-words]

we burned down our paper house

"Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. Epic."

Scenes from a lost decade.

Chapter 3 of 4

On AO3

............................

Early 2010

Michael sighed and leaned back on the chair, shoulders slumped and mouth pressed in a hard line. He stared at the e-mail he'd just gotten from Alex and did his best not to scream in frustration. 

Leave wasn't approved. Sorry.

Short and to the point, just like the last dozen or so e-mails had been in the past few months.

Alex's tone had become almost impatient with him, his e-mails shorter and shorter. It'd gotten to the point where getting three long sentences out of Alex  were cause for celebration. To Michael, it seemed like he was pulling away from him, little by little, and it hurt. It hurt, because he didn't know what he'd done wrong and so he had no idea how to fix it. 

Did I do something wrong? He deleted the question the minute he wrote it out and held his head in his hands. They didn't talk about their relationship on here- or anywhere, he added bitterly in his head. 

He stared at the blank page in front of him and after a minute of silent staring at the screen, he sighed, resigned. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he thought of all the things he wanted to tell him. That he missed how they used to talk, missed his dry, yet hilarious sense of humor. Michael missed him, most of all and he wondered if he should hold onto the hope that he could ever get to have him.

Late 2011

Michael overheard Maria talking on the phone and nearly spilled his beer when he heard her mention Alex. He listened closely and his excitement hit the roof when she mentioned that he'd finished his first tour. 

Maybe this meant he would get out of the air force altogether. Maybe he would finally get back because he had to have gotten a good amount of days for a leave. That night, he barely managed to sleep, too many thoughts warring with each other in his head.

The next day, he waited for an email, a visit, anything. But nothing came. 

A week passed, and he didn't hear anything from Alex. 

Hey, Alex, I just heard your tour is over? Why didn't you tell me? And when are you coming home?

The next day, he was the first person at the library. Mrs. Jamison gave him a weird look but didn't comment as he followed her in and waited patiently until she gave him the all clear to use the computer.

He hurriedly logged into his e-mail and sighed in relief when he found a message in his inbox. 

"I'm not coming back, Guerin. I'm sorry."

Michael had been expecting this for months now. He'd known it was coming, had felt in his bones even, but that didn't make it hurt any less than a stab in the heart. He felt the sting of tears and sniffled pathetically. 

He didn't know how he managed it when his mind was in such a numb haze, but he logged out and turned the computer off, then left the library and drove home. 

I'm not coming back.

What little hope for them he'd managed to hold onto for the past couple of years vanished and he tried desperately to convince himself that it was for the best.

He was, predictably, unsuccessful.

Mid 2012

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Michael?"

Michael snorted and then giggled, pitching forward in Max's arms. Max caught him just before he fell face-first on the ground and grunted as he pulled him up. 

"Seriously, why?"

Michael blinked drowsily at him. "What?"

Max huffed. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"I didn't do anything to myself. Thing 1 and Thing 2 did."

Max was unimpressed. "You punched the guy. Unprovoked."

Michael shrugged, or, he would've, if Max's hand wasn't like an anchor around his shoulders. He resisted the urge to lean into his brother and just made a vauge noise that he let Max interpret. 

Max lowered him on the bench in the drunk tank and to Michael's surprise, he didn't leave. He crouched down in front of him and sighed. "What is it about today, huh?" 

Michael shut his eyes tightly. "Nothing."

"Michael, I know things between us aren't the best right now, but you can talk to me, okay?"

He stayed silent, bit his tongue to stop the words clawing at his throat from escaping. He heard Max sigh and waited until he heard the cell door close quietly. Then,

"I miss him."

Late 2013

"I think Noah wants to have a baby."

Michael blinked at Isobel. "I think it's too early for this."

She huffed and all but forced her way through the door. She delicately lifted the edge of his crumbled blanket and slid it to the side. "What do I do?"

He shook his head and lifted his head up to look at the ceiling. "Maybe tell him you're not ready?" 

"And what if I am?" 

Her whispered confession hit him in the chest like a truck and he struggled with keeping his own feelings about this subject buried and to just focus on himself.

"What's stopping you, then?" 

She scoffed. "Maybe that I'm an alien? That I know nothing about my own body? That I could be bringing a child with powers freakier than ours into this world? It's too- it would be too risky, and I- I can't tell him about any of this, so I'm stuck."

He sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his arms. "I'm really sorry, Iz."

"Yeah," she sniffled. "Yeah, me too." She wiped her eyes and seemed to pull herself together in the snap of a finger, and Michael marveled at her strength. "Tell me about your date with Janet."

Michael pulled a face. "We were talking about you."

She gave him an unimpressed look. "And now we're talking about you. Keep up."

He rolled his eyes, but gave in. "It was fine."

She glared. He sighed.

"This is the third date I've set you up on, Michael," she reminded him. "You really didn't like any of them?"

He shrugged. "I guess they just weren't-" Alex, his mind supplied, "-my type."

Isobel raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Your type is anything that breathes. If you're going to lie to me, do better than that."

"Fine. I'm just not feeling it."

She searched his face, and to Michael's surprise, her face softened. "There's something you're not telling me."

Michael said nothing.

"You're hurting."

I'm always hurting.

Isobel rested her head on his shoulder. "It's gonna get better, Michael."

I really fucking hope so.

Mid 2014

Michael stared at Max's TV in silent terror, the words 'bombing' and 'air force base' and '12 servicemen killed and 56 injured' leaving him paralyzed with fear. 

"Shit," Max cursed, eyes on the screen, then on Michael. There was a weird look on his face as he watched him, but Michael honestly couldn't muster the energy to try to find out what it meant. 

So he sat on Max's couch, he stared at the now black screen of the TV and tried not to imagine Alex in a body bag, or in a hospital bed, or bleeding out in a desert miles and miles away.

That night, for the first time in four, almost five, years, he called him. The phone rang and rang and rang, but there was no answer.

That night, Michael slept with the phone pressed to his heart, hoping it would ring. 

It never did.

Late 2015

Michael was three drinks in and spoiling for a fight when he walked in. 

He forgot to breathe, everyone in the room but him disappeared and Michael could only watch. 

He watched as he kept his head down and avoided eye contact with anyone. 

He watched him give a polite, and obviously fake, smile to anyone who ignored his very apparent discomfort and decided to engage him in a conversation.

He watched him walk, he watched him breathe and he wanted nothing more than to go to him, drag him away and check for himself that he was whole, that he was still his Alex.

Drink now forgotten, Michael's eyes never strayed away from Alex's form, in fear that he'd actually lost it and had imagined him here.

As if drawn to him by some unknown force, Alex's eyes found his and Michael stopped breathing yet again. His whole body stiffened and he waited for the frost in the airman's eyes to melt, waited for the sharp edges of him to soften. It took a minute, but it eventually happened. 

Alex's eyes softened and his shoulders drooped a little bit. His head tilted to the side, and that was enough for Michael. He stood, rather abruptly, and slowly sauntered out of the bar, feeling his eyes follow him all the way to the door. 

He hurried to his truck, hands shaking and heart beating a mile a minute. When he got in, he put the key in the ignition and then settled both his hands on the steering wheel, squeezing it tightly.

When the bar door banged open and Alex stepped out, Michael could finally breathe. 

Alex got into a black SUV, started driving,  and Michael followed without question, unable to think of anything than this:

Alex is alive. Alex is here and he's breathing and, against all odds, he still wants me after five years.

It took him more than it should've to recognize where Alex was driving, and when his airstream came into view, Michael smiled to himself.

He waited for Alex to get out of his car before he did the same and then they just stood and stared at each other with only a few feet of space separating them.

Years lay heavy between them, yet despite that, Michael still felt lighter than he had in years.

He didn't know who made the first move, but only a few seconds later, Alex was in his arms and his lips were on his.

Michael wanted to suspend time. He wanted to stay in this moment, right here, for all of eternity. 

Alex pulled away and Michael tightened his hold on him, too afraid that he might have changed his mind. Alex's hands found his shoulders and Michael's found his waist. He wanted to pull him closer, to hug him, but he didn't know if that was allowed anymore. 

He wanted to ask him why he cut off all communications five years ago, wanted to tell him how much it hurt to lose touch with him so suddenly. He wanted to ask what he'd done wrong, what he could have done to fix things. Most of all, he wanted to tell him that he'd missed him with a ferocity that had scared him, but never surprised him.

Alex pulled him in before he could utter a word, though, and Michael forgot about all the things he wanted to say, forgot his own name, and got lost in Alex's touch.

Michael grabbed a hold of his hand and pulled him inside, and Alex went with it, laughing softly at his obvious eagerness. The first kiss was fast and hard and was nothing more than an eager clash of teeth. Alex winced and Michael's fingers came up to stroke his cheeks and he brushed his lips brushed against Alex's in apology.

Alex wrapped his arms around Michael's shoulder and pulled him closer. Michael went willingly. 

Their second kiss was slower, more gentle and Alex's lips were soft against his, pliant. Michael's hands drifted up from the airman's shoulders to his neck and after they pulled away for breath, he pulled him in again. This kiss was deeper, open-mouthed and filthy and he must have made his intentions clear with it because Alex, with a tight grip on his waist, led him onto the narrow bed. 

They stumbled and laughed along the way, and suddenly, it felt as if no time had passed. He was settled, in a way he hadn't been for years.

And it was because he was finally in Alex's arms again.

Michael all but threw him onto the bed, then crawled in beside him. They lay there, trading lazy kisses, for what felt like hours.

Michael wished he could stay in this moment forever. 

When Michael's hands drifted under Alex's shirt, and the kisses went back to being heated, Alex eagerly sat up and yanked his shirt off. And Michael just watched him; the ripple of toned muscles, the nimble, elegant fingers. When Alex caught him looking, he softened further and pulled him in close. Their foreheads touched and Michael saw Alex close his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't close his, not when he still wasn't sure whether or not this was a dream. Ever so slowly, Alex leaned forward and tucked his face into Michael's neck. Michael closed his eyes. He expected Alex to place a kiss there, a bite, but instead, he just seemed to linger there, taking deep, controlled breaths. Michael let him, and pushed his face into Alex's hair. He breathed in and almost didn't want to exhale, just to keep the scent of him in his lungs for as long as possible.

Michael pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, his fingers combing Alex's hair. "Hey," he muttered softly.

Alex chuckled. "Hi."

"I missed you so much," he whispered.

Alex kept his head buried in Michael's neck but raised his hands to hug him tight. "Me too."

Michael danced his left hand from his neck to his shoulders and then down his chest. When he worked open the first button of Alex's jeans, Alex pulled away, but not before he pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

"I'm glad you came back," Michael rasped. 

Alex answered him with a bruising kiss that left them both gasping for breath.

When Michael woke up, he was alone in his bed. A jolt of fear ran down his spine and he sat up in bed, looking around wildly. When he realized that what had woken him up was the click of the airstream door, he scrambled up, clumsily putting on his sweats as he all but ran out.

He caught up to Alex just before he reached his car. "What the hell, Alex?!"

Alex froze with his back to him, and Michael gripped his shoulder and forced him to turn around. 

"Let go, Guerin."

"Not until you tell me why you're leaving."

"Fucking let go, now." His voice was dangerously low, and Michael resisted the urge to follow his command.

"So last night meant nothing, huh? Just a quick fuck, then?"

Alex shook his head, wrist still firmly in Michael's hand. Michael had no doubt that he could have easily broken free of his hold, but was choosing not to. "Last night shouldn't have happened. It was-"

"Don't." Michael let go of him and stepped back. "Don't you dare say it was a mistake."

Alex's eyes darted all over his face, as if he was drinking him in but then the shutters came down and his eyes were nearly vacant of all emotions. He seemed to steel himself before he spoke. "Goodbye, Michael."

"You're really gonna leave me again?" He sounded broken when he'd meant to sound angry, bitter, or even accusing.

He recieved nothing but silence as Alex tried to tug his door open with obviously shaking hands.

"Six years, Alex. I've spent six years missing you; wondering what I did wrong to make you decide I wasn't worth your time anymore. And I won't ask you about it. If you want to forget it, that's fine, but the least you could do is to at least fucking try."

"Try?"

"Yeah!" He exclaimed. "Give us a chance-"

"There is no us!" Alex exploded. "As long as you're here and I'm not, there can never be an us, Guerin."

"Then be here," Michael pleaded, desperation clawing at his throat. This was truly it. Alex was going to get in the car and drive away and Michael would probably not see him for another five years, if not more. "Would you please just stay?"

"I can't," he murmured, and the words were final. But- he wasn't leaving. He didn't get in his car and drive away; it gave Michael hope that maybe there was still a chance he could convince him to stay.

"Why not?"

"Because I reenlisted? Because I can't see myself coming back to this hellhole permanently and I don't think you'll leave, not even for me? Because this-" he grabbed a hold of Michael's left hand and lifted it up at eye level, "-will always be there as a reminder of what being with me has done to your life."

"Being with you is the only thing I want, Alex. Being with you has always made me happy." Your leaving was what destroyed me every time, he added silently.

"I ruined your life."

"My life was already ruined before you came along, darlin' ; you don't get to take credit for that."

Alex let out a sharp breath. "If you hadn't kissed me that day, if we hadn't gotten back to the shed, if my dad hadn't found us-"

Michael was stunned, because he'd never once thought Alex might have blamed himself for everything that went wrong in his life since the day Rosa died when he'd been the one bright thing in his life at that time. "I'd still be here, just without the ruined hand."

Alex looked skeptical. "You really believe that?"

"I know it, Alex."

He sniffled and nodded, jaw clenched tight. When he looked away, Michael didn't. He could practically see the wheels turning in his head and he waited him out. "It's not gonna be easy."

Michael's heart stopped for a good three seconds. "Wha-what?"

"It's not gonna be easy, being together. I leave again in a few days. We'll be seeing each other twice a year, maybe four times if we're lucky, for the next three years. Phone calls will be rare and-" Alex looked him right in the eye and Michael saw him swallow thickly. "No one in this town can know about us-"

Michael didn't let him finish. He dragged him in by the collar and fused their mouths together, kisses eager and deep.

"You're staying?"

Alex let out a shuddering breath. "I- I think so."

He sounded terrified.

Michael pulled away but kept his hands on either side of Alex's neck. 

"It's gonna be okay, Alex."

Alex nodded hesitantly. "We're gonna be okay," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. He all but fell into Michael's arms, and when his forehead settled on Michael's, he heard him make a sound that was almost a whimper. Alex clutched the back of his shirt in two tight grips that only seemed to tighten when Michael moved to pull away. 

So he didn't.

He wrapped his arms around him and hid his smile in the airman's shoulder.

"We're gonna be great."

.

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 24/35

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Belle feels out of sorts, and Weaver makes another crucial discovery.

Notes: For my August Writer's Month prompt #4: Am I dead? Enjoy more flirty investigative idiots.

[AO3]  

Belle groaned and rolled over, facing away from the sunlight slanting in through the gap in the blinds and tucking her face into the pillow and sheets.

Weaver pulled a t-shirt over his head, and glanced at her. “Alright?”

She lifted her head and squinted at the clock. It was nearly eight. “Am I dead?”

He snorted softly. “If you can ask the question, then I think the answer is automatically no. Still not feeling well?”

Turning around, he moved to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out a hand to feel her forehead and the side of her face. “No warmer than usual.”

“My head is killing me,” she mumbled, finally rolling onto her back. “And my stomach is...blah.”

Two days ago, Belle had awakened to a mildly nauseous feeling, but assumed it was the burritos they’d had for dinner coming back to haunt her. It was carried out from a new place down the block, which was always fraught with danger, both in terms of how the food might taste, and the reaction one’s body might have later, but their meal had been delicious, and Weaver had felt no ill effects. Last night, a headache had sent her to bed early, and seemed to have gotten worse overnight.

Frowning, he ran a soothing hand up and down her leg. “Maybe you need to see someone.”

She sighed and pushed herself up. “I have my last follow up appointment today, from removing the stitches. If it hasn’t gone away by then, I’ll bring it up.”

Weaver nodded and stood to finish getting dressed. “When do you see Archie again?”

“After my follow up,” she replied, pausing on the side of the bed to press a hand to her forehead.

“Did you, uh, still want me to go with you?” She looked up, and he shrugged. “Not today, but sometime?”

“Yeah, not - not today.” Then she made a face and then asked, “Can you get me some Tylenol or something?”

“Yeah, sure. And coffee?”

At that, Belle smiled. “God yes.”

Weaver left the bedroom, and Belle forced herself to stand up. After a moment of dizziness, she realized she felt a bit better, and wondered if she had just slept wrong. She was actually looking forward to getting her official, clean bill of health from the follow up visit, and to discussing something particular with Archie - the matter of how to approach her questions with Ian. She had started thinking about the miscarriage in her head, whispering about it to herself in the shower at night, telling the story over and over, and finding that as she did it became easier. A passing reference to such a thing even a few weeks ago would have made her clam up and try to pretend she never heard it. Now it was becoming part of her, much in the same way her mother’s death had, though that had been more of a factor of time and distance than any real effort on her part.

Throughout the morning Weaver seemed to be paying her extra attention, to the point where it was starting to get annoying. Her headache abated before they’d even left the apartment, and her stomach settled with some eggs, toast, and strong coffee. At the office, he was constantly side-eyeing her, stealing little glances, with none of the winking or cheeky smiles that had passed between them in the preceding days. The pressure was back on, and she was sure the stress of the case and the looming court date were the cause of her recent ills.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

Belle huffed and pulled on her suit jacket. “Yes, I’m fine, and shortly I’ll have an actual medical doctor confirm it. Then you can stop worrying.

Weaver leaned back on the sofa, a file folder open across his lap. “I’m unlikely to ever stop worrying about you.”

She tilted her head and gave him a small smile. His concern came from a place of love, and she had always thought his protective nature was one of his best qualities.

Her purse strap went over her shoulder, with a quick flip of her hair, and then she walked over to where he was sitting. “Then maybe just stop peeking at me every five minutes?”

He reached out and took hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it as he looked up at her. “No peeking,” he confirmed. “Got it. How about gazing?”

She snorted and bent down to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

“Ogling?” he offered with a grin. “Leering?”

She shook her head and let him pull her hand in for a kiss before pulling away. “Put your eyes on those records, Detective, instead of my ass.”

Weaver pursed his lips and blew her a kiss as she sauntered through the office door.

Belle tapped her foot against the metal step of the exam table as she scrolled through her messages.

She’d left the office barely twenty minutes ago and there were already more than thirty unread items in her inbox. Most of them were automatic responses to her requests for more of Eloise Tremaine’s records from Nevada. While the online submission system Clark County had was far more convenient than calling around city buildings and being passed from clerk to clerk, the web forms and extra emails were much less helpful than an actual human being. Still, progress was being made, and she was sure that if they could find the tie between Eloise and the Branson brothers, that they’d have exactly what DA Midas wanted.

She sighed and rubbed her left temple, feeling her earlier headache trying to return. She need to take another dose of painkillers before she got to Dr. Hopper’s.

Abruptly, the exam room door swung open and Dr. Whale came in. “Miss French.”

She looked up and smiled. “Dr. Whale.”

“Good to see you again,” he said, setting a tablet on the small counter to the side. Then he slipped on a pair of gloves and lifted her hair out of the way as he eyed the scar left from her head wound.

“Not bad,” he muttered. “There’s still some redness, but that will fade. Have you been using the ointment I gave you?”

Belle nodded. “I used up the tube, but I don’t think I need it now. The skin’s not tender anymore.”

He gave a curt nod and stepped back. “All the other superficial cuts seem to have disappeared.”

“Good moisturizer and concealer,” she said, and he laughed. “But yes, they all healed up pretty quick, thankfully.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” He sat down on the small stool at the counter and entered a few things into the app on his tablet. “Well, I will have the necessary form faxed to your workplace, and then I won’t have to see you until it’s time for your annual check up.”

She exhaled and smiled, pleased to have at least one thing behind her for now. “Good.”

“So, the nurse said something about a headache?”

“I, uh, yeah, I had one this morning, why?”

“Not frequent, then?”

She shook her head, which caused a mild throbbing wave across her forehead.

“Migraine, or just a regular headache?”

She gave him a look. “It’s just a regular headache, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

Dr. Whale leaned on the counter and regarded her for a moment. “Is it coming back now?” Reluctantly, she confirmed it was. “Any other symptoms?”

“No,” she answered, starting to get annoyed with his repeated questions. Her phone was buzzing in the pocket of her purse, and she was anxious to check it before she went to see Archie. “No, just the headache and an upset stomach. I’m fine.”

“Upset stomach?”

Belle rolled her eyes and hopped down off the exam table. “It’s nothing. I just ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

“When?” he asked, frowning.

“A couple days ago, why does it matter? It has nothing to do with my - accident.”

It was Whale’s turn to give her a look. “Belle, you didn’t have an accident trying to parallel park, you were attacked by a murderer.”

“Serial killer,” she corrected, “and yes, I was, but now I’m all good. Can I go now?”

He sighed. “The headaches can be a sign of PTSD.”

Belle gave him a wane smile. “Yes, I know. I’m - I’m seeing Dr. Hopper about it.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good,” Dr. Whale said as he pushed to his feet. “Look, I think we should do some tests, just to be sure.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What tests?”

“A basic chemistry panel, maybe a blood count, see if you might have an infection coming on.”

She frowned again, the wrinkling of her forehead causing another small wave of pain. “Sure, I guess.”

“I’ll send the vampire in to take your samples, okay?”

That earned him a soft snort and a nod. “Okay.”

Belle waited a few minutes for the nurse, and then several more as she filled up three tubes with blood. Her arm was aching after it was done, and she wondered how she’d explain the bandaid and bruise in the crease of her elbow to Weaver. If he knew Whale wanted blood samples, he’d worry even more and become unbearable. He’d probably insist on packing her off home and waiting on her in bed.

Still, as she left the clinic and stepped out onto the street to walk down to Archie’s building, she was glad she let them do the tests. If she was getting sick, she wanted to know right away so she could be back to one hundred percent to finish out the case well before the trial started.

Weaver spread out the pictures across the top of the conference table, and placed the associated forms beneath.

He wanted to have everything laid out by the time Belle returned from her appointments, so he could show her what he had found. Another break only a short time after the revelation of Eloise’s true surname had him buzzing with excitement. This was what he truly loved about his job, digging out the pieces and putting the puzzle together. The part where they hopefully got justice for the victims was satisfying, but there was something about the mental and physical effort of investigating, the late hours and countless pots of coffee, that was only second to being with Belle.

That he got to do it with Belle again made it even better, and he hoped that things would continue as they had into the future. They had yet to discuss their relationship in any detail, but she wasn’t in any rush to leave the apartment, and the last two weeks had been among the happiest since the early days of their marriage. He wanted to wait until the stress of the case was over before approaching the subject again, but for now everything seemed perfect.

The office door opened and he turned to see Belle, who looked a little worse for wear than when she had left just a couple of hours earlier.

“You okay?”

She sighed heavily as she put her purse in its usual bottom desk drawer, and said nothing as she took off her suit jacket.

“Belle?”

“Yeah, fine,” she replied. “Just tired. Talking to Archie takes a lot of out of me I guess.”

He nodded, but remained quietly unconvinced. She had been out of sorts the last couple of days, which certainly could have been stress related, but Belle usually thrived under the deadline of a trial. Right now she seemed barely able to drag herself across the room to see his newfound evidence.

“Well, maybe this will wake you up,” he said. “I got something on our second victim, Charlie Dunn.”

“Oh?” Belle perked up a bit at that, and kicked off her shoes before padding across the room. “What did you find?”

“This,” he said, giving her a sly look as he pointed to the faded pink carbon copy form under Charlie’s picture.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the page, and then she picked it up. It was the cover page to an adoption agreement with Charlie’s name on it from nearly twenty years ago. He would have been about six or seven at the time. What struck her though, was the state seal at the top.

“This is from Nevada.”

Weaver grinned. “Yep.”

She looked at him wide eyed. “Charlie was adopted.”

“From Nevada,” he added, nodding towards the paper.

She set the paper down on the table and looked over at one of the other victim’s pictures. “Just like Molly was.”

“Yep.”

She straightened and turned to him, eyebrows raised. “You don’t think -?”

His grin widened. “Oh, I do think.”

“If the others are adopted too…” she started.

He nodded. “Or were foster children…”

Her mouth fell open as she finally caught on to his line of thinking. “Of Eloise Tremaine.”

Belle jumped forward and pressed a hand to his chest. He could feel her body shaking with the same excitement he’d had at the discovery and what it might mean. Instantly she looked refreshed, and he was glad to see that it was probably the case dragging on and the stress that had gotten her down.

“We need all the foster care records from Robert and Eloise, and we have to pull the paper birth records on all the victims.”

Weaver picked up a stack of papers and handed them over to her. “I took the liberty of filling out all the forms while you were gone. Including the fax cover sheets.

She took hold of the other end of the papers, and beamed at him. “I love you.”

[humanperryfic]

A Twisted Time

There are two timers on Perry's wrist. One counting down until he meets his soulmate, the other counting down until his soulmate dies.

The good news? The first timer runs out today.

The bad news? So does the second one. 

Read on FF.net here and AO3 here. 

TW’s: Major character death, blood, injury, and disturbing hallucinations. 

Perry stares at his computer screen, watching the loading bar creep slowly across the screen.

Another half hour, and his operating system will be up to date- by early 2000's standards.

It's not like he can really complain. It would be a waste for him to have any sort of fancy tech in his cubicle, what with how often he's away from headquarters. It makes much more sense for him to have a better watch.

Sure, the computer is definitely a product of the ever-dwindling OWCA budget, but as long as it can still print his paperwork and run the report program, he's alright with it.

If, y'know, it would actually finish updating. He's been sitting here for almost an hour, waiting for the update to finish. At this point, he's considering just borrowing Agent W's computer.

If only he had stuck around a few more minutes yesterday to finish his report.

So he waits, scrolling through his inbox on his phone. One of the few programs actually running at the level expected of the current year.

Apparently the dish is down, so Monogram will be giving assignments in person today.

His phone buzzes in his palm. A text from Candace.

You're meeting your soulmate today, right?

Perry grins. Yes, yes he is. He pushes his sleeve just enough to bare the first vibrant purple timer on his wrist. Only ten minutes and thirty seven seconds until he meets his soulmate.

Only ten and a half minutes!, he texts Candace. I'll send you a picture when I meet them.

His grin falters when he catches a glance at the second timer on his wrist. The one that he hasn't shown the kids- or anyone, really. Only Lawrence. It's also on his OWCA papers and medical records, but that's different.

The calculations come naturally to him- he's only been doing them since he was old enough to understand the numbers.

He has six hundred and nineteen seconds until he meets his soulmate, and eight thousand, five hundred and forty six seconds until he loses them.

~~~

Ten minutes later, Perry's still staring at the green bar crossing the screen.

He picks up the ruler from his desk and holds it against the monitor.

Ten minutes, six millimeters. He leans back in his chair and does the mental math. One and two-thirds millimeters per minute, that's 0.0278 millimeters per second. Converted to miles per hour and...well, that number would be easier read in scientific notation.

Carl knocks on the cubicle wall. "Hey there, Agent P."

Perry waves. Good morning, Carl.

"We have a mission for you. If you'll follow me?"

Perry stands up, shoving his phone in his pocket.

Either way, he follows Carl through the cubicles.

"As you've likely read, the dish is down this morning," Carl says. "Besides, the Major wants you meet someone."

He looks up, just in time to not run headlong into the door frame of Monogram's office.

Instead, he runs straight into the agent already in there.

His wrist heats up, right where the timer is. Is this his soulmate? He wants to check, but it would be rude.

The agent turns around. "Well, hello there." Perry smiles. The man's voice is rough, with a strong German accent.

Perry shakes the man's outstretched hand. Hello, he signs, hoping that this man knows ASL.

"Oh, you prefer sign." The other agent nods. Hello, my name is Heinz. He pauses, a sheepish expression on his face. My grammar may not be the best anymore, sorry.

Perry smiles. I'm mute, not deaf, so you can speak if you'd rather. As an afterthought, he adds, Don't worry, your grammar is fine.

The Major clears his throat. "Agent P, meet Agent O. He's the top agent in OWCA Seattle."

Agent O (Heinz) beams. "Agent O, this is Agent P, our top agent here in the Tri-State Area."

Perry smiles and shakes his head. Best agent might be a bit of a stretch.

"Don't sell yourself short, Agent P. Anyway, you two are going to be going on an incredibly dangerous mission. You will be right here in the Tri-State Area, thwarting the menace known as Professor Puzzlement. He's jumped up seven notches on the Villain Scale, likely due to his new army of robot minions. Your job is to get in there and thwart him."

"Hang on. This evil guy is a local, and you brought me in from Seattle? Your top agent here should be able to take him. No offense, Agent P."

None taken. Actually, Perry takes some offense, but not towards Heinz. He's read the files on Puzzlement, the man is possibly the lowest man on the villain totem pole.

Monogram coughs. "I wasn't done."

Heinz looks sheepish. "Oh. Carry on."

"As I was about to say, Heinz, you were brought in from OWCA Seattle because of your mechanical abilities. We don't want these bots just taken down- we want to understand the tech behind them as well."

Well, that makes sense. When it comes to beating up evil scientists and blowing up their robot armies, Perry is the best in the game. Ask him to explain the how of those bots, and he's utterly useless.

Perhaps OWCA is looking to improve their tech through slightly uncouth ways.

(He can't say that he blames them. The budget dwindles more every year.)

"Once we get the dish back online, we'll send the coordinates and files to your watches. Good luck, Agents!"

They salute. Perry leaves the office, with Heinz right behind him.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Perry pulls Heinz into a nearby empty office, out of the hallway.

"Wait- Agent P- what are you doing? I don't even know your name."

My name is Perry, he signs, pulling his sleeve back just far enough to show his first timer, and I think you're my soulmate.

Heinz's mouth drops open. He scrambles to pull his own sleeve up, baring both of his teal timers to Perry.

The top one is at zero. Perry tries not to look at the second one, but he catches a glance anyway. Apparently, he's got some fifty years until he kicks the bucket.

The universe is cruel.

"Wow," Heinz breathes. "Soulmates with the cute agent I'm partnered with. Okay, I definitely don't regret taking this job."

Perry smiles, his face heating up at the compliment. You think I'm cute?

Heinz's cheeks flush a brilliant shade of scarlet. "Um, yes?"

This is going a lot better than he thought it would. Hopefully Heinz won't ask about the other...

"Say, can I see your other timer?"

...timer. Perry's blood turns to ice. He looks away, unable to meet his soulmate's eyes. He racks his brain for something to say, some explanation that won't give away the secret.

"Actually, I think I'd rather not know. It'd be kind of depressing, really. Especially if, like, I'm gonna die tomorrow. Yeah, I don't think I want to see."

Perry barely manages to keep himself from sighing in relief. Heinz has no idea how close he was to the truth.

At least he doesn't have to break the news.

Their watches both beep at the same time. The coordinates and files for the mission. The dish must have been fixed.

Shall we go stop a villain?

"Yeah, let's go." Heinz opens the door to the office, then holds out his hand.

Perry takes it.

~~~

Heinz insists that he drive over to the warehouse where Professor Puzzlement is said to be. Perry agrees, preferring to ride rather than drive the OWCA hovercars. Despite all his agent strengths, he's a horrible driver.

The wind whips through Perry's teal hair as they fly. Perry flips through the files on the Professor, looking for something he may have overlooked earlier, but there's really not much there. It seems like this mission is another case of over-inflated reports.

He turns his watch off and sits back, relaying his findings to Heinz.

"Yeah, it seemed pretty exaggerated. With anybody else, I'd believe an army of bots. Not this guy."

According to the records, his worst invention before this was a machine that was designed to cover the entire Tri-State Area in mashed potatoes.

"And they're sending two of us to deal with him."

Yeah. I mean, I'm not going to complain. It'll make things a lot more fun.

Heinz smiles, a bright beam that reflexively brings a smile to Perry's face.

"An easy job with my soulmate. What a day, huh?"

What a day.

"We'll probably be done before lunchtime. Do you think your Major will give you the rest of the day off?"

Probably not, but all I'll have to do is reports, and I could do those in my sleep.

"I have a feeling this one won't be particularly complex."

You're probably right. Perry pauses to consider something. When we get done, do you want to get lunch together?

"That would be great."

Heinz takes his right hand off the wheel to hold Perry's left, bringing a light pink blush to both their faces.

Perry doesn't tell him that the timer, the one only inches away from his fingers, won't let him live past noon.

~~~

A ring of bots greet them when they walk in the doors of the warehouse.

Apparently the scientist had built a robot army. Who knew?

(Well, OWCA knew, which is why they sent Perry and Heinz.)

No big deal, really. Perry's fought through far worse, and on his own.

"SURRENDER OR BE DESTROYED, OWCA SCUM," one of the bots booms in an electronic voice.

Perry and Heinz both draw their respective weapons. For Heinz, an EMP blaster designed to take out electronics. Perry doesn't really know how it works, but that doesn't matter. He prefers his own fists, reinforced with special fingerless gloves that prevent him from breaking knuckles on solid metal robots.

They grin and nod at each other before becoming a whirling flurry of attacks.

Heinz drops bot after bot with both EMP blasts and well-placed kicks. Perry kicks up off one bot and lands on another, piloting it into other bots as he punches in its head.

They make their way through the mess of mechanics, landing blow after blow. Perry jumps from bot to bot, prompting the mechanical monstrosities to fire on each other.

He watches as Heinz drops one bot with a blast, another with a spinning kick.

Perry's pretty much figured out why this guy is Seattle's best.

Soon, all the bots are either destroyed or deactivated. Perry jumps off the last bot, a fist of wires ripped from an exposed joint in one hand, landing on the floor next to Heinz in a fighting stance.

Heinz reaches out and fixes Perry's slightly askew fedora. Perry feels a blush come to his face, for the fourth (fifth? who knows?) time today. He smiles and straightens up, dropping the wires.

Their moment is interrupted with a loud, booming voice.

"Good morning, Agents," the voice says, "how utterly expected."

Perry looks up. A metal cage falls from the rafters. He pushes Heinz out of the way, narrowly avoiding being trapped himself.

The voice grumbles. Heinz laughs. "I've seen better traps from my grandmother."

"You insolent fools. I will soon become the supreme leader of the world, and you two will be the first I throw in lava."

Might want to start with the Tri-State Area, Perry signs, and Heinz grins.

"I really don't appreciate all this talking behind my back in front of me," the mysterious voice booms.

And I don't appreciate having to force myself through an army of bots, but here we are. Heinz disguises a laugh as a cough.

"If you have something to say, say it to my face."

But I am, Perry signs, summoning his most innocent expression. This time, Heinz's sharp laugh rings out.

Perry could listen to it all day.

"And you, his companion. I do not appreciate being made fun of."

Heinz elbows Perry. "Maybe we'd be more afraid if we, y'know, gazed upon your godly form or whatever."

"My godly form or whatever," the voice echoes, clearly patronizing.

"Yeah," Heinz agrees. "Like in the Greek myths, where if you gaze upon the god's true form, you die. Except you're mortal."

"I am a fan of Greek mythology," the voice admits. "So I shall allow you to gaze upon my 'true form'."

A pair of bots descend from the rafters, holding a man on their shoulders.

The professor steps off the shoulders of the bots.

Heinz lets out an incredulous laugh. "You? You're going to take over the world?" To Perry, he mutters "Even a real platypus could thwart this guy. And they don't do much."

Perry can't help but agree with Heinz's statements. The man standing in front of them is the stereotypical picture of a decrepit old man. Hunched, clutching at his back, holding tight to a cane with bony fingers.

"That is why I built the robots."

Perry takes a closer look at a felled robot near him. The design seems simplistic, and there are even more weak points than he had found during the brief battle. Heinz could probably point out even more.

"Are you even paying attention?" the Professor asks. Perry crosses his arms and leans back. Am I?

"You agents and your secret languages. Speak English," Puzzlement says.

Perry rolls his eyes. Would if I could. He dodges a robot lunging at him, then punches in its chestplate.

"And quit destroying my robots. Do you realize how long they take to make? You ungrateful OWCA agents..."

Perry tunes out the Professor's senile rant quickly. It's only a matter of time before he starts nattering on about his lawn. Considering that Heinz parked on the grassy strip in front of the warehouse, he just might. Perry turns to sign this to Heinz, who is elbow deep in the chest cavity of a robot. "Psst, Perry, come look at this."

Perry looks to where Heinz is pointing. To him, it makes no sense, but obviously Heinz can understand it.

Heinz continues to whisper. "I think I can fuse two of these bots together to create a single bot, that when moved in a specific way, will trip this kinetic motion sensor, causing these wires here to overheat, producing a mass of heat and light that we can harness as a weapon."

He looks at Perry's blank, confused stare and sighs. "Exploding robot nunchucks."

Perry grins. What do you need me to do?

~~~

Heinz has a streak of soot from one of the exploded robots across one cheek. Before he can stop himself, Perry reaches out and gently brushes some away with his thumb.

A soft smile crosses Heinz's face. Perry's hand lingers on Heinz's cheek.

No words need to be exchanged. The look in Heinz's eye tells Perry everything he needs to know.

Perry leans in, pressing his lips gently to Heinz's. His eyes slide closed, reveling in the smooth slide of Heinz's lips against his. Heinz slips his arms around Perry's shoulders, pulling him in close. Perry's hand moves to the back of Heinz's neck, fingers toying at the soft hairs there.

Too late, Perry feels the prick on the back of his neck. He rips himself away from Heinz to see the Professor, cuffs dangling from one bony wrist, wielding a hypodermic needle. A drop of something spills out the needle's tip.

Both he and Heinz lunge for the evil scientist.

Only Heinz makes it. Perry stumbles, spots dancing across his vision. The ground is rolling beneath his feet, he struggles to stay upright. The doctor tosses aside one syringe, but two hit the floor. Heinz punches the scientist, his fist shattering into a million pieces.

Perry's wrist erupts in pain. He falls to his knees, watching as the numbers there begin to twist themselves into different shapes, oozing blood.

He looks back up at Heinz and the Professor, fighting on the ground, but he can't tell who is who. A dull ache blossoms behind his forehead.

"Do you know the legend of Sisyphus, Peregrine Fletcher?" A whispering voice swirls around Perry's head, coming from both inside and out. When Perry doesn't answer, the voice continues.

"Sisyphus was an ancient Greek man who thought he could cheat Death."

The voice laughs. The blood emerging from the numbers on his wrist morphs from black, then green, then back to crimson red. Perry's hands tremble, his stomach twists up in knots.

"It didn't work out for him. In fact, when he reached the Underworld, he had a special, eternal torture waiting for him."

The voice spirals around and around. Perry turns his head, but he can't see anything. A dark fog has descended around him, leaving him in a spotlight of sorts. Muffled, mangled screams cry out from somewhere.

"Do you know what that torture was, Peregrine?"

Perry scrapes at the ground. Patterns erupt in the cement, spinning and twisting. The blood on his wrists turns to insects, crawling up his sleeves. He slaps at his arms, trying to get the bugs away, but they don't move.

"Sisyphus was cursed to spend all eternity pushing a boulder up a hill. However, whenever he was about to reach the top, the boulder would roll right back down. A futile endeavor. A metaphor for stopping death. A perfect reminder that nobody is above morality. Nobody, Peregrine."

A dark, hooded form descends in front of Perry. The form lifts Perry's chin with one cold finger, sending a shudder running down Perry's spine.

"Nobody can cheat death, Peregrine. The best doctor cannot save every life, nor can the best agent." The form spits out the word agent like a curse. Bile rises in Perry's throat. "Your lover will die today. Heed the legends. Do not try and prevent it."

Boulders fall and shake the floor. Dark dust rises, choking Perry, forcing him to cover his mouth and nose. The patterns on the cement still whirl, making Perry's eyes dip in and out of focus.

"You cannot save anyone from death, Peregrine Fletcher. You can try to be Sisyphus, but it will always turn out the same. Your loved ones will die, you will die, and you will be punished."

An hourglass appears, its sand frozen in place. The timers on Perry's wrist twist themselves into an identical hourglass, still dripping warm blood.

"Let the timer run out, Peregrine. It is inevitable."

The dark form snaps its fingers. The hourglass explodes, sand stinging Perry's skin. The one on Perry's wrist screams in pain. Perry opens his mouth in a silent scream. A hot, angry tear falls from his eye. He can't, he won't let the figure be right. He can change the timer. He will, he has to.

He blinks, and the mud, the boulders, the fog is gone. The cold of the cement bleeds through the fabric of his pants. Perry yanks down his sleeve to look at his bloodless numbers.

Two minutes left. Two minutes to do the impossible.

Perry pushes himself to stand. His head pounds, likely an aftereffect of the drugs. Black spots jump around his vision, threatening his balance.

He blinks rapidly to clear away the black patches. A scream rings throughout the warehouse.

Heinz. It has to be him.

Perry lunges towards the sound, his legs shaking. Forcing himself to move.

The scientist stands over a table, a bloodied knife in one trembling hand. Perry launches himself at the madman. The Professor falls to the floor, hitting his head, Perry landing right next to him. Perry pulls his handcuffs from his hat, cinching them tight enough to leave marks.

It's just a second too late. Heinz is bleeding from a gash on his side. He's strapped to the table, and Perry cuts the bonds. Heinz tries to sit up, but Perry pushes him back down.

You're not going anywhere with that cut. Perry pulls off his waistcoat and presses it to Heinz's side, attempting to staunch the bleeding.

"No," Heinz protests, pointing behind Perry. "Robots!"

Perry whirls around. A wall of metal monstrosities descend upon the duo. Heinz hands him the EMP blaster, and Perry manages to fell a few.

Too soon, it becomes crystal clear that they'll never make it this way. If Perry was alone, he could take the bots easily, but with an injured partner, the risk is already too high.

Perry hands Heinz the EMP blaster, then picks him up. His shoes slip on spilled liquid as he runs- he doesn't want to think about what it might be. Who's it might be.

The front door is miraculously unguarded. Perry runs through, kicking it shut behind him to buy just a few seconds.

He sets Heinz down in the front seat of the hovercar, jumping in the driver's seat. He presses his thumb into the scanner and the car's engine starts.

The car takes off, flying away from the warehouse. Perry's wrist heats up- a warning. He glances over at Heinz, who is both pressing the waistcoat to his side and firing off EMP blasts at the few robots giving chase.

His sleeve slips. Less than a minute. Perry presses his foot to the accelerator, willing the craft to go faster. Why did the warehouse have to be so far out in the middle of nowhere?

A blast rocks the the hovercraft, shaking the passengers inside. Smoke erupts from the back of the craft.

Perry barely manages to land the hovercraft in a field, carving divots into the muddy grass. There's a road not too far from their crash site, so Perry picks Heinz up and runs over. The robots are long gone, leaving the duo alone, on a dusty road between fields.

Perry twists the dial on his watch, sending out the agent-down signal. He has to try. One last fight.

Perry holds onto Heinz's hand. He's done all he can, but it's too little, too late. Heinz has lost too much blood. Perry's timer ticks down, seconds slipping away.

Heinz opens his eyes. Perry realizes for the first time that Heinz's eyes are a beautiful, icy blue.

"Perry," Heinz whispers, "show me your timer? Please?" The desperation in his voice is palpable.

A tear rolls out of Perry's eye. He nods and rolls up his bloodied sleeve to reveal the two timers. One stopped at zero, the other with twelve seconds left.

Eleven seconds.

Ten.

Heinz looks at the timer, then back at Perry.

Nine.

“You knew.”

Eight.

Perry nods, tears flowing faster and faster, carving clear paths down his soot-stained face.

Seven.

“And you still tried to save me.”

Six.

Again, Perry nods. He twists his watch again, willing the medics to come faster.

Five.

"Perry- I-" Heinz starts to speak again, but chokes, gasping for air.

Four.

He coughs, blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth.

Three.

Heinz manages to clear his airway. His grip on Perry's hand tightens.

Two.

"I love you," Heinz whispers, voice hoarse, eyes never leaving Perry's.

One.

A smile ghosts onto his lips, and he closes his eyes.

Zero.

Heinz's hand goes limp. Perry's hand darts up to his neck, checking desperately for a pulse, already knowing the answer awaiting his questioning fingers. There's nothing there.

Sirens wail in Perry's ears. Tires screech and doors slam. Paramedics lift Heinz onto one stretcher, Perry onto another. They're lifted into separate ambulances, then sped off towards the OWCA medical facilities.

Paramedics ask him questions, bandage his wounds. Perry only stares blankly at his wrist. The inked zeroes, formerly a vibrant shade of purple, slowly fade to black.

~~~

The next day, Perry sits in his cubicle, watching the bar cross the screen. This time, he doesn't check his inbox, or answer texts, or drink coffee.

He simply sits and watches the bar go across the screen, his eyes rimmed in red.

The green bar, just a single millimeter from the end, pauses.

The lights go out to groans and curses.

A few seconds later, they come back. A small outage, nothing unusual. Likely someone in Equipment testing something new.

Perry presses the power button again, and the now-empty bar comes back up. The green bar begins its crawl once more.

A futile endeavor. His modern-day rock of Sisyphus. His punishment for thinking he could defeat Death.  

Perry takes pride in the villain being wrong. But what do you do when the villain was inside you, playing on the inevitable reality of your worst fears?

What do you do when the villain is right?

Perry turns away, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. Fresh tears spring to his eyes, threatening to spill over.

His shoulders shake in a silent sob, his stoic expression breaking down into one of pain.

Perry pulls his sleeve down, covering the stopped timers on his left wrist. The numerals inked in jet black. Zero hours, zero minutes, and zero seconds until he meets his soulmate.

Zero hours, zero minutes, and zero seconds until his soulmate dies.

[bobasheebaby]

If i think of what this place used to be and what it is now i really wanna know. do people read fics anymore? it feels like if you're not into trr, you might as well not write which is sad because there are so many other good books to explore and so many talented writers get ignored because everyone just wants to promote their friends. I feel like leaving cause i don't have a place here. Why spend free time writing if no one likes your shit?

It certainly is different than when I came two years ago. Then TRR was somewhere around book 3 right before it started, ES was still updating, we were on the Sophomore and we had so many less books that it wasn’t like writers were stretched thin. We had some others but those were the big updating books, and they all were popular and all had amazing fics written for them.

I think we have three major problems we are dealing with.

1) Tumblr.

The tags barely work. People aren’t being notified. I know I used to get emails for every tag and I would save them so I’d remember to find them later. But then there are people who aren’t getting notified at all.

And let’s not forget that Tumblr keeps changing the rules for the search which makes things more complicated than it needs to be. We used to be able to have links to our Masterlists and tag in the fic and still be found in the search, for a long time that was hiding you.

I was checking for a friend last week and found things I had just posted with links and tags in the search under the tags I used, so hopefully that issue is gone, but we still aren’t getting all our notifications which is hurting us, big time.

2) Too much, too fast.

I love that we are getting new genres and new books but the pace that PB is rolling them out is actually a really big factor in the amount of fics we are seeing for certain books.

Think about it, if you have five books you love, two ideas to write for each, but only time to write three of the stories you are more likely to write for the books that are getting more attention first even if they are older and a more saturated market. We know there is interest in those books and people will read the stories, why write if no one is reading?

So in a way the fact that we are getting so many new books at once is killing our creativity because we still have lives to tend to and can’t write every idea we get.

3) The readers.

Yes I’m calling out the readers cause I’ve noticed that there are so many less reblogs then there used to be.

Likes are nice, but most people have them hidden. If no one can see what you like what is the point of it?

Also unlike AO3 we don’t know every time someone clicked on our fic, so we only know someone read it by a like, reblog, or comment. If people are ghost reading we have no clue and then we feel like we aren’t creating quality content and that’s why no one is reading. But the problem really is that less and less people are reblogging stories they love.

Hell send your favorite writer a few asks and tell them how much their stories mean to you. If they have anon on you can do it that way. Seriously a nice note in our inboxed makes our day.

Want to reblog but have zero words? Use gifs, key smash, put your thoughts in the tags, say ‘omg I love this so much I’m speechless’ because that is worth something too. I love love love when I get long winded comments on my reblogs, but knowing that I made someone speechless feels just as good. I love the tag and gif comments and sometimes those small things say more than a long essay on what you thought about the fic.

There are a few things I can suggest to help out your fellow writers and even yourself.

1) Always reblog your own work.

I know it’s feels needy but Tumblr is worldwide and timezone reblogs are needed especially since notifications suck.

Thank your readers for reblogging, let them know you value them.

2) Make recommendation posts.

This is something I have done in the past and need to get back into but I’m horribly behind. @mfackenthal also does it, anyone can and the more of us doing this the better.

What did you read the past week that you can’t gush about enough? Make a post, link the Masterlist (I know it’s work but it helps so much) and tag the author. Not only are you telling all your followers hey I love X but you are telling them too.

See someone who just started writing and they are incredible but only have three notes? Reblog them, and then recommend them. Seriously it helps.

3) REBLOG WHAT YOU LOVE.

Sorry for the yelling but I can’t say this enough. I say it all the time. I’ve seen people complaining that their dash is dead and no one is writing anymore but the problem is that people are no longer reblogging. So many of the people I love I found from someone else reblogging.

I have a little over 400 blogs I follow and most of them I found from reblogs. That is how I found so many of the writers I love and follow. So do them a favor and reblog and help them get seen. Trust me you aren’t annoying and the author loves you gushing and loves that you are singing their praises.

I’m super behind but always down to be tagged by someone new. I will mention that I never got into AME, BSC, ATV, Save the Date so I would not be a good person to tag in those but I’m mostly open to any pairing, hell I’m the person who put Bastien with Olivia, I don’t mind crack pairs (within reason, I can’t do Connie or Regina, or Neville or Madeline).

Holy shit, sorry for the ten page essay Nonny. Hope all this helps and that you stick out our fandom.

[lady-divine-writes]

Proposal (Rated T)

Summary: When Crowley discovers Aziraphale up late one night, fixing something about himself to make the two of them more of a pair, Crowley offers to lend a hand. (1798 words)

Notes: For the tumblr inbox ask prompt 'proposal'

(AO3)

“Aziraphale?” Crowley grumbles over the front end of a yawn, trundling barefoot from his bedroom to the living room without opening his eyes. “Are you awake already?”

‘Of course, he is,’ he replies to himself when Aziraphale doesn’t – surprising but not too alarming. ‘He barely sleeps so there’s nothing to wake up from.’

Crowley, on the other hand, was deep in the throes of one of the best dreams he’s ever had.

Technically, since demons don’t dream, he implants a thought in his mind before he shuts his eyes. From there, it plays out like a movie inside his brain with him as the director, leading it to the outcome he wants. He hopes this most recent one will someday become a reality. But even with all the powers of his imagination, he can’t lead this dream to fruition on his own.

He needs a little help.

“Aziraphale? Where the Devil are you?”

Crowley briefly considers going back to bed and waiting for Aziraphale there, returning to his beautiful dream, but who knows how long that will be? He’s gotten used to lying beside his angel at night. They’ve slept together every night since they thwarted the Apocalypse. Aziraphale’s presence – his warmth, the sound of his breathing, even that blasted holy light of his – keeps Crowley’s nightmares away.

At this point, Crowley doesn’t think he could sleep peacefully without him.

“Aziraphale?” He reaches the living room, scanning for any speck of light – namely Aziraphale’s aura, which he reads by. But there is no light, no book on the coffee table, no empty mug of cocoa, no sign at all that Aziraphale has been there. Crowley shuffles off and searches the rest of his flat, blinking awake with each step, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eyelids to speed the process along.

“A-zira-phale …” He circles back toward the bedroom when a fluttering, like the beating of a pigeon’s wings as it rises off the pavement, pulls him down the hallway towards the bathroom. “Where art thou, Aziraphale?” he mutters, curious why his angel would be checking his wings at this hour of the night.

Or possibly morning.

He’s too afraid to check the time.

He rounds the corner and gets blinded even though he’s nowhere near the door, the light from the bathroom so incredibly bright, he almost miracles a pair of shades to shield his eyes. But the painful white glow dissolves quickly, leaving behind spots in his vision.

“Azira---?” He stops at the door, shaking the last of the sleep from his brain, and immediately realizes two things. The first - the bright light wasn’t coming from the bulb overhead, but from Aziraphale performing magic. The second is that Aziraphale has changed, his new look seizing Crowley’s heart, sobering him up the second he sets eyes on him.

Aziraphale spots Crowley in the mirror, but not in enough time to hide what he’s done.

“Crowley! Oh!” Aziraphale spins around, reaching behind him, fruitlessly attempting to shove his wings out of sight.

Magicked black wings.

“Aziraphale …” Crowley walks over to him, squinting in confusion “… what are you doing?”

“I was … I was just …” Aziraphale peeks back at the mirror, at himself and his wings, and sighs. “I was trying something new.”

“I’ll say.” Crowley runs a hand down Aziraphale’s right wing, examining the stunning feathers. They look so much like his own, he’s tempted to unfurl his wings to compare. But seeing those black feathers, knowing they’re Aziraphale’s, makes him uneasy. “But why? You love your wings.”

“I thought it might be nice if the two of us … matched. So we seemed more a pair.” Aziraphale cringes, eyes shifting from Crowley’s reflection in the mirror to the bathroom sink, his cheeks cherry red. “It’s asinine, I know.”

“No, it’s not.” Crowley puts his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and kneads gently. “I’m touched that you’d want to change something you cherish so the two of us could match. But black? It isn’t you.”

“It isn’t, huh?”

“No. But if you’d let me, I have an idea …”

Aziraphale watches Crowley raise a hand over his wing. He shakes his head nervously.

“Oh, no! You d-don’t have to ...”

“Angel, I used to design nebulas. You don't trust me to design your wings? “

“Of course, I do. It’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“I don’t …” Aziraphale chews his lower lip, slightly embarrassed “… I don’t want you to humor me. I know I’m being silly.”

Crowley ducks under Aziraphale’s wing so he can look his angel in the eyes. “I’m not humoring you. And I don’t think you’re being silly. So let me help you, all right?”

Aziraphale nods, but that doesn’t mean he necessarily agrees. Crowley can say he approves all he likes, but Aziraphale still feels silly. “All right.”

“Good! Now, let me see, let me see …” Crowley taps his chin in thought. “Let’s go with … something old …” He snaps his fingers, turning Aziraphale’s wings back to white. “Something new …” He runs a hand over his feathers from the shoulder joint outward and silver sparkles appear, dusting Aziraphale’s wings, reminiscent of the stars in the sky.

“H-how are you doing that?” Aziraphale asks, in awe of Crowley’s talent. Demon magic, as far as Aziraphale understands, mostly works by breaking things down. Destroying them. But Crowley’s magic is different. It’s fueled by his imagination. He’s discovered a loophole.

A way to use destruction to create.

“I'm removing some of the color from your feathers. It’s not particularly demonic. You'll be able to fix it if you want.”

“And if I don’t want to fix it?”

Crowley grins. “It’ll stay as long as you let it. Something borrowed ...” Another wave of his hand and the silver stars get ethereal black shadows added to them, giving them depth, making Aziraphale’s wings appear multidimensional. “And something blue, to match your eyes.” With a flourish of his fingers, blue springs up along the bottom edge of Aziraphale’s wings - a soft powder blue lightly brushed along the tips, adding more of a suggestion than a declaration of color. Crowley examines his handiwork front and back, making sure it’s clean and even.

That it’s perfection for his angel.

“I think that does it. What do you think?”

Aziraphale stretches his wings up and out as far as they’ll go for full effect, then flaps to see how they would look in flight. “They’re … they’re gorgeous!” he gasps. “They truly are, but …”

“But?”

Aziraphale chuckles. He gives his wings one last flap, then folds them carefully behind him. “Everything you said … well, you made it sound like we were getting mar---” Aziraphale cuts himself short when a box appears on the sink in front of him, as if by magic. The counter had been clear before. Aziraphale is sure of it “---ried?” He watches Crowley pick the box up and open it, revealing an elegant but simple (surprisingly considering Crowley’s extravagant tastes) platinum band set with a single, pale blue stone in the center. It catches the light overhead, winking at Aziraphale the same way Crowley does. “Is that an … uh …?”

“I think the words you’re looking for are engagement ring.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s it.” Aziraphale turns his head to look at Crowley, staring back at the angel with a smug grin. “I-is it?”

“I would like it to be.”

Aziraphale stares Crowley down, waiting for the catch. The punchline. When there’s isn’t one, he sputters, “A-are you serious?”

“Yes! Aziraphale, we’ve known one another forever. And that’s not me being facetious. We’ve actually known one another forever. Since the beginning of time on Earth. And throughout all of the years we’ve spent here, do you know the one thing I have always looked forward to?”

“What?”

“Seeing you.” Crowley steps behind him, wraps his arms around his waist but keeps the ring ever in Aziraphale’s view. “And now that we live together and I see you every day, I never want to risk losing you. I don’t want you to ever doubt for one minute that the only place I want to be is by your side.”

Aziraphale stares at the ring, too afraid to take it out of its box and examine it. Because that will change everything. And whereas Aziraphale welcomes that change, he wants this moment to last - this stage in between yes and no. “We probably won’t be able to have a proper wedding ceremony, all things considered.”

“So what? We’re an angel and a demon, as you keep reminding me. And we happen to be in love, which is entirely unheard of. We are treading in unexplored country. I think we get to define what marriage means to us. Would that bother you?”

Aziraphale turns in Crowley’s arms, 6000 years’ worth of longing laid to bare in his eyes. “No. Not in the slightest.”

“In fact, we don’t need any kind of ceremony. You’re an angel. I was an angel. I think that gives us both a certain measure of authority in this arena. Here.” Crowley gently pulls out the ring and sets the box aside. He takes Aziraphale’s left hand in his, sliding the ring slowly down his ring finger. “Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate of Eden, you mean everything to me. You are my anchor. My strength. My inspiration. You’re my reason for waking up every morning. After 6000 years on this planet, I have narrowed down everything I adore to one single entity, and that’s you. And I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that it always has been. Will you do me the incredible honor of standing by my side until the sun explodes and this planet drowns in fire?”

Aziraphale frowns. “That’s incredibly vivid.”

“Love me till beyond the end of time?” Crowley continues. “And when all is said and done, accompany me to the end of the cosmos? Because there’s nowhere for me unless you’re there. There is no me without you, Aziraphale. Not anymore.”

“Do you mean all that?”

Crowley’s eyes roll. “I said it, didn’t I? Of course, I mean it. I love you. I think I always have. And I know I always will. So … will you marry me?”

Aziraphale looks at the ring on his finger. It’s precious, so much more to him than the one he’s worn on his pinkie since time began. He has no intention of ever taking it off. But it doesn’t compare to the demon holding him, waiting patiently for an answer.

Waiting for this moment, apparently, for close to 6000 years.

Same as he.

Aziraphale leans back in Crowley’s embrace and smiles.

“I will.”

[hi-its-tutty]

“I Guess I’d Be A Hero...”

paring: hints? of prinxiety? there’s platonic moxiety!

wc: 1615

tw: mentions of death, weaponry, violence (it’s a shrek the musical au i mean what do you expect-)

summary: Patton asks Virgil if he ever dreamed of what he could be, instead of who he is, and Virgil, well, Virgil gives the most honest answer he can. (Shrek the Musical au!)

All of his life, Virgil had to stop himself from dreaming. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly completely true. From the moment he turned seven and was told by his parents that he’d be completely ostracized from society and never be seen as nothing more than a threat, he had to stop himself from dreaming. He still remembered the words they told him.

“It’s a big bright beautiful world out there,” his mom told him, cupping his cheek and wiping away his tears (he had just been told that they were sending him away. Could you blame him for crying?). “A magical land full of sunshine and happiness, and every dream comes true! But not for you!”

Needless to say, Virgil didn’t exactly have the best outlook on life. 

How could he? Every time anyone saw him, they screamed and turned the other direction. He didn’t have to roar half the time to get those widened eyes and that terrified look (but the roar definitely helped to get them running away). He always heard the same exact thing every single time. “O-o-ogre!” they whimpered before Virgil took a single step towards them and they started screaming (and Jesus Christ people had shrill screams). 

He never considered not being on ogre. It was too painful to pretend that he could be anything but completely terrifying. That he would ever amount to anything other than a figure of fear. That he would ever be seen as anything other than green and scary. (And seriously, why green? It was probably the ugliest color on the planet. Why couldn’t he be colored a better color, like purple? If he had to stick out from society, at least make it slightly less disgusting. Though, with his life, it made sense that he was doomed to be the worst color in existence.)

“No, Patton. I cannot, and never will be able to be anything other than an ogre,” he said when Patton, a talking donkey who he was forced to travel with to rescue a princess-that-turned-out-to-be-a-prince (long story) asked him if he ever thought about being anything other than an ogre. 

“Come on, Virgil! You’ve never thought of it?” Patton asked. 

Once. He’s thought of it once. It was the day he was kicked out of his cushy life with semi-loving parents. He spent hours walking in silence in a random direction, thinking about ways his life could’ve gone different if he was literally any other person. Then, as soon as he started smiling to himself at the thought of being in a cozy home, with a fireplace and his mom and dad being there to smile and kiss him goodnight, he saw a person who screamed “Ogre! Big, fat, ugly ogre!” and ran away.

Virgil hasn’t thought of it since. 

“No. Never,” he said, semi-lying but who cares? He wasn’t exactly a beacon of honesty. 

“Well, why don’t you think of it now? Come on, just answer the question! If you could be anyone but an ogre, what would you be?” Patton insisted, with that smile of his that Virgil (begrudgingly, and he’d never, ever admit it) had barely begun to slightly enjoy. 

“I’d be an ogre, but living in my swamp, away from anyone and everyone,” Virgil deadpanned, just staring off into the stars. 

“Just play along! Okay, if a guy held a sword at you, like held you at sword point and said, ‘Look here! You can’t be an ogre anymore! Pick something else!’ what would you say?” Patton asked, sitting too close to Virgil for his liking.

“Okay, first of all, bold of you to assume I wouldn’t let him stab me, and second of all, I would just pick him up and hurl him into a tree, how’s that for an answer?” Virgil said, decidedly not looking at Patton (he swore, if he heard a single sniffle come from that guy). 

Silence. 

No sniffle. 

“What do you have against the world, Virgil?” Patton asked quietly. 

“I don’t have anything against the world, Patton. It’s the world that has something against me. Look at me, look at Roman! You saw how he reacted when he saw me! People take one look at me and they run for their lives. They judge me before they even know me,” Virgil said, not looking at Patton. He wasn’t sure if he could right now. “That’s why I’m better off alone.”

“You know, Virgil, when we met, I didn’t go running for my life,” Patton said, making Virgil actually turn to look at him. 

There was Patton, hairy face and all. Those weird circles of black fur around his eyes that made him look like he had glasses. Just sitting down weirdly, like a dog. Concerned. Caring. It almost made Virgil sick. 

But it didn’t. Unless a little lifting of his heart counted as being sick. 

“Yeah, I know,” Virgil said quietly, offering the tiniest tilt upwards of the corner of his mouth. 

���So there’s really no one else you’d rather be?” Patton asked softly. 

Virgil turned back to look at the stars, as if they had an answer, and he thought and he thought and he thought. He couldn’t bear to think that he could be anything other than what he was. He accepted long ago that he was forced to be in this body, in this life. Thinking otherwise hurt too much. 

Virgil scoffed. This whole thing was stupid, anyway. What was the point of hoping that he could be anything different than what he was? He turned back to Patton, ready to say that he was done with this question, and that they should just go to bed, but then he saw those stupid hopeful eyes and a small smile, and he just couldn’t break his heart. 

“I guess I’d be a hero, with the shining armor and everything,” Virgil said, turning back to the sky. “I’d have a sword and a shield, who knows, maybe I’d look semi-decent too.” 

“Hey, you look perfectly decent right now!” Patton said, making Virgil turn back to him, a deadpan expression on his face. 

“I meant what I said,” Patton said unapologetically, and Virgil laughed before continuing. 

 “Or, you know, I’d be like, a viking or something. Traveling the seas and going on dangerous quests everyday as I fight for glory.” Virgil was starting to smile now, his mind filled with thoughts that he hadn’t let himself think since he was seven. “I’d go on adventures everyday, taste the water and smell the sea.

“Or, you know, I could be a poet. They’re cool. I could spin stories out of nothing, telling tales of daring adventures, and love and happily ever afters. The stars would like, give me inspiration or something, or at least that’s what I’d tell everyone. Really, I’d get all my inspiration from the village, and by watching the little kids play random games.” 

Virgil turned to Patton, who was watching everything with a smile. “I think that’s who I’d be.” 

“Then why don’t you? You could go on adventures, you know. We’re on one right now. You could become a poet and break the stereotypes of ogres,” he said, his voice way too optimistic for what Virgil was saying. 

“And what opportunities would I have to do that, Patton?” Virgil asked, feeling his heart sink. “Look at me. I’m an ogre whether I like it or not. I’m forced to hide away in my swamp, growling at everyone who dares step into the goop.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I’m forced to stay alone. In the dark. With nobody.”

“But if things were different…”

“If things were different, I’d definitely be a hero,” Virgil decided, looking down and nodding to himself. “I’d scale a large tower, and defeat a large dragon with one swipe of my completely polished sword, I’d gain glory for myself, and for the princess I’m supposed to save! Or, you know, prince.” He glanced at the cave Prince Roman was sleeping in. Something about going to sleep before sunset so he could catch his beauty sleep. Whatever. “I’d climb up the tower, and declare that I was his rescuer. We would stand in the tower, and look off into the sky. I’d tell him stories of my dashing adventure. And once sunset hit, we’d have true loves kiss, and I’d have a perfect hero’s ending. A happily ever after.” Virgil smiled, imagining the possibilities of this new world. He swore he could see the stars dance in the sky, telling the story of Virgil, the brave knight. “Wouldn’t that be the life,” he muttered, looking wistful. “It really would be a big, bright, beautiful world.”

Virgil sighed, and turned back to Patton, whose eyes had gone misty, and he was sniffling. “But it’s not. At least, not for me.” 

If things were different…

If he wasn’t a goddamn ogre. 

“You said you were better off being alone,” Patton said quietly.

“I am,” Virgil replied with a shrug, remembering why he didn’t think of this kind of stuff. Reality always came to stab him in the back, reminding him that no, he would not get a happy ending. His happily ever after ended with him being defeated, and the town rejoicing. His ended included pitchforks and torches, not wedding bells and sunsets. 

“But you’re not alone,” Patton said, scooting closer to Virgil. “You have me.”

Virgil huffed a laugh, and put his arm around Patton. “I guess I do.”

And as they both stared off into the stars in the sky, Virgil allowed himself the slightest sliver of hope. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to dream. Not if he had someone to dream with him. 

thank you for reading! and if you'd like, check out my ao3! or, if you like what i do, drop me a request in my inbox, or even drop me a ko-fi! thank you again, it means the world to me! hope you have a wonderful day! <3

[littlelonghairedoutlawllho]

Re: make our sun stand still -- honestly at this point, these stories are so far removed from POTO how is it even fanfiction anymore? You should write original fiction. Also, your "historically detailed author's note": "sorelli's own TB is left intentionally vague" -- if you can't put that across as a writer, go back and re-work it. "FFN character limit should be abolished for my summary" -- a summary has to be tight. If you can't do it in like 3 sentences, it isn't a summary, is it?

I had a few initial responses to this, ranging from bleary-eyed comprehension at half six in the morning to intense anxiety, something that resembled a bitter laugh, and a brief flare of anger that was mercifully short.

Also, oddly, relief.

Anon, I’ve been expecting this message for some time. I expected it last week, with my Philippe/Sorelli stories, I expected it with the Tinder ‘verse, and with love-light, and the Delta stories, and Digging Up Bones, and a host of other times that it never came. That it has come now has caused me to step back and wonder, why? I’ve been expecting it for so long that I expected it with Soft Place to Fall almost through second-nature. I did get one very like this, last year, with Running Through the Rain, and it contributed to a night of alcohol poisoning that I have no desire to remember.

Anon, what is the definition of fanfiction? It is fan generated content about a set of characters created by somebody else. Anon, what is the definition of an alternate universe? The taking of those characters and placing them in a world different to their own.

Every act of fic writing creates an AU, no matter how closely the writer adheres to canon, because every act of fic writing creates a story already fundamentally different to canon.

Anon, what is the definition of PotO fanfiction?

A fan-generated piece of content about characters originating in Phantom of the Opera. Last I checked those were the origins of Sorelli. I simply imagined how she might be in a different set of circumstances. Admittedly a very different set of circumstances, but she is Sorelli nonetheless.

The prompt I received, that led to the creation of this fic, called simply for something featuring Christine, Sorelli, time travel, and mutual pining. There was no compunction on me to set the fic in the canon era. I freely admit canon-era France is something I know a very limited amount about. I am a historian, but that setting is not my area of research.

I do write original fiction. I’ve had a story broadcast nationally and it is available online and I have spoken about it here in the past. I’ve had scraps of poetry published. I am working on the third draft of a novel. None of that means that I can’t also write fic. None of that means that I can’t take someone else’s characters and set them in a wildly different world.

I can, and I will, and I have.

If you don’t like it you don’t have to read it. The evidence is that you have read it because you quote from my own author’s note. That particular line, about the source of Sorelli’s own tuberculosis, exists because I know some readers would like a clear-cut answer on it. The body of the fic itself provides no less than three potential sources of infection. Tuberculosis was endemic in the Ireland of the 1920s, and the 1930s, and the 1940s, and before. 60,000 people died of the disease in the approximate period of 1932-1947, a period when the total population barely reached 3 million, and those fatality figures likely are only a partial picture, due the stigma around the disease, the reluctance to put it down as cause of death on a death certificate, and the multiplicity of atypical presentations of it. Even the three sources of infection I provide may not be the one that caused it in this one (fictional) case.

The fic itself has all of the historical details and explanations it needs. The author’s note simply provides some additional context, because I for one like when a historically-based fic does that. I am a historian, a historian of medicine as well as of politics and agriculture, and this is my failing. I can delete the note if you want, but I don’t think it would make you happy.

You also grossly overstate my comment on the FFN summary character limit. The actual comment was “summarising something like this is a bitch and frankly the FFN character limit should be abolished.” It was written in response to circumstance — I wrote the summary for the fic on AO3, attempted to copy and paste it into the box on FFN, and had to cut it down to make it fit. That does not inherently change the content of either the fic or the summary, it purely impacted the flow and readability of the summary. Personally, I prefer when cross-posted fics have the same summary on multiple sites and when it somewhat reflects the tone of the story. It is a simple matter of taste and prevents so much confusion. I frequently find FFN an unwieldy site — and have mentioned this on a number of occasions in the past — and for a fic like this the tagging system on AO3 works so much better than a mere summary and two restrictive genre tags. But again, that is a matter of taste.

And when was the last time you read a novel — or a historical text — summarized in less than three sentences? Three very short sentences at that.

But to return to the matter of fanfiction, and what defines it. PotO is, quite frankly, the most conservative fandom I’ve ever been in, AU-wise. In fact in most regards. Have you ever searched through the multiplicity of AUs available for things like Sherlock or Wynonna Earp or Harry Potter on AO3? In the case of Harry Potter, a huge amount of them don’t even involve magic. There are historical AUs of every shape and form, including westerns, including war stories. They are all as entitled to being called fanfiction as something that strictly adheres to the most obvious senses of the word.

‘make our sun stand still’ would not work at all as a piece of original fiction. That is one extremely obvious fact about it, even setting aside details. The very means of the time travel in the story — to be explored further through Christine’s perspective — are derived from The Time Traveler’s Wife, and I will be citing that. There are a number of other things that I would not have felt comfortable including if it had been an original piece. All of those changes would result in a wildly different story, and frankly I believe something would be lost by implementing those changes, and not merely my own self-indulgent enjoyment of it.

Just because it doesn’t look like your typical piece of PotO fic does not mean it cannot exist as PotO fic. I freely admit my stories are not for everyone. I have not adhered to the most common principles of PotO fic in more than two years. Possibly I’ve only adhered to it a handful of times in the last four years. I have posted 197 PotO fics (a total of 641,241 words, 77.4% of my entire fic output), and that is not fully reflective of the 48 one-shots contained in the Fragmentations collection, or the host of one-shots and snippets posted here that never made it to fic sites. If we were limited to the most doctrinaire conception of PotO fic, a good 90% of my fics would not exist. Possibly only 10 would exist, possibly only 5. Possibly none and would that make you happy? And if so, perhaps you ought to wonder why.

But it’s not just me. Should every fic writer adhere to the most doctrinaire conception of it, all originality in fic would be lost. Fic is an incredibly innovative and fertile literary field. It feeds into itself in a self-sustaining loop. The fic read for one fandom influences the fic written and enjoyed in another fandom. The backgrounds of the fic writers themselves inform the fics they write — not just setting and speech and sexuality, but a variety of other things too. If I were not a historian, most of my fics would not exist. If I were not a farmer, they would not exist either. If I were not Irish, there are at least 70,000 words of fic that would not exist. If I were not a queer woman, I likely would never have started writing fic at all.

We cannot wholly divorce a fic from the person writing it, and nor should we, just as we cannot wholly divorce it from its canon. And no matter how full a fic is of original elements, it remains a fic, because some if not all of the characters will have been sourced from somebody else’s work. They may have a different accent and a different background and a different skin colour and a different taste in romantic and sexual partners, but there will always be that seed of them that came from canon. So if it’s called fic and it’s posted to a fic site, chances are it works better as fic than as an original work.

So perhaps, Anon, you ought to take a step back, and reflect a little, and look around you, before you wander into my inbox. Chances are I’ve already asked myself the questions you’re posing, and formed a conclusion, and with the information I have access to about myself and my work those conclusions are not going to change just because you couldn’t allow yourself to think outside the box.

[demonsonthemoon]

Veni, Vedi - Chapter 6

Fandom: Pacific Rim Pairings: Eventual Newt/Hermann/Vanessa Word Count: 7091 Summary: Everything changed after they collapsed the Breach. Newt lost the thing he had dedicated his life to. Hermann lost all of his certainties, and gained a family. Vanessa found something to hope for again. And, somehow, all of their lives got tangled together.

Also available on AO3.

NEWT

Newt stared at Hermann in silence, smile frozen on his lips.

If you so despise my perfect little life, I suggest you walk out of it right now.

Newt had wanted to get a rise out of Hermann, to make him react. That was always what he was doing. Newt was aware of his own issues, to an extent, and so he knew of his self-destructive tendencies, and he knew that his favorite method of destruction had always been Hermann.

But this hadn't been what he truly wanted, he realised now. Because Hermann had the upper hand, like always. He had a way to cut him out. Maybe Hermann was as lost as Newt, even if it hurt him to admit it. But at least he didn't need him. There were other people that he could rely on.

Newt had dug this hole for himself, it was time to lie in it.

Instead of letting the fight escalate, he just stayed silent. Hermann stared him down for a few more seconds, then stormed out of the room.

Newt's muscles immediately relaxed, in an almost painful way. He could feel his whole body shake from the tension. Nervous laughter started bubbling inside his stomach. He wasn't exactly sure what – if anything – was funny, but he couldn't help himself. He muffled the giggles against one of his arms. The last thing he needed was for Hermann to come back inside and berate him for making light of the situation.

Maybe it was because of how ridiculous he and Hermann were acting. Maybe it was because of how ridiculous the whole human race seemed, scrabbling for meaning in a world that had tilted its axis. Maybe it was because of how ridiculous it felt to have his e-mail inbox filled with messages from various government agencies.

He hadn't really meant what he had said about Hermann's life. Actually, he thought bitterly, he was surprised it hadn't been obvious how jealous he felt of it. Hermann seemed able to fit into the patterns of his old existence with ease. Newt was just starting to realise how dangerous his tendency to burn every bridges he crossed could be.

He let his laughter turn into sobs, not caring as much anymore about whether the noises would get noticed or not. Let Hermann be disgusted with him. Let him blame it all on Newt's splendid personality, as he called it. Newt knew how to push people away. That was at least one thing he was still good at, in this now kaiju-less world.

He wiped at his eyes and closed his computer. The sleeve of his white shirt was wet with tears and snot. He sighed. He was quickly running out of clothes, what with only bringing one suitcase with him. Maybe he really should start looking for somewhere else to stay. Somewhere where he wouldn't feel like he was intruding. Somewhere where he wouldn't have to face Hermann.

Newt knew that Hermann wasn't okay, despite his façade. And he knew that it was his own fault. Because Hermann had accepted to drift with him, without time to weigh the consequences, and his perfect brain had been ruined in the process. Because Newt wasn't able to do things on his own like he was supposed to.

Newt stood up, put on a sweater and his jacket above his dirty shirt, and all but ran out of the apartment building.

Standing on the threshold, looking up at the home he had just left, Newt realised he hadn't been outside for three days. The air here tasted different than in Hong Kong. Colder. There were less people around, at least in this neighbourhood. Newt was quite happy about that, having made the realisation while on a bus to the airport that him and crowds didn't get along quite so well anymore. He had handled the incident like a champ, with only a minimal amount of screaming and just a tiny panic attack, but he wasn't eager to go for Round 2. He had had enough nightmares about Otachi already, he didn't need to seek them out in his waking life.

God, if Otachi had forever ruined concerts for him, he was going to be pissed.

Standing in the cold, Newt also realised he didn't really know where he was. He had taken the bus on his way here, sure, but couldn't even remember which direction he had come from. He shoved his hands inside his pockets and started walking anyway.

He groaned when his left leg started hurting after only a few hundred meters. He walked faster. That would teach his body what pain was his and what wasn't. He found a bus stop at some point. He wasn't sure how long he had been walking for and if the stop was the same one he had first arrived at, but he waited there anyway. He climbed in the first bus that came by, bought his ticket and sat down. He watched the city pass by for a while, then got off and took another bus.

He finally ended up near the Spreeinsel in Mitte. There were a few tourists there. Europe was far away from the Pacific and some of the people here were still able to enjoy the luxury of going on holidays. Still, it was far calmer than it would have been before the Kaiju War. There were more people sitting on sidewalks too, homeless and refugees.

Newt was slowly starting to realise how paradoxical the situation in Shatterdomes had been. He had been one of the people closest to the front line, had seen kaiju remains up close and walked through the destruction the creatures had caused. But he had no idea what the longterm consequences of this conflict had been. He had no idea how fucked the economy was, what measures which countries were taking, which governments were trying to send back refugees where they came from now that the threat had collapsed back into its own universe. For more than ten years he had been living in a small bubble of metal and hierarchy, and now he was facing the fall back to reality.

Wasn't this the exact thing he had told Hermann?

Newt groaned. His feet were hurting. It wasn't some kind of phantom drift-pain anymore, but the real-life, physical pain of walking for too long after months without exercise. He found an empty bench and sat down, looking at the Spree river.

The current was slow. He would probably be able to swim against it if he tried.

He probably shouldn't try.

It had been a long time since he had last swum, though. He could remember holidays with his mother, on the rare occasions where she would take him with her. He remembered golden beaches and warm water, so clear he could see tiny fish go past him. He remembered watching the dead bodies of jellyfish and prodding them with a stick.

He remembered waves hitting his legs, rain in his eyes, foreign smells and foreign colors all around him. He remembered being a kaiju.

Newt was angry. At Hermann, at himself, at the PPDC, at the governments, at the world at large and even at another universe. He was angry and frustrated and for once, just for once, he didn't feel like caring at all. He watched the Spree go its merry course, and let himself be carried away by the memories.

His body became massive, powerful instead of weak, stable instead of insecure. Newt could remember what it was like to never be alone, to have dozens of voices in his head all at the same time, to have hundreds of thoughts always running through his head and never lose track of one of them. He felt at home, surrounded by that hurricane of sound. More at home than in the silence he'd been living in in the last month, one he remembered from too much medication and a house that was empty at night.

A couple walked in front of him, and Newt bared his teeth. He was ready to fight if he had to. Fight for his right to live, for his right to exist. Fight because it was the only thing he knew how to do. Fight and destroy because that was the meaning behind being alive.

Again, he did not know how long he stayed there, watching the water. He did not know how much longer he would have stayed either if his phone hadn't started to ring, breaking the illusion and bringing him back to his tiny body and the coolness of a German evening.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and brought it to his ear without checking the caller ID.

“Newt Geiszler?” he said, voice sluggish, as if the sounds were foreign to him.

“Newt? This is Vanessa.”

He froze. Why would she be calling him? Hermann had to have explained their arguments. Was she going to tell him that she had put his suitcase in the lobby, for him to pick up whenever he wanted? It wasn't Vanessa's style, not from what Newt knew of her. And she had been the one to offer he stay with them in the first place, so...

“Uh... Yes?” Eloquent. Nice.

“Listen. I know you two had a fight but... Hermann is acting... off.” She sounded genuinely worried, too much for Newt not to feel the same anxiety shoot up through him as well. “I can't get him to respond to me. At all. Could you... Could you come back? And see whether you can do something? I know it's a lot to ask. I'm sorry.”

“I'm on my way,” Newt replied, without having to think about it. He had been ready to leave since Vanessa had said something was wrong with Hermann. It was the way it was and the way it had always been. As much as he was angry with the man he knew he couldn't leave him on his own.

Even when Newt truly believed that he had come to hate Hermann Gottlieb, physics genius and writer of passionate e-mails, kindred spirit in a desert of intellectual desolation, absolute asshole with uptight manners and disdain written on his every feature, even when he truly believed he had come to hate Hermann, he had always been there to defend him and his theories. He had always been there to defend Hermann as a person too, to be honest. But that part he had tried to handle more discretely.

“Okay,” Vanessa said with a relieved sigh. “Okay.”

There was so much fear in her voice. Newt started running towards the closest bus stop. “He'll be fine, 'Nessa. We'll make sure he's fine. But you've got to hold on until I get there, okay? Stay with him. Keep talking to him.” Newt had no idea what he was doing. He had no idea what was going on and how he was going to help. But he couldn't do nothing, not like the past two days. If this was going to be another war, he wasn't scared to go on the front line anymore. Or, more accurately, he was terrified, but he would do it anyway.

He also knew that Vanessa needed to feel useful. She needed something to do, or she would lose it. Newt felt bad to instinctively use this knowledge and manipulate her, but he thought the situation justified the means. “I'm hanging up now. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

He was out of breath as he finally reached the bus stop. He quickly googled the quickest itinerary, keeping an eye out for a potential cab in the meantime. He ended up taking a bus, an S-Bahn, then a second bus, and arrived at the Gottliebs' apartment exhausted and nervous.

He rang the bell and waited, shifting from foot to foot and shivering. Vanessa buzzed him in without even checking who was there, and he climbed the stairs two by two, ignoring the elevator altogether. He was out of breath when he finally knocked on the Gottliebs' door, and truly wondered whether he should take up jogging. Except he knew he wouldn't, because the choice between sports and more time to do science was really not even worth talking about.

Vanessa opened the door and immediately gestured for him to go into the living-room. Hermann was sitting on the couch/bed and staring out the window. The only reason they knew he was alive was the way his chest moved with every of his breath. He was perfectly still otherwise. The fact that he was sitting in the exact same way he had been with Newt when they had talked together about their nightmares was all too obvious, and Newt bit his lip. So it was his fault again.

He crouched down in front of Hermann and looked into his eyes. At least he was blinking, but there was no life in his gaze. Newt waved a hand in front of Hermann's face, frowning when the eyes didn't even catch on the movement. He looked up to Vanessa, who shook her head.

“I don't know what to do. He's been like that since I came back and I can't get him to respond.”

Newt nodded. The only logical response to this situation was panic.

“Hermann?” He snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face. “Hey. You're freaking your wife out here, man. Actually, you're freaking me out too. Say something, come on!”

There was no response. Newt hadn't seriously expected one anyway.

VANESSA

Vanessa watched as Newt tried to get her husband to react, to no avail. Her arms were crossed around her chest, partly as a way to conceal her shaking hands.

Had she been wrong? Were Newt and Hermann really as unable to help each other as they seemed to think they were? Were they maybe even making each other worse? Had she made things worse? Was she going to have to watch her husband wither away in front of her, unable to help?

She couldn't think like that. She had to keep trying, and give Hermann and Newt a chance to keep trying as well. She had to believe in the bright future she wished for, if only because it seemed so impossible to realise right now. So many things had been impossible before and happened anyway. She couldn't give up now.

“I... I'm gonna make myself something to drink,” she said, looking for something to do that would occupy her hands. “Do you want some coffee?”

Newt looked up from where he was crouching on the floor. He forced his expression not to express any panic, and Vanessa was grateful, even if she saw through the facade. “Uh... Yeah. That would be nice. Thanks.”

She nodded and went to the kitchen. In the relative privacy, she forced herself to take deep breaths and try to calm down. Hermann had been fine earlier. A bit distant, defensive, but Vanessa had immediately understood why once she noticed that Newt had been gone. He'd explained that they'd had a fight, that Newt had stormed off, but he was confident that he would be back.

Vanessa had kissed him softly and then gone to take a nap, and once she had woken up she had found him frozen in place, eyes fixed on the horizon.

She started making coffee, and considered making herself an infusion instead, but decided against it. Coffee was comforting to her, and she needed everything that could help right now.

When she came back to the living-room with the two mugs, Newt was seated on the floor, one of Hermann's hands in his. He was looking at the pale skin like it might hold the answer to all of life's mysteries. Vanessa knew the feeling.

She put Newt's mug on the coffee table, then sat down in an armchair, watching the two men.

Newt nodded his thanks for the drink, but kept his eyes trained on Hermann.

“What happened exactly?” she asked. Hermann had only given her one side of the story, and without many details. She needed more, if she wanted to actually understand.

Newt didn't turn to look at her, as if ashamed to do so.

“I'm not gonna judge you or be mad. Like I said, I already know that you two had a fight. I just want to know what happened so I can try to piece together what the fuck is going on.” It wasn't a habit of hers to swear, but she would have to watch her language for years after Victoria's birth. So she was going to enjoy this way of voicing her frustration while she still had it.

“That's fair.” He stepped back from Hermann. There was only one armchair in the room, and the other option was to sit next to Hermann on the bed. So Newt just crossed his legs and faced Vanessa, still on the ground. “Totally justified. You're right.”

Vanessa frowned. Newt was nervous. Newt was stalling. She glared at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, that? That is exactly the expression Hermann gets when he's unimpressed with me but there are too many people around for him to start shouting. You know, I didn't really believe people when they said that married couple start to look alike, but this is actually kind of freaky so... And yep. There is the gaze telling me to get back on topic or something bad will happen. Sorry.”

Vanessa was having a hard time keeping her expression demanding, despite the seriousness of the situation. Newt made her think of herself, and how she would start babbling in the same way whenever she got nervous.

“Okay. So we had a fight. Kind of a big fight? I insulted his life-choices and he told me that if I hated them so much I should probably just walk out of here. I cried a little, possibly? Then I left. I only came back after you called me. I didn't think... I didn't think anything would happen, I didn't mean to-”

“What started the fight?” Vanessa interrupted. She didn't think Newt was actually responsible for the situation, even if he seemed to blame himself. But she didn't have the time to comfort Newt either, not until they had figured things out.

“Uh... We were talking about the future. And about how I have absolutely no clue what I'm gonna do with the rest of my life. And how he pretends that he does, but he's actually scared too. I mean... I'm not making this up, right? You must have noticed this too?”

Vanessa hesitated, then nodded. She knew she could trust Hermann, and he kept telling her that he knew what he was doing, knew what he wanted. He kept telling her that he wanted to be here and that he was happy. But it wasn't impossible for him to be lying to himself.

“But, like... He was fine when I left. He was super pissed, but he was fine. He was in his office when I walked out...”

“I talked to him, before he... became like this. But then I took a nap, and when I woke he wasn't responding.”

Newt seemed slightly relieved that at least there was a chance this hadn't been caused by their fight directly. Vanessa took a sip of her coffee. They still were no closer to figuring what was going on or how to fix it.

“Has something like this ever happened before?” Newt asked. Vanessa was surprised, as she had been on the verge of asking the same question herself. She thought about it.

“I'm not sure. Never anything this bad but... I guess he gets lost in memories, sometimes. He starts staring into space. But he'll usually snap out of it if you call for him.”

Newt nodded. “Yeah, you mentioned that the other night. That I did it too. But what could be different about today that lead to him staying stuck?”

Vanessa was fairly confident Newt was only talking to himself and didn't expect a reply, but she felt obligated to give him one anyway. “Well. You're here.”

“What?”

“I don't want to... accuse you of anything. I don't think it's really your fault. But since you're here, and the two of you are connected, and you had your fight... maybe that made the... memory drift stronger. Or something.”

Newt's eyes widened. “Memory-drift! That's it! Vanessa, you're a genius!”

She frowned. She didn't see how her insight was actually of any help. “I'm flattered but... What am I a genius for, actually?”

“A memory-drift! That's what this is! A drift! A connection. A two-way link!” Newt seemed really excited, and got up from the floor. “I went to the Spreeinsel when I left. I stared at the water for a long time. A really long time. I wanted to... get lost in the memories. I did it intentionally. But Hermann? Well, I'm not sure if I'm right at all, but if we think about this like a drift... It's actually not just a one-way or even two way connection. It actually goes in three directions. Pilot/Pilot/Jaeger, or Me/Hermann/Kaiju. And maybe... maybe the connection is still there partly, and so it also works with Me/Memories/Hermann. Like a powerful ghost-drift. I think I've had it happen to me before, a bit, when...”

Newt trailed off, then raised his eyes towards Vanessa, an apology in them.

“When we were still in the Shatterdome. He missed you. He missed you a lot, and sometimes I would get waves of... of missing you too. Not really, because I don't actually know you, but I would get hit by all these memories he has of you, and I would just feel what he was feeling, you know? Well, no. You don't know. Obviously you don't.” He started playing with the cuff of his sweater. “And I thought it was just my mind fixating on these memories on its own. Because I missed... having someone to go home too. But maybe he did influence me in some way. Maybe I got lost in those specific memories so easily because he was thinking about them as well.”

He started drumming his fingers against one of his thighs. He thought in a visible way. You could read on his face how his brain was chasing after different theories, disecting them one after the other, selecting the best ones even as he talked. It was fascinating.

In that moment, Vanessa felt like she knew her husband better than ever before. She remembered seeing him smile at his computer screen, and feeling jealous for a while until her boyfriend beckoned her over so she could take a look. He had explained to her how Newt's theories were great, flawed but amazing, beautiful. How he went further in his research than anyone else, despite their lack of comparative samples. She had tried her best to understand, then, but she couldn't see the beauty in those things in the same way that Newt and Hermann did. That was one reason why she had never done anything with her engineering degree. She couldn't believe in it like Hermann believed in numbers.

But she could see the beauty in the way Newt was thinking now, entire body focused on the task.

“If he really was influencing me before through a ghost-drift... Maybe this time I was the one influencing him.”

“What memories were you looking for, then? When you left?”

Newt froze, then looked down at his lap. Vanessa feared she already knew the answer.

“I...” Newt seemed to realize there was no point in lying, not when they were on the same team. “The kaiju. I was going through some of the kaiju's memories.”

Vanessa couldn't help but wince, even if she had expected it. She remembered how Hermann had described it, being this kind of beast, losing his humanity until all he wanted was to destroy. “Why would you do that?”

Newt still didn't look at her. “ I was angry. I was angry and scared. They... It's just so easy to lose yourself when you think about the kaiju. Not just because they're... interesting. They're connected. They have this sort of hive mentality, a shared mind. Hermann and I tapped into that when we drifted. We could access everything every kaiju has ever thought. Because all their memories are shared. That kind of knowledge, that kind of power, it's... thrilling. You know how, in a concert, you can be overwhelmed just by the atmosphere, the connectedness you feel? Everyone around you is dancing to the same music and thinking the same things, and it's so much and so beautiful that it makes you want to cry. That's what drifting with a kaiju is like. Except for the part where it's terrifying.”

Vanessa stared, and didn't say anything. How could she? To her, kaiju were danger. Kaiju were war and destruction, kaiju were consequences impossible to deal with, millions of lives lost. They were the monsters that had taken her life away from her. She would never be able to see the beauty in them.

She looked down at Newt's arms, covered by his shirt and sweater, where she knew tattoos were hiding. How foolish and how brave to wear death on one's skin. Like carving on epitaph on your bedroom door. Hermann had thought the same, before. But if she asked him today, what would his answer be?

“Vanessa...”

“How do we get him out? How do we get him to snap out of the memories, the ghost-drift?”

Newt froze, than shook his head in apology. Vanessa felt herself moving closer and closer to her snapping point. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream at him and punch him, maybe break his stupid glasses, because she had brought him into her home, a perfect stranger, she had brought him into her family, she had made his bed and taught him how to use the stove and still he was useless when she needed him the most. In that moment, she thought she knew what he and her husband felt when they chased their memories' power.

“I... I don't know. I'm not sure? If this was an actual drift we could program the machine to pull him out. We can't do that here. And I never had any problem to snap out of it, so... I don't know why he's stuck.” He looked down at his hands. “Sorry. I'm gonna try. I promise I'm gonna try.”

They finished their coffee and tried to talk to Hermann some more. He still looked as much like a statue as he had before. The tried to shake him, to no avail, and after a while Vanessa just couldn't stand it anymore. She had already tried all of that.

She excused herself and went to the bathroom, splashing water on her face and staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired and frustrated, her eyes puffy and red. Her hair was also starting to get too long, she would need to get a haircut. But that was fine. That was okay. That was something she could fix, and she would fix it. She breathed, in and out, then jumped and banged her toe against a cupboard when she heard a commotion coming from the living-room.

She swore at her clumsiness, but went to the living-room as fast as she could despite the pain. The first thing she noticed was that Hermann wasn't sitting on the couch anymore. Then she realised that the noise she had heard had been caused by Newton falling to the ground and hitting the coffee table. Luckily, it was wooden, not made of glass.

Above Newton, one hand to the ground and one gripping Newt's arm, was Hermann. He was breathing heavily and, although his posture was definitely agressive, the only thing Vanessa could see in his eyes was confusion.

“Hermann!” she shouted.

He let go of Newt's arm and turned towards her, eyes blinking in confusion. He then tried to stand up, but wobbled and nearly fell back down. Newt sat up quickly to support him, but whined as he did so. From what Vanesse could guess, he had probably hurt his head when falling, and the speed of his movement had made him dizzy.

“Dude. Just sit down,” Newt said. “It will help both of us. I think I need to sit down too.”

Hermann did as he was told, and Newt flopped down next to him with a groan, rubbing at his head.

Vanessa was left standing awkwardly in one corner of the room. “So. What happened, exactly?”

HERMANN

Hermann's head felt like a tiny room in which a dozen of drums were beating out of time. His vision was shaky, like some colors were missing from it, and he felt like he was floating just outside of his body.

“What happened?”

That was the question. He had a vague memory of being unable to work after the argument he'd had with Newton and coming back to the kitchen to find him gone. Then Vanessa came back, they talked a little, but she was tired and went into the bedroom to rest. Then... Hermann had wanted to sit down a while and collect his thoughts, and suddenly he had found himself with Newton pinned under him, one hand gripping his arms and teeth bared at the other's throat.

His head was killing him. His shoulder too.

Hermann raised a hand to it, and was surprised at the sharp pain that echoed through him as soon as his fingers touched it.

“Yeah, I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Newton said guiltily. Hermann glared at him. “Like... don't put any pressure on there. I kind of... had to punch you.”

“You what?” Vanessa exclaimed.

Newton winced. “I punched him, okay? There was a reason for it! I didn't do it just for the hell of it, you know!” He had turned towards Vanessa with his hands raised in the air, as if placating a wild animal. Seeing the fury painted on his wife's face, Hermann could understand why. He felt something twist inside of him at the sight, because he knew this was his fault, that Vanessa was angry because she'd been worried about him. Again.

“He was chasing kaiju memories. I thought that physical harm might force him to react on instinct and snap out of it. It worked! I mean, he did attack me and nearly took a bite of me, but he ended up snapping out of it! So it worked!”

Hermann felt distant, like the conversation was happening in another room. The fact that Newton and Vanessa were talking about him like he wasn't even there didn't help the matters.

“Oh my god. You punched him. You just punched him and that was enough? Why didn't I think of that sooner?”

“Uh... To be fair, I think it's quite a good thing that your first instinct wasn't to punch your husband as hard as you could? I think I would have been a little worried if it had been.”

Vanessa took five long steps to the couch and started hugging Newt, to the latter's aparent confusion. To Hermann's too, if he was honest.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I seriously had no clue of what to do, and we would still be stuck if you hadn't been there.”

Newt hugged her back quickly before taking his distance and mumbling: “You're... welcome, I guess.”

Hermann cleared his throat. “I'm sorry but... can someone explain to me what's going on?”

And then Vanessa was hugging him too. He slowly put his arms around her, careful not to make any sudden movement. She smiled at him, tenderly, and Hermann saw tears well up in her eyes, barely a second before she wiped them away with a hand.

“You were gone,” Newt explained. “I mean, not gone-gone, because obviously you're still here. But you were chasing memories. Of the kaiju, I think, which is probably while you fucking jumped at me when you woke up. You weren't responding at all, by the way. Which is why I punched you.”

Now that Newt mentioned it, Hermann thought he could remember blue shapes across the horizon, the smell of the ocean and the sensation of his body speeding through waters.

“How did it happen? I can't... I can't remember anything precisely, it's all...” He winced, his headache flaring up again.

Newton reached out and, after a second of hesitation, put a hand on Hermann's knee. Hermann looked down at it and forced himself not to stare. “I think it was my fault. I'm sorry. You know how... how the hivemind worked? How the kaiju were able to share their thoughts instantly, without conscious effort?” Hermann nodded, unsure of where exactly his colleague was going with this explanation. “Well, I think something similar is happening. Obviously not as strongly, I think we would have noticed if we were able to actually communicate by telepathy, but something similar. I think we can still influence each other somehow, through a kind of ghost-drift. Like, we can't really communicate but we can... share memories. Or something.”

“A ghost-drift?” Hermann asked with one eyebrow raised. It was a phenomenon known to happen with Jaeger pilots. After a strong drift, a lot of pairs would feel like they could still communicate with each other, even without PONs. They thought they could read each other's thoughts or even have silent conversations. Nobody had ever been able to prove that this phenomenon was real, tough, and it might just have been that two people who knew each other very well and had just been in each other's heads had a way of reading each other's body language unconsciously.

“I guess. Kind of. I mean, you know my feelings on ghost-drifting in general. The PONs already require a very high compatibility threshold, and the Jaegers kind of act as a buffer in normal cases, so in a controlled drift it seems very unlikely that the kind of physical alterations that could enable a real ghost-drift would occur. Even with a really powerful neural handshake.”

“But yours wasn't a controlled drift, was it?” Vanessa asked.

Newton squirmed under her gaze. “Um. Yeah. I kinda... messed with the PONs a bit when I built my custom set-up. I had to lower the compatibility threshold. A lot. Because like... I don't think I'm actually Drift Compatible with a piece of kaiju brain, you know? But I was careful! I also lowered the depth of the connection. Obviously that became kind of useless because of the whole Hivemind thing, but it's not as if I could actually have predicted that. And I also set a timer, so I knew I would be pulled away.”

Hermann raised an eyebrow. Careful was not the adjective that came into his mind when he thought of Newton and of his first drift. He also very clearly remembered having to pull Newton from his own set-up himself after he had nearly died.

“Don't give me that look! It didn't work the first time because I passed out and started seizing! But that was because of the Hivemind! In normal conditions it would have worked just fine!”

“You were attempting to drift with a piece of kaiju brain, Newton, were you seriously expecting anything that could be called normal conditions?”

Newton looked like he wante to argue but, exhibiting an impressive bout of self-restraint, he just pouted instead. “Anyway! The system wasn't actually planned for a threeway drift, and with the lowered compatibility threshold and the kaiju's connection... maybe something did happen. To our brains, I mean. Maybe we did get affected by it, except it would be really hard to notice, because it's super difficult to get a clear reading on neural activity, you know? But it could be that we... that we can actually ghost drift.”

“So that means... you were thinking of the kaiju?”

Vanessa looked between the two of them. “Hermann...”

He thought she was scared they would have another fight, but that wasn't what Hermann was looking for. He just wanted to understand.

“It's alright, Vanessa,” Newton said, shaking his head. “It's fine.” He turned towards Hermann again. “I was. I was angry. I was angry at you and at myself and at everything. And when I'm angry I do destructive shit. Stare into the void, and it will stare back, they say. So I stared.”

Hermann could remember. He could remember picking fights with people older, bigger, stronger than him. He could remember drinking unhealthy amounts, just because he could. He could remember breaking things.

It made an awful kind of sense, that the memories of the kaiju would just become one more unhealthy coping mechanism.

“But you came back,” Hermann pointed out. He wasn't sure whether he was talking about the memories, or about Newt physically being here again. Maybe both.

At least he could remember the fight clearly, although he might have prefered it if he didn't. It hadn't been their usual kind of banter, the back and forth that stung but ultimately led them to being more productive. This fight had meant to hurt, to strike where they were both most vulnerable. They had been trying to destroy each other, and Hermann remembered the emptiness that had washed over him when he had thought that he might have succeeded.

“I came back,” Newton agreed. “Vanessa called for me. I never intended to actually leave, I mean... I just needed some time. I would have come back for my suitcases anyway and... I mean, I should probably go and stay at a hotel or something, it might be best for everyone, but it doesn't mean...”

He was struggling to find his words, which should mean something. But Hermann was having hard enough a time keeping his own thoughts straight through the pounding pain, he didn't feel able to interpret Newt's expression.

“I mean... We fight a lot. Right? And this fight was bad. I was out of line and you...”

“I was out of line too.”

Newton nodded in acknowledgment. Vanessa was watching them intently, probably trying to parse together what was left unsaid, and watching over them in case things got violent once more.

“But I think actually... I think this fight might have been necessary, in a way? We tried to handle things on our own, when you left. And it didn't work out great, did it? And now... If we really are connected, there's no point in trying to keep our lives separate. I think maybe Vanessa was right. I think maybe we need each other. So like... if you'll still have me...”

Hermann sighed. This was too much. The idea of having Newton's memories had already felt overwhelming, but now there was a chance that their brainwaves were forever connected to each other, and that just felt worse. Hermann not only knew the Newton of a month and a half ago more intimately than he had ever hoped, there was also part of the present-Newton forever within him.

Still. He had pulled him out. Even if it was technically Newton's fault if Hermann had lost himself in the memories in the first place, he had pulled him out. Hermann didn't know what would have happened if he hadn't. Would Hermann have been able to stop it by himself?

“You can stay,” he said. He wasn't certain he didn't mean it as a request. Will you stay? Will you do this for... Will you do this with me? “Until we figure things out. Until we get better. You can stay here, if you want.” Here, meaning in this flat. Here, meaning in Berlin. Here, meaning in Hermann's life.

Hermann turned towards Vanessa, waiting to see if she would say something. This had been her idea in the first place, but she had the right to change her mind. Especially after what had happened today. Hermann couldn't blame Newton, because he knew that wasn't how it worked. But if Vanessa saw Newton as a danger, he would respect it. He needed her to feel safe too. He didn't think he would ever be able to feel at home in a place where Vanessa wasn't safe.

But she nodded.

“Thank you,” Newton said, sounding overwhelmed. “Thank you guys so much, seriously. I don't know if I can... how I can ever repay you but... I appreciate it. I really do. More than I can say.”

Newton was sincere. Earnest, even. And Hermann was glad that Vanessa could feel it to, that she trusted him, somehow, despite everything that had happened. There was a time when he had hated Newton with all of his being. Now he didn't want to imagine his wife asking him to leave. How had his life come to this?

“I'm glad you're okay,” Vanessa said softly, coming closer and sliding her fingers in one of Hermann's hands. “I was really scared.”

Hermann wanted to apologize, but he didn't know for what, so he leaned into his wife's touch instead. His whole body felt tired, he guessed that he had been tensing his muscles the whole time he had been... lost? Unconscious? Unsconscious felt like the most accurate word.

“Okay, well, I'm gonna...” Newt started. “I think I'm gonna take a shower? I was outside a lot, and it was kind of really cold so... yeah. I'll be in the bathroom.”

He stood up and nearly ran out of the room. Hermann guessed that it was his very undiscreet way of giving him and Vanessa space, and he was thankful for it.

Vanessa immediately pressed her shoulder against his uninjured side, settling in more comfortably now that they had more space on the couch.

They kept silent for a moment, soaking in each other's warmth. Hermann didn't know what to say. He was still confused about everything that had happened.

“I don't want to lose you again,” Vanessa whispered.

[mvsicbookfrxndom]

I’m back

Okay lovely people, especially the soccer fandom that has stayed with me...

Before I even say a single word, I need to address this. My inbox currently contains 99+ messages. Yes, you heard that right. So if I have not responded to your message in literally months, that is the reason. I deeply, deeply apologize, and I want to stress that I will try to make time for everything and maximize my  time management skills in the future. I have detailed the other reasons for my disappearance below as well.

Now that finals are almost over and I have adjusted more to my new school, I am able to pay more attention and put more effort into my account. These past few months I haven’t been on tumblr at all, and lately I’ve only been liking posts instead of reblogging them or even *gasp* creating my own posts. But I have arisen out of the ashes like a phoenix to say that I will now try to put as much effort into maintaining this blog as I can! I am determined to make it work and balance out my schoolwork, extracurriculars, and social media accounts!

To give you all a glimpse into my life and my responsibilities...

I go to a VERY difficult school with a ton of schoolwork.

I spend most of my time after school participating in a variety of extracurriculars.

It’s a residential school, and the WiFi goes off at 11:30...and I don’t have a hotspot.

Did I mention the workload??!

Not only that! I have other social medias that need maintaining as well.

Facebook (for school)

Instagram (basically to keep up with soccer & Habesha cultural stuff)

Snapchat (to keep up with news of people in my school)

This account (for obvious reasons)

Wattpad (I’ve barely logged on in so long)

Reddit (I LOVE REDDIT OKAY)

Quora (gotta help people get them answers amirite)

Quotev (which is hella dead)

Pinterest (gotta look at them pics)

Imgur (refer to parentheses above)

AO3 (which is basically dead because I haven’t found time to write fanfiction AT ALL)

A fucking DEAD Discord account that to be fair I never use anymore

etc.

My typical day looks like this:

Wake up, go to school, etc.

Call my mother for at least 15 minutes a day. If my sister is able to call me, that’s basically an hour out of my schedule right there.

Finish homework due the next day.

Check texts to see if my parents/in person friends have texted me.

Check Facebook and Messenger to stay in touch with school things.

Watch Snapchat and Instagram stories for the latest topical news.

Usually, by the time all that has been finished, it is already 11:30 and my time is completely gone. It makes me so mad.

After doing all that, I start working on homework due the next day. The grind pretty much never stops. I’m pretty sure it will only stop after finals, and even then only temporarily. However, I am so willing to grind my ass off in order to reclaim my life.

I’m so profoundly upset and saddened by the number of online friends I have lost due to the mental, physical, and psychological stresses that have been put on me ever since I entered school. They think the reason I have disappeared is because I don’t care about them, but that is not it at all whatsoever. I love them far more than I could ever love myself. My love for them is so deep and I wish I could cut out my heart from my chest so they could see it bleed for them. I hope they know who they are as they read this, if they read this. It has been such a difficult adjustment in my life for me that I’ve basically cut off all ties just so I can stay successful. My grades have been slipping and I’m so terrified that I won’t be able to pay for my college education because I can’t get scholarships with Bs on my transcript because of the astronomical amount of competition. In general, I’m just...really scared.

My mental health has severely deteriorated ever since an incident occurred to me over the summer, close after the end of school. I think that is why the World Cup and soccer had such an effect on me - I was so lost, and needed something in my life that would make me happy and make life worth living again, and that was soccer, right there in its beautiful glory for me to fall in love with and feel love again. However, I am determined not to let the darkness win. I HAVE to fight back. It is the only way I can reclaim everything I have lost.

Here are my goals for the future. I want to share them with you all. So that they’re out there in the world and I have no choice but to commit.

Finish ALL my homework and STUDY.

Start a YouTube channel containing my song covers.

I put these in bullet points because these are running goals, so they’re in progress.

Send my sister all of her photos. I’m an asshole for making her wait this long. I’m an asshole for making all of you wait this long.

Respond to all 99+ inbox messages I’ve received. (I’m so sorry, all of you. I will reply, I swear. Just give me time. I know you already have.)

Respond to all my Wattpad messages.

Respond to all my emails on all of my accounts and clean up all of my email accounts, especially when it comes to writing emails to my business card people plaguing my phone!

Organize all of my photos and upload them to either my Drive or Google Photos so I can blissfully mass delete them and gain a sense of purpose, fulfillment, and indescribable joy.

Eliminate all of the open incognito tabs on my phone.

Organize both of my Google Drives, especially their folders and individual docs.

Clean up my Spotify ffs!!!

Finish my Very Long Fanfic Project.

Write other fanfics that I’ve been planning to write for such a long time, before I either lose inspiration or forget about them altogether. Making sure they are oneshots and not Very Long Fanfic Projects so they’ll, like, actually get written finished.

Reorganize and revolutionize my tumblr page so it is more clean with better tags. Also maybe change its HTML/CSS up so it’s more lit.

Fix all of my old Wattpad accounts, the ones that weren’t my main account. I feel like some people were counting on those.

Finish all of my old fanfics. Every single one that I started and never quite completed (on AO3 AND Wattpad).

Resurrect my Quora, Quotev, and Reddit accounts from the internet grave. They are pretty much my ultimate failed experiments.

Begin doing research on internships, colleges, and career choices, as well as interests and hobbies or stuff you’d like to learn how to do.

Start writing my own original works - including, but not limited to - books, short stories, poems, songs, raps, editorial articles, essays, and film scripts.

Finish Mr. Robot, Hannibal, and Sherlock.

Watch SKAM Austin.

Start watching movies.

As you can see, this is a very long ass list. I know it will take a long time. I know it will not be easy. But sometimes, writing things down and realizing how difficult they will be to accomplish is the first step in actually fixing them. I hope I can.

thanks for coming to my ted talk everyone. please dm me if you have any questions with what i said above. i love you all.

[tysonrunningfox]

Lost Chances

This is a super mean chapter.  I just almost cried editing it.  I’m so...invested.  

And I just couldn’t do this close to Christmas.  Don’t expect another update until after, probably, because I do want people to catch up and also, feel free to pillage my inbox with pitchforks because I half feel I deserve it.  But here.  

Tumblr | AO3

It’s quiet for a few days. Calm almost, except for Bang following Mom around like something bad will happen if he lets her out of his sight. He doesn’t even want to go flying, so I end up walking to cover about ten things for the chief when he opts to stay home to keep an eye on Mom.  I kind of get what she’s saying about not being able to live like that for almost a year, but I know better than to say anything about it.  It might finally be getting through my thick skull that having the same fight multiple times just for the sake of it never actually changes anything.  

Aurelia’s still being frosty and sticking closer to the chief than usual and I’m trying not to let it bug me even though it feels like I’m kicked out of some club.  A club I never accepted the invite to, because I was never one to hang out with the chief on purpose.  Maybe that’s what changed his mind, if I’d kissed up more he wouldn’t keep waving me to the door to take care of his stuff with that disinterested little head bob.  

I end up spending a lot of time with Stoick, which isn’t as awkward as I would have thought because he mostly just likes dragons and getting as covered in mud as is humanly possible.  That and we’re both banned from the house for being deemed too loud, except the number of times Mom checks on us makes me sure that it’s more the chief’s idea than hers.

It reminds me of the last time we were all living under the law of the chief’s idea, his whole brilliant marriage plan that didn’t quite backfire.  Except this time, Aurelia is inside and I’m not.  And everyone’s ok with it to the point where I can’t even try to shut up that little voice in my head that’s constantly reminding me that they’re all hoping for a second chance at a better version.  

And then, one morning, I wake up coughing, sitting bolt upright and wheezing against the incredibly pointy elbow jabbing into my chest.  It takes me a groggy moment to recognize the brick red of Aurelia’s hair tangled in my blankets and another second to realize she’s sobbing, her face wet against the side of my neck, back heaving. 

“Hey, it’s ok,” I mutter, clearing my throat and ignoring the fact that she’s practically choking me as I rub her back.  She’s fully dressed and smells like the woods, like she just snuck in.  For a moment I’m sure it’s Arvid, that he’s done something, and he may be my half-brother but he’s dead. 

Her fingernails dig into the nape of my neck, “it’s Mom.”  She barely gets it out between sobs and I sit up more fully, looking around at the quiet room.  The fire has died down to coals, and it’s not strange because I’m used to waking up next to a cold hearth, but in the moment I’m sure it’s gone because Mom couldn’t restart it for some reason. 

“Is she ok?  What happened?”  I try to pry my sister’s face away from my shoulder but she refuses, rubbing her snot on my shirt. 

“It’s…it’s the baby,” she whispers, shoulders tensing as she pulls away ever so slightly.  Right, I made an ass of myself, as always, and now she doesn’t think she can talk to me about it. 

Eret not-son of Eret, ruining sibling relationships for sixteen years and counting. 

“What happened with the baby?” 

She sniffs and presses her face back into my shoulder.  It’s not an answer but it’s everything I needed to hear. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Shit.” 

That earns a snort, for some reason, and she pushes soggy hair out of her face and hugs me like she’s not trying to choke me, “you do care.  Did care, I mean.  You’re right, shit.” 

“Of course I care,” I’m suddenly aware of the house around me, the three people breathing in the other rooms, the weight of this all pressing down.  “Just because I’m an asshole doesn’t mean I don’t care.” 

“Could have fooled Mom,” her tone isn’t accusatory, not really, just matter of fact in a way that pierces my chest like a well-aimed Nadder barb.  “Sorry, that was too far,” she sniffs, “I’m just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”  

I don’t have time to answer, which is probably a good thing because I have no idea what to say, because the bedroom door opens behind us and the chief appears in the doorway, looking gaunt and gray in a way I’ve never seen.  He stares at us for a moment before recognition flickers behind glassy eyes and one corner of his mouth quirks up.  

Aurelia pulls slowly out of our hug and stands, brushing her skirt off and crossing the room with an even, defiant gait, like it hurts her to do it.  She wraps her arms gingerly around his waist and squeezes.  I barely hear the murmured, “love you, Dad,” and it doesn’t sound like her when she says it.  It occurs to me that she’s saying it for him, not because she wants to or because it’s true, and I feel so impossibly helpless.  

What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, chief, I don’t hate you sometimes’?  Is lying cool?  Is this one of those situations where I can fill the gaps in the conversation with fluffy, sweet lies and no one will call me out on it?  

“Love you too,” the chief kisses the top of her head and something stirs in my stomach, remembering Dad carrying me to bed and whispering goodnight in my ear because he didn’t know I could hear him.  I feel like an intruder.  

I don’t belong anywhere else.

Aurelia turns and walks into the bedroom with an admirable caution, her footfalls even and close together, and the chief looks at me, staring like he’s not sure what he sees.

“Uh…Aurelia told me,” I stand, wishing I’d slept in my shoes so I could bolt out the door.  The twin instincts to run and to face him, head held high, wage war in my head and I grind my teeth.  

“Yeah, she…Astrid told her first.”  He seems to shrink, lips pressed into a thin, pale line.  

“Oh.”  

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he says it so quietly that at first I think I’m imagining it.  I don’t think I’ve ever sounded that quiet, that gentle, and for the first time I really see the ghost of a boy who trained a night fury inside of him.  “It was too literal.  Trying again like that.”  

I open my mouth to excuse myself but nothing comes out, and I don’t remember the last time I felt so silent.

“I guess there are just some things you can’t get back.  Some things don’t get second chances.”  

I know what to say then, I know the lie to tell, the one that fixes something, that bridges the gap between me and the sadness I’m so compelled to brush away.  You don’t need a second chance, you have me.  

But then it strikes me how true that is, that he has me, like a possession.  He saw me and wanted me and took me, married my mom, split apart what I used to call my family.  I want to be furious but I’m too tired, too overwhelmed, too weighed down by the unfairness and stupidity in the world to get myself riled up.  I wonder if this is what it feels like to grow up, if being an adult is nothing more than a million little decisions to be quiet when you want to be upset.  

“I—” I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to think.  “I’m…sorry.”

I wonder if he looked this devastated about me once upon a time.

“Me too.”  

I think of him reading to Stoick, of him staring after Aurelia with what I always took to be stern negligence but was probably always more misunderstanding than malice.  I think of him hugging me by a forest fire, with my burned feet and singed hair.  I think of him thwarting my plans at every turn, always talking about how dangerous they are, how I don’t know what I’m doing.  

Maybe…maybe all this Hel has been nothing more than a misguided asshole’s horrible attempt at rebuilding a family.  

“It sounds like you mean it.”

“I don’t,” he’s crying now, tears dotting those too familiar freckles together as he runs his hand through his hair, silver sticking up at odd angles.  “Gods, I’m not sorry at all, I did what I did and I’m here and this should have been better—it should have been different, you shouldn’t hate me so much, you and my daughter shouldn’t band together against me and—and—and I should have been able to build something instead of tearing everything apart.”  He sobs and it sounds like Aurelia, their pain has the same cadence and it reverberates in my chest like a Thunderdrum bellow.  

“Hey, it’s—I don’t hate you.”  I’m an awful liar, I didn’t used to be, but somehow I am now.  I flinch from my own insincere words as the chief flops down into a chair, elbows on the table, head cradled in his hands.  

“I deserve this.  I—I fucked everything up, a thousand times. In a row.  Just again and again and again.  But your mother doesn’t...”  His back is shaking, trembling really, and I feel anchored to the floor like my feet must be made of lead.  I take a faltering step towards him, looking towards the closed bedroom door, thinking of how strong Aurelia was to walk in there, chin held high.  As mad as we’ve been at each other lately, I can’t think of how to repay her for that.  

It takes a million years to cross the ten feet of room between us.  I set my hand on his shoulder, lightly, because I’m scared to touch him, scared of what it means.  If I comfort him, does ‘Dad’ follow?  Do I start thinking he’s right?  Does trying to absorb this indescribable pain build from here until I don’t recognize myself anymore?

Or is it worse than that? Will I run away from it eventually? Will I recognize myself perfectly because I’ll be just like him?

“Umm…it’s not ok, I’m not going to say it’s ok, but…”  I don’t know what spirit possesses me to keep talking, but I stare at the back of my hand, jarring against the soft wool of the chief’s green tunic.  “I don’t know what to say, I was never the one that gave pep talks.  That was always Mom or Ingrid, I was the one who needed them.  Ingrid always knew how to make me feel better, she can make any situation seem like a fight I can win if I just push a little harder but…but this isn’t like that.  I know it’s not.”  Gods, I wish Ingrid were here.  I miss her. It’s the only reason I don’t leave sometimes, I don’t want anyone missing me the way that I miss Ingrid.  

The bedroom door opens behind us and I jerk away, shoving both my hands into my pockets.  I expect to see Aurelia alone, but Mom is with her, eyes wide, face composed.  

“Eret, can you pick your clothes up off the floor?  I swear to Thor, you’re going to be chief before you learn to pick up your own socks.” Mom snaps at me, and she sounds so much like her old self, the one I haven’t seen since I was oblivious, that I jump to attention, scrambling to pick up my mess.  “This house is too stuffy, don’t you think?  I know it’s just spring, but I think we could open some windows.  It’s not that cold outside.”  

“Mom,” Aurelia’s voice is fragile as she rests a hand on Mom’s elbow.  “Maybe you should—”

“If I gave you some money would you run down to the market for me?”  Mom cuts across her suggestion, striding across the room and rummaging through the chief’s coin purse.  “We need…a lot.  We need everything.”  She pauses and I can see her façade splitting at the seams, sad but not unsurprised. Beaten but not lying down.  Guilty in a way she never should be.  

“Hey, Mom, why don’t you go lay down—” Aurelia looks at me like I might have the answer as Mom starts organizing a cabinet, tossing things haphazardly onto the floor behind her.  

I spot my axe out of the corner of my eye, her old axe, and it’s desperate and hopeful when I grab it and walk over to her, grabbing her hand and tucking it around the handle.  She swallows and turns towards me, taking it in both hands.  

“You’re right.  That’s better, isn’t it?  We need firewood.”  

“Yeah, the pile is looking a little low.”  

She stalks outside, axe over her shoulder and when I look back inside, Aurelia and the chief are staring at me, twin pairs of green eyes fixed on my face.  That crushing weight of responsibility is back with all of its charming heft and I backpedal, tripping on an uneven floorboard and stumbling back upright.  

“I’m going for a flight.” I’m not sure that they heard me but I leave anyway, trying to ignore the rhythmic hack of Mom’s axe, pounding along with my heartbeat.  

00000

I end up at Fuse’s shed, eventually, after a few lazy laps around the island, fighting the thought of going further.  It doesn’t seem relaxing anymore what with the dragons and Arvid and the fact that the quiet would just amplify the thoughts bouncing around my head.  But Fuse’s shed is quiet and the stool in the corner isn’t comfortable enough to relax.  She barely lifts her head from whatever she’s doing when I step inside and sit down and that’s better already.  I can pout without making it worse for anyone else.

I’m not even sure what I’m pouting about, honestly, I wasn’t excited like everyone else.  

“What are you building?”

“Testing a boring charge combination.”  She looks away from whatever she’s doing to exhale, like the force of her breath could disturb it.  

“For the chief or for our plan.”  

“Our plan.”  

“Have you talked to Smitelout?”  

“No, I haven’t needed anything.”  She carefully sets a clay lid onto what she built before spackling the seam with what smells like pine sap but is darker, mixed with something I don’t recognize.  

“I still can’t believe I told her.  Do you think she’ll tell anyone?”  

“We’ll know if she does.”

“Yeah.  I guess.”  

She doesn’t know and it was comforting at first but now it feels suffocating.  It’s not mine to tell and I don’t want to talk about it, necessarily, I just…Mom needed someone to hand her an axe.  I need someone to tell me that axing something wouldn’t do anything even though I already know.  

And I never had a problem going against the chief before, staring at the parts in front of me—the forbidden parts, the defiant parts—I can’t help but feel strange.  Almost guilty.  I think of how his face crumpled when he told me, how he looked so much like me in that moment that hurting him was suddenly akin to smacking my own head against a wall for sport.  

“What’s wrong?”  Fuse looks up from her project, a few heaps of jewel toned powders laid out in some cryptic organization on an old scrap of seal skin.  She’s methodical where I’m stagnant, a smoking stone bowl dispersing her day’s work into the air.  It smells awful, like tar and rotten eggs, and I have no problem believing it would explode flawlessly.  

“Nothing.”  It’s not something I should talk about, is it? It’s private and it occurs to me that I haven’t ever been in on a family secret before.  Ha.  

It’s a passing of the torch, I’m no longer the big whopping family secret, some concept of a dead little sibling of mine is.  

My eyes itch.  I don’t know why.  

Fuse quirks half an eyebrow, the short fuzz of regrowth catching the sunlight streaming through the doorway and glowing pink like her hair, “you’re an awful liar.”  

“Thanks. I try.”  

“You aren’t being as much of a nuisance as normal.”  

“I’m just thinking.”  

“Silently? What’s going on?” She walks towards me and the hair on my arms stands up.  

“Nope.  I’m good.  You just—you know? I might actually call it a night, take Bang on a flight or something just—are you ever just antsy?  Like there’s a hundred fireworms wriggling under your skin.  Yep.  I’m just going to go uh—“  I stand up and trip over my own foot, internally cursing my clumsiness and where it came from.  Maybe that’s why I didn’t leave, that would have made me feel more like the chief, it would have brought the memory of his unreachable sadness even closer than it already is.  That thought shakes that hard little ball of anxiety around in my stomach and I feel nauseous and Thor’s beard, it’s a good thing I never had to keep family secrets, I would have been floundering in Daddy issues by the age of three.  

Fuse’s grip is stronger than it should be as she catches me by my upper arm even though I’m not stumbling anymore.  She brushes some soot off of my shoulder but just makes it worse, rubbing it into the weave of my new shirt.  My clothes still feel wrong, crisp and un-stretched in the shoulders, constantly reminding me that Arvid didn’t wear them first.  

“You know I’m a good listener.”  She reiterates like she has so many times the past few months.  

“That’s what scares me,” I swallow, “I might just tell you everything.”  

“You could start with why you aren’t working on your master plan to help the dragons, because that’s all I’m really asking about.”  

“Gods, you make it sound so easy.”  

“You talk more than anyone I know, it is easy for you.”  

“Careful,” I snort, fumbling back for my stool and plopping down onto it, rubbing sooty hands over my face.   “You might convince me to talk your ear off and then I’d never stop.”  

“You always stop.” She shrugs, one shoulder, almost sad in that Fuse way that makes me suspect she’s reading my mind. “Eventually, at least.”  

She sits back down at her station, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye as she carefully scoops an emerald green powder back into a small, clay jar with a tight-fitting lid.

“What if this is all about me?”  It’s a rhetorical question and I don’t really expect her to answer, but when she doesn’t, I’m suddenly compelled to fill the silence.  I don’t like silence, it used to be because I was afraid I’d disappear into my siblings’ larger shadows, but now I know too much about what exists in the silence between people.  Between me and…this morning, I understand that whole people can disappear into the quiet. Suddenly I’m angry that the chief and Mom didn’t tell anyone, that they kept it secret just like they did to me all those years.  Like we couldn’t exist until we were a long lost miracle.  “What if I’m not trying to help the dragons at all?  What if I’m just…screaming into a void and hoping that the chief hears me.  That he knows I’m angry.  But he knows and he’s—I want him to be evil, I want him to be pathetic, but he’s just…what if I’m defying him just for the sake of defying him?”  

“So you aren’t worried about the dragons?”  She hisses, sucking on her finger when it glances across a candle flame.  

“You ok?”  

“Because those dragons look sick, Eret.  You didn’t make that up.  Hel, one died and washed up here, that’s never happened before that I know of—”  

“If it were about the dragons, wouldn’t I have argued more?  Wouldn’t I have fought harder for help?”  I sigh, “the chief is the one who knows the most, he’s the one I should be campaigning to.  I shouldn’t be playing matchmaker for my half siblings in the forge in the middle of the night.  I would be…I don’t know. Rallying.  I’m supposed to be chief someday, people should listen to me.  Instead I’m just in here playing teenage defiance.”  

“What happened between you and the chief?”  She asks, turning towards me, eyes narrowed, strand of long hair escaping her braid and falling in front of her face.  I get the impression she’s reading me, like a water-logged scroll, trying to see what I said before the elements got to me.  

“Nothing, alright? It’s just…don’t I have to grow up sometime?”  

“You tried with the chief, he didn’t listen.”  

“He admitted it’s a problem. I should have waited—”

“Growing up isn’t synonymous with laying down.”  

“F—“  For my mom it was.  I barely catch the words on the way out of my mouth, turning them into a cough and staring at my hands.  

I can’t stop thinking of her face this morning, sad but unsurprised, like the only response she had left was ‘not again’.  I can’t help but wonder how much she’s lost, can’t help but think of her loving the chief and then loving my dad and then waffling, each decision hurting one of them, but never as much as it hurt her.  

She has it worse than I do, and I’m in here whining and defying and making everything harder for everyone while they’re going through something I don’t want to understand.  I should be back there helping, but I don’t know how to help, I don’t know how to handle everyone grieving for something I never understood them wanting.  

Am I not good enough? Is it because I don’t call the chief dad and let him ruffle my hair?  I feel impossibly more replaced, like I have to try harder and be better just to prove that it wasn’t a loss, not really.  They didn’t need to try again, they’ve got me and I’m…

I’m both of them, all at once, they don’t need another.  They don’t need to be so shattered.  

I’ll shatter for them and they can put me back together and then maybe I’ll be what they want.  

I sniff, wipe an errant tear away from my cheek, and look up at Fuse.  She’s not looking at me, almost like she’s giving me privacy to fall apart, like I’m a bomb and she wants me on the other side of a barrier.  I like the way she deals with emotions, clinical, sure, calm.  She’s the calmest person I’ve ever met and it makes me feel safe and inferior all at once.

“I think you’re doing this for the dragons,” she says quietly, her tone assured and steady, “I think your methods might be for you, but I think that’s ok.  When you don’t do anything constructive, you end up fighting your brother and screaming at the chief and if you need a few things to blow up as an outlet, well hey,” she smiles at me, “I get that.”  

It’s too quiet and I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out.  Maybe a sigh, maybe half a breathless laugh.  

“I think I should head home.”  I should go try and help.  Even though I don’t know what to do or how to do it.  She’s right, my methods are for me and I don’t want to be someone who runs and hides so now I have to prove that to myself.  

“Alright,” she nods, “I’m close to something here.  I’ll let you know if it’s anything.”  

I nod and stand up, “yeah, sure, I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.  Or something.  Around, I’ll see you around.”  

She nods at me and I keep that quiet reassurance in my head as long as I can as I fly back up the hill to the chief’s house.  I think about knocking again, honestly, especially after I see Mom’s axe planted so deep into half a tree that I wonder if she stopped because she couldn’t get it out. I did that a lot as a kid, honestly, I was way better at swinging than I was at getting it back and I don’t think I’ve changed much.  I just didn’t know I got that from Mom.  She was always so in control, of us, of what she said and did.  Of everything.  

Until the chief came back into the picture and threw her back into chaos, I guess.  

I take one more deep breath before pushing the door open.  

Mom is cooking and she’d look completely normal if it weren’t for the splinters stuck to her skirt and the hair that’s out of her braid and stuck to her neck, like she was sweating from all the tree murdering.  Aurelia is at the table, stack of books in front of her, on her knees in her chair to see the book at the top of the stack.  She looks more frazzled than Mom does, face pale when she looks up and stares at me for a second before shaking her head.

“Oh, hi.”  

I know that voice. That’s the voice of someone who just mistook me for the chief.  I reach up and pull the tie out of my hair, shaking it out with my hand like that’ll make the difference more obvious.  

“Hey.”  

“We could have used your help earlier,” Mom stands up, “Aurelia nearly killed herself bringing the entire library home.”  She walks across the room, affectionately touching the top of Aurelia’s head and looking at me like she dares me to bring it up.  

“Sorry,” I cough, trying to think of anything else to say.  “I uh…needed some air?”  

“Mom, this says that dandelion greens—”  Aurelia starts in an urgent half-whisper, like she’s not quite sure she wants me to hear and Mom cuts her off.  

“I told Hiccup it was stuffy in here.  We’re Vikings, a spring cross-breeze has never hurt any of us.”  She goes back to the fireplace, fussing with whatever she has on the grate inside of it.  “Are you hungry?”  

“Always,” I blurt and she shakes her head like it’s just a normal day and that’s just a normal joke that wasn’t funny the first time, let alone the thousandth.  “That smells good.”  The second part is a lie because I can’t smell anything but fire and Aurelia’s anxious energy as she flips through pages.  I glance at her book and see drawings that aren’t Berkian and the words aren’t Norse.  She’s mouthing slowly to herself, face flushed with frustration.  

“Cold baths,” she mutters, looking up at Mom, “maybe it was the time of year?”  

“Put the book away and eat something,” Mom half snaps, dropping a plate of stew in front of her and putting one in my hands.  She sits back down on the hearth and starts eating out of the pot, idly brushing splinters off of her lap.  “That’s good. Yeah, Hiccup is never on cooking duty again, there’s a reason he’s so skinny.”  

“Maybe you weren’t eating enough.” Aurelia says louder, pushing the plate pointedly away.  “Maybe that’s it.”  

“You skipped breakfast.” Mom looks at the plate, “eat.”  

“I’m not hungry.” Aurelia crosses her arms and I shake my head at her as subtly as I can, because even though I’ve never seen Mom quite like this, I can’t imagine it’s a good idea to challenge her like that.  

“You need to eat something.”

“Not until I figure this out,” Aurelia’s voice cracks and she slumps back down, sitting on her heels. She doesn’t wipe the tear that spills out of the corner of her eye, doesn’t even try to hide it, and Mom’s expression freezes on her face.  

“I’m going to go get Stoick,” she stands up, leaving her fork on the hearth next to the pot of stew. “You can hold down the fort while I’m gone, right Eret?”  

“Uh…” I look at Aurelia and swallow hard, like I can physically stuff my own confused sadness so deep inside that it won’t spill out accidentally.  “Yeah.  Sure.”

“And check on Hiccup, would you?”  She says it like an afterthought, slipping on her boots and frowning when she pulls a splinter out of one.  “I don’t think I’ve ever known him to sleep this long at all, let alone in the middle of the day.”  Her laugh is hollow and numb and another tear slips down Aurelia’s cheek.  

“Sure.”  I feel like it’s somehow the same word I just said, like it floated around the unusually dead air in the room and came back to me, only to fall out under nearly identical, numb circumstances.  

“I’ll be back,” she opens the door and leaves like it’s a normal day and Aurelia sobs the second the door is closed.  

“Hey,” I set down my food, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug that’s almost intentionally smothering, like I can squeeze this out of her faster. “It’s ok—”

“She needs to talk about it!”  She snaps, wiping her face on my shirt and leaning into the hug.  “We need to figure out why for when…” she sighs, “in case…”

“She’s…” I want to say something comforting but all I have is the truth and I shrug, “she’s kind of old for it, Aurelia, it was crazy in the first place—”

“Just because you didn’t think of something doesn’t make it crazy.”  She shoves me off, leaning back over her book and slowly saying a word in a language I don’t recognize.  “Fuck. What’s that mean? Thor-dammit.”  She slams the book shut and wipes her eyes again.  “I can do this.  I can do this.”  

“What are you trying to do?”

“Read.”  She sits, letting her legs swing under the chair, and pulls the giant book into her lap.  “Of course we don’t have anything in Norse about this but that doesn’t matter. I can do this.”  

“Aurelia,” I put my hand on her shoulder and she shrugs it off, “look at me.”  

“I know the answer is in here, I just need to figure it out—”

“I know you’re upset, but that doesn’t mean you need to magically learn another language—”

“I know this!”  She jabs her finger at the page, a whole wave of tears falling down her cheeks at once.  “It’s my Mom’s language, I spoke it.  We spoke it.  She taught it to me and…and it’s gone.  Parts of it are gone and I need it—”

“Hey,” I bend down to hug her again, ignoring the weak swat of her hand on my forearm.  “Mom will see a healer, they’ll know what happened—”

“She already did,” she goes back to tracing over the same strange word again and again with her fingertip.  “They said it just happens.  Things don’t just happen.  If things happen it’s because something makes them happen and someone lets them happen. What the fuck is this word?  I know it, I know I know it.”  

I look down at my arm, the pale, freckled skin against the dark green wool of her shirt.  There’s the scar that I got falling off of Bang when I was eleven, there’s the dirt under my fingernails from cleaning my saddle. I just happened.  I am a mistake, an accident, an unlikely collision of things that weren’t supposed to happen and if they happened they weren’t supposed to work.  

And now I’m an isolated event.  I always was, of course, but it’s different now after lightning failed to strike twice.

“It’s a fish!”  She shouts, “it’s a kind of fish.  We didn’t have it here, my mom was always looking for it...”  She mutters a few more words in a strange, clunky accent, “and that doesn’t help us.”

“I don’t know how this would help anything.”  

“Of course you don’t,” she shrugs my arm off and it plucks at that nagging feeling of being replaced by something that died before it was ever alive.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

“Mom needs to talk about it, I know you don’t seem to think she needs to, but you’re wrong.  And she can’t talk about it when everyone is just acting like it’s normal, it can’t be something she has to bring up—”

“I think you need to talk about it.”  I gesture at the closed bedroom door, “he probably needs to talk about it.  I…”  I don’t have anything new to say about it. It feels like I don’t have a single thought in my head that hasn’t been said a hundred times.  I feel empty and full of other people’s thoughts at the same time and I can’t figure out who would care if I said that out loud.  

“Mom should talk.”  

“Well, you can’t make her,” I let my hands fall against my legs with a louder slap than I expect.  

She glares at me and sniffs, wiping her nose on the end of her too long sleeve.  She looks younger than she has lately, puffy eyes and red cheeks reminding me of the sullen girl I moved in with, the one I just wanted to laugh so that someone would.  I get the odd feeling that I know her less now than I did then and then I was just guessing.  

We aren’t feeling the same thing.  Not even close.  We aren’t in the same book, let alone on the same page.  Our books are in different languages.  

Today’s the most I’ve ever heard her talk about her mom and I almost want to ask, to try and steer this back into something I understand, but I don’t want her to say the things in my head.  I don’t want to hear it out loud, that I’m always going to be a reminder of something they all lost.  

“I’m going to check on the chief.”  

“Yeah.”  She looks back at her book, “good luck getting him to talk.  Since you know what he needs so well.”  

I pause for a second, deciding against answering that and picking another teary fight before Mom gets back, and cross the room to open the bedroom door.  It creaks, and a bar of light falls across a lump of blankets that I assume is the chief.  I stand there for a minute and he doesn’t say anything so I clear my throat, hoping it’s loud enough to wake him.  

“I’ll be out in a minute.” He mumbles, barely loud enough to hear through the covers and I sigh.  I almost ask him to get up for Mom, because she’d like a little normalcy and that doesn’t seem like too much to ask.  

But maybe I’m the one who wants normalcy and my normal isn’t anyone else’s anymore.  

“Ok.  Yeah.  Seems likely.”  I shut the door and resist the urge to bash it against my head a few times on the way.

[zell-dincht]

“Careful What You Wish For” Words: 1685 Rating: Explicit, cock warming, creampie, orgasm denial Also on AO3

———

“Hey, buddy!  Just checking in to see how everyone’s doing out there,” Jack chirped gleefully into his Echo device.  He happened to be in a fantastic mood and wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to taunt the Vault Hunters.  The bandits suffered a minor loss recently at Hyperion’s Wildlife Exploitation Preserve, but even if it wasn’t much, the fit they had over one stupid animal was enough to make Jack giddy over his victory.

Not to mention, he also happened to be balls deep inside the most perfect ass in all of Helios.  One of the code monkeys caught Jack’s eye after the kid scored an Eridium mine for the company, and instead of spending his bonus on himself, this guy literally gave his right arm for the company.  Since then, he’d been overjoyed to give a hell of a lot more than just his arm.

This kid, Rhys, was one of the few people who had been able to handle anything Jack could dish out.  He’d been given a safe word, but Rhys never used it and always came back for more.

His fingers idly trailed up the back of Rhys’ shirt as he spoke, tracing patterns over his skin.  The kid sat quietly in Jack’s lap, resting forward onto his boss’ desktop.  From his shoulders down, he looked professionally dressed for work, but below the waist, he was completely nude.  To anyone who entered the office, it would just appear as though he was innocently sitting in Jack’s lap.  Visitors would have no idea that he had spent most of the day with Jack’s cock nestled firmly in his ass.

But they were alone now - just Rhys and Jack in the office, with the CEO casually speaking on his Echo device.  Jack felt Rhys tense up and shudder around him, but he was always such a good boy.  He knew he had to be quiet while his boss was on the Echo, so he bit down on a knuckle to keep from making any noise.

“I mean, not that I give a shit about some redneck moonshine or anything,” Jack chuckled.  The movement jostled the kid in his lap just enough to make Rhys bury his face in his arms.  He was clearly having such a tough time holding it together.  Jack loved it, and purposely decided to drag out his Echo call.  “But I’m worried about your little alcoholic friend.  That would be a real bitch if alcohol poisoning got to him before I could, and all ‘cause he couldn’t stop mourning his dumbass rat with wings.”

Violence always got Jack’s blood pumping.  The memory of turning Mordecai’s own pet against him made the CEO’s cock throb eagerly inside the younger man.  Rhys squirmed a little in response, but Jack roughly dug his fingers into his hips to keep him still.

“Just hang in there, champ,” Jack continued into the Echo.  “I’d tell you it gets better, but…”  He paused for another dark laugh, voice lowering to a growl as he continued,  “…that’s a lie.  I’m only just getting started.”

As soon as he ended the call, Rhys allowed himself to let out the soft moan he had been holding all the while.  Jack couldn’t resist tugging him upright to teasingly bite at Rhys’ earlobe.  “You like it when I show those bandits who’s boss?”

The boy swallowed thickly and gave an eager nod.  “Y-yes, Sir!”

“You’re so good at this, Rhysie,” Jack purred in his ear, gently trailing his hands over the younger man’s hips.  He purposely made sure to avoid giving attention to Rhys’ arousal, which had been desperately leaking with precum.  “Keeping my cock all warm and snug while I work.”

The kid whined so nicely and attempted to squirm a little in Jack’s lap again.  The CEO moved his hand up the front of Rhys’ shirt and gave his nipple a firm pinch.  “The hell did I tell you about moving?”  He emphasized his instructions by roughly biting down on the skin exposed above Rhys’ collar.  ”Sit.  Still.”

The younger man whimpered slightly, but did as he was told.  Jack rewarded him with a quick kiss to the back of Rhys’ neck.  He loosely kept an arm draped around the boy’s waist as he turned his attention back to work.  “Why don’t you pull up my email for me, sweetheart?”

With his cybernetic hand, Rhys connected to the computer and easily pulled up the unread messages in his boss’ inbox.  As Jack read over the messages, his thumb idly stroked over the younger man’s stomach.  He tried his best to focus on work, but these emails were so damn boring, and it was so difficult to think of anything else with this incredible heat constantly pressing around him.  It didn’t help that after a moment, Rhys tensed up around Jack and shifted in his lap yet again.

”Rhys,” Jack gave a warning hiss.

“Can’t help it, Sir,” Rhys groaned as he continued to slowly roll his hips.  “You feel so good inside me.”

“I won’t be able to stay inside you if I blow my load, princess,” he grumbled.  The younger man had been in his lap so long, Jack wasn’t sure he could hold out very well if Rhys did start moving too much.  It felt amazing, yet Jack wanted to have the kid wrapped around him as long as he could.

“I need you to fuck me so bad,” Rhys whined and defiantly continued to rock against him.  “Please, Sir, I’ll do anything.”

This kid had nerve.  Most people didn’t have the guts to boldly disobey Jack like this.  Even though Rhys idolized the CEO, he wasn’t like every other boring, cowering sycophant, and it was part of what Jack liked about him.

“Anything?” he echoed with a smirk.

As soon as Rhys responded with an eager nod, Jack pushed him forward against the desktop.  He paused to dig in his desk drawer for a moment, then reached down to clamp a ring down around the base of Rhys’ cock.

“What the–?!” the younger man gasped and jolted upright, but Jack quickly placed a hand between his shoulderblades and kept him firmly pressed face-down on the desk.  “Jack, c’mon…”

“You said ‘anything,’ pumpkin,” Jack grinned as he moved up out of his chair for better leverage.  He slid his hips back, then roughly bucked into the younger man.

Rhys moaned loudly and eagerly pushed back to meet Jack’s thrusts.  He desperately writhed under the older man, but the ring prevented Rhys from finding that relief he so desperately needed.  As Jack continued at a quick, rough pace, he thought he could even see a bit of moisture at the corner of Rhys’ eyes.

“Buck up, pumpkin,” Jack spoke in a low, breathy voice as he gave the side of Rhys’ bottom a firm smack.  “I’d just hate to see you cry over something you did to yourself, y’know?”

“Jack…!  Jack please!” the younger man whined, unable to keep a tear from rolling down his cheek.  Despite Jack’s instructions, the CEO loved watching Rhys cry.  Barely able to hold himself up, the younger man’s knees shook slightly as he simply rested against the desk and let his boss use him up.

It didn’t take much longer before Jack finally gave one last thrust and released deep into Rhys.  Once he had spilled every last drop, he reached into his desk drawer once more and pulled out a thick plug.  As he slid out of the younger man, he pressed the toy inside, giving it a little wiggle to tease Rhys further.

“You get to wear this til I’m ready to fill you up again,” Jack flopped back into his chair, looking over Rhys with a self-satisfied smirk.  A bit of Jack’s mess dripped down the boy’s inner thigh before the CEO had been able to plug him up, and a string of precum dripped from the tip of Rhys’ cock.  The kid looked like a total wreck, and Jack loved it.

Once he had finished admiring his own work, he gave a firm slap to the younger man’s ass.  “All right, kiddo, break time’s over.”

Rhys still seemed a bit shaky as he leaned up to glance over his shoulder at Jack.  “I need to cum.  Please, Jack.”

“That’s a privilege you’re gonna have to earn.”  The CEO snapped his fingers and pointed to his lap.  “And right now, you’ve got a mess to clean up.”

“Anything for you, Sir.”  Rhys seemed a bit annoyed, but like a good, obedient boy, he sank to his knees and began licking up the mess smeared over Jack’s softened length.

“Oh, look at you, babycakes,” the older man groaned and reached down to affectionately run a hand through Rhys’ hair.  “You look friggin’ incredible with my cock in your mouth.”

The sight almost felt enough to get Jack all riled up again, but he wasn’t a young man anymore.  He couldn’t quite pound out round after round like he used to, so it would take a while before he could get going again, but it was still nice to receive this continued attention from Rhys.

“I wanna feel you on me all damn day,” Jack sighed and lounged back in his chair again.  “Keep working that pretty mouth of yours ‘til I’m hard again, and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

“Yessir!” Rhys gladly answered before taking all of Jack into his mouth.

Since Jack knew it would still be a while, he turned his attention back to the computer.  Even if he couldn’t get off again so soon, it still felt so good to have a constant, wet heat engulfing him throughout the day.

Jack already knew he’d let the kid have his relief… eventually.  But in the meantime, it was just too much fun to watch Rhys beg and squirm.

[ships-and-saints]

“jealousy isn’t cute on you.” for elorcan please!!! :)

Hi anon, I’m sorry this is so late!! I had so many exams, but i’m done now and have some free time to work on prompts!! I just wrote this out, so I’m sorry if it has a few mistakes. I hope you like it, thanks so much for submitting the prompt~ I love elorcan heh :)

also, there are a couple of ACOTAR-related prompts in my inbox, I will write those after I finish reading ACOWAR!!

Feel free to submit this or your own prompt!

Word Count: 2191[ read on fanfiction ] [ read on ao3 ]

Jealousy Isn’t Cute On You

“Come, wife,” Lorcan said, in the most neutraltone he could muster. He struggled to keep the bite from his voice, the seepingirritation. The ruckus surrounding them gradually died down as wisps of Lorcan’sdark magic subconsciously permeated the air.

Elide paused and then casually flicked her impassive gazeover him. Trying not to grit his teeth, he stared down at her as she clutched atankard probably filled with beer that tasted like piss.

It had been weeks since Maeve whisked Aelin Galathynius awayin an iron coffin. Weeks since… the Stone Marshes. And Elide had been like ice,this whole time. At first, he thought she might thaw out after a few days, butdays turned into a week, and one week turned into several.

Elide had barely acknowledged or reacted to his presence, exceptwhen they were out scouting for information on the whereabouts of Aelin, whereshe had no trouble playing the part of a happily married wife.

Lorcan was nearing the end of his patience, and he didn’thave much to begin with.

Lorcan and Elide had been wandering from tavern to tavern inthis relatively large plains town, and after they reached the third tavern, Lorcanhad gone to use the bathroom. And to try and clear his head.

His head pounded and beat with every stroke of irritationthat crossed his mind. The faucet squeaked, and Lorcan splashed cold water onhis face. He quickly checked his reflection in the mirror and tried to lookunthreatening, before facing the tavern crowd. Perhaps pleasant, even…

He settled for a look of cold neutrality.

As he stepped through the bathroom doorway, he immediatelyregistered that Elide had moved from where she’d been sitting originally. Hiskeen eyes scanned the room and deftly picked her out of the crowd by herraven-dark hair, neatly done up in a bun. For a moment, Lorcan entertained thenotion of dragging Elide out and burning the whole, wretched place to theground.

Instead, he stalked over to where she was perched.

She was sitting at a nearly-rotting wooden table with abunch of worthless soldiers who took every chance they could to try and leerdown her shirt. Elide just laughed demurely, exchanging witty banter andlightly smacking at their wandering hands.

“Come,” Lorcan repeated, “I need to speakwith you.” His carefully restrained irritation had seeped into his clippedtone, and Elide’s back straightened. The rowdy soldiers around the table hushed,as well.

One of the soldiers dared to speak. A young, human man, ofaverage height and average build. He gripped his sword for courage. “Heypretty girl, is this guy giving you trouble?”

Lorcan ignored him like an ant, staring at Elide as hewaited for her response.

The dark-haired woman just sat there smugly. She held up onehand to the soldier across the table who spoke, but she kept her eyes on Lorcan.

“I’m fine,”she emphasized, her gaze unwavering as she delivered her next blow. “And,I’m still your fiancée, the marriageisn’t for another couple weeks.” Elide’s eyes flashed dangerously, andLorcan’s temper nearly snapped its leash then.

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. And thenanother one. There was no point, no point in getting angry here. Not when theconfrontation was drawing so much attention; the whole tavern floor had quieted,anticipating a fight. The old bartender was innocently drying glasses,pretending not to eavesdrop.

Lorcan was reaching the end of his rope, and Elide was stillsitting there, staring him down.

“Hey man, you heard the lady. She said she’s fine, soback off.” The same, irritating soldier who had spoken out before spoke upagain.

Lorcan’s gaze finally flickered to the soldier, who at leasthad the good sense to look a little nervous while the most powerful demi-Faemale stared him down. Harsh lines promising cruelty were etched onto hisimmortal face as he stepped forward and leaned towards the soldier, who couldn’thelp but lean away. The rest of the soldiers at the table shuffled andmuttered, slightly uneasy.

Lorcan lowered his voice to a deadly, lethal quiet. “Ifyou want to keep your vocal cords, don’t ever speak to me again. Otherwise I’llrip ‘em out and feed them back to you.”

In his deathless, onyx eyes, he held the promise there forthe soldier to see, to feel the weight of the truth.

Elide, it seemed, had had enough. She abruptly stood up.“On second thought, I’d better talk to my future husband about conduct inpublic, hmm?” She put her handson her hips and glared at him. “Let’s go. Now.”

Without waiting for his affirmative, Elide grabbed his hand.Lorcan cringed inwardly at the contact but allowed her to lead the way throughthe tavern, storming between the tables and dodging drunks.

Finally, they got outside. Elide looked around and pulledhim behind a corner, making sure no one was near enough to hear them.

“What in Hellas’s realm has gotten into you?” She hissed, jabbing a fingerat his chest.

He refrained from rolling his eyes. Instead, Lorcan crossedhis arms. “There was no information that was worth getting out of thoseworthless fools.”

Elide narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s what you think.They were Rifthold soldiers. I was going to ask about Morath again, ask ifthey’ve heard anything suspicious regarding my uncle or Duke Perrington. Perhapslet slip information about the horrifying things that have been sighted aroundOakwald Forest, these days. Since they have to protect Adarlan from all sortsof threats you know.” She widened her eyes at him in mock horror.

“Anyway, I don’t have time to be getting into it herewith you, behind this stupid tavern.” She turned her back on him to walkaway. “I’m going to find my damn Queen, and you can do whatever youwant.”

Lorcan just stood there for a few moments as he watchedElide walk away, her long skirt swaying behind her as her hips swung.

He silently followed behind her as she stalked down theriver a little ways before entering yet another tavern. Across the road, Lorcanwatched her disappear through the entrance, and he debated what to do.

As spurned as he felt, Lorcan knew he couldn’t leave heralone. Clever as she was, she’d be defenseless against multiple aggressors,like those preying soldiers from before. Plus, Rowan and Gavriel would kill him if they found out he left theLady of Perranth alone.

So he made up his mind to go inside and just observe. He’djust keep watch. That was all she needed anyway, a bodyguard. She had said asmuch before they’d met the carnival troupe. He didn’t know why he expected somuch from her, anyway.

Lorcan ducked his head and entered the dimly lit tavern; thisone a tad nicer than the last one they had been in. And it was emptier, too.His eyebrows raised as he spotted her at the bar, swirling a glass with herhand. He didn’t understand her intentions, so he hesitantly went to sit at atable wedged in a dark corner.

He said he’d observe, after all.

But some time passed, and all Elide did was keep orderingdrinks at the bar. A couple fruity drinks at first, from what Lorcan couldtell. Then a glass of wine. Then a shot.

And another shot.

And another.

And finally, Lorcan got up to approach her.

“Jealousy isn’t cute on you,” Elide slurred,tracing a finger along the wooden countertop. She looked up at Lorcan through heavy-liddedeyes, tipping over slightly on the stool. Lorcan nearly snarled an answer ather, but he sensed the bartender was watching them. He looked up to see thebartender’s eyes narrowing at him suspiciously.

“This is my fiancée,” Lorcan explained loudly, ina long-suffering tone. At least his voice sounded natural. The bartender shiftedhis gaze to Elide, who tipped her head in an approximation of a nod. He relaxedand shrugged, like he understood. Ahh,relationship problems.

Lorcan returned his gaze to Elide, slumped over on her rightarm. She pursed her lips at him in annoyance, her eyes half-shut. He tried notto think about how beautiful she was, when she wasn’t being a frigid ice queen.

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” He asked in a low voice.

“You. You were jealous I was flirting with thosesoldiers. I saw the look on your face.”

“They weren’t worth your time,” Lorcan growledlowly. A little knowing smile danced on Elide’s rosebud lips.

“I’m flattered… you were jealous,” she said,stumbling over her words a bit.

She’s drunk,Lorcan thought to himself. She won’t evenremember what she’s saying… I’ll just bring her back to the inn.

“Elide, you’re drunk,” he calmly stated. Eventhough she was seated on a high stool at the bar, he towered over her at6'4". But it didn’t matter, since she didn’t even bat an eye at himanymore; he didn’t intimidate her. Sure, he could kill her, but that wouldn’tbe any worse than what he had done to her queen.To Queen Aelin Galathynius of Terrasen, who was still alive and now grown.

It was the reason why Elide had started slamming drinks backat the bar, downing shots like candy.

Because gods-damned Lorcan kept hanging around her like apuppy, waiting for her to forgive him. And Elide wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t doit until Lorcan… No, not Lorcan, she wasn’t thinking of Lorcan, she meant Aelin…Until Aelin came back, she wouldn’t forgive Lorcan.

Elide sat up and opened her mouth to tell him that, but theroom started spinning and she screwed her eyes shut.

All of a sudden, she was scooped up into someone’s arms. Tan,muscular arms. Lorcan’s.

“This is your fault,” she slurred. I’m drunk because of you, she added inher head. Lorcan just shook his head in bewildered amusement.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s get you intobed.” She squinted at him and… Was that… was that a glimmer of kindness she saw in his eyes? She mustbe drunker than she thought. Her head rolled to the side, so heavy…

In what felt like no time at all, Lorcan had her tucked intothe bed at the inn they were staying at. He brought her a glass of water.

“Drink,” Lorcan instructed, holding the glass outto her. Groaning, Elide sat up and reached towards it. She tentatively sipped.

“Thanks,” She said gratefully. Elide trained hergaze on the white scar she saw peeking from the collar of Lorcan’s shirt.

He looked reproachful, like he was about to say something,so Elide opened her mouth to cut him off. “Don’t. If you think me getting drunkgives you the right to give me a rutting lecture, just don’t. Just leave.”She bid her voice not to waver, bid her heart to hold strong. It was exhaustingholding this much anger and resentment in her heart, but she couldn’t seem tolet it go.

Lorcan’s onyx eyes were unfathomable, his hands clenched athis sides. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I did, about getting yourqueen captured. I’ll keep saying it, if you need me to. Just don’t- don’t lookat me that way anymore.”

Elide closed her eyes and sighed. She was still drunk, hermind was still hazy, so she held out her hand to him and he grasped it. Lorcan slowlysat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so tired… So tired of being angry, Lorcan… I wishyou hadn’t done what you did,” Elide mumbled tiredly, her head rolling tothe side. “I wish I knew how to get her back…”

Lorcan’s gravelly voice was surprisingly gentle. “Iknow… I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it if you need me to, and I’ll do anything tomake it up to you.”

Elide perked up slightly at that. “Anything?”

He hesitated. “Well… within reason, of course. I wantto make it up to you. I meant to protect you before, but I fucked it up, and Iknow that.”

Elide’s dark eyes opened and found his, searching his eyesfor the answer before she asked her question. “Why did you want to protectme?”

“I promised I would.” His tone was evasive, andElide’s eyes fluttered shut again, as if she were too exhausted to hold hereyelids open.

“Okay,” she said simply. “We’ll figure it out…This all out… Right?”

Lorcan tried to let down his guard, recognizing that Elidewas giving him a chance, a chance to make it up to her… So he squeezed her handand nodded, before remembering that Elide had closed her eyes again. He lickedhis lips to wet them. “Yes. We’ll figure it out… together.”

“Together,” Elide murmured, right before sheslipped into the dark folds of sleep.