#be on the lookout for more fics from me for this event!

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 5 - Temperance

summary : viktor and reader work together in the library (so much banter, it's insane), then maybe there's a small fight because a guy called viktor a cripple and that causes some issues

content warnings : mentions of blood but really not that much tbh

word count : 5,4k

author's note : you thought i was gone on this one huh ? WRONG. we're so back babies! i know it's been 2 years since i've touched this baby okay, but i'm back now! hopefully i will get more time to write about this lil guy bc i love this fic.

masterlist : 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

(not proofread, english is not my first language ✦)

taglist : @doctorho

For the rest of the two long hours, Heimerdinger continued his lesson.

The class had come to an end, you silent, the class teeming with gossip. Professor Heimerdinger had distributed the subjects one by one to the students at the end of the lesson. He was a perfectly reasonable, friendly teacher who tried to make his pupils laugh at the expense of their historical knowledge.

When you had a lesson with him, you knew you were listening to a teacher who was wise enough to turn events and experiences into jokes to lighten the burden of his history lessons.

He was always on the lookout for questions and comments from the students, not hesitating for a moment as he gave the subjects to the groups one by one to point out the difficulties they might find and the pitfalls that might await them.

In short, Heimerdinger wanted his students to succeed, not to see a decline in the Piltover Academy's chances of success, which in the eyes of many seemed to be something to crow about rather than something to be ashamed of.

The very idea of being one of the few students to overcome these difficulties and succeed was, in your eyes, the greatest reward that could ever be given to you.

“Young folks,” he said, pointing to the two of you. “Come this way. I have reserved a subject especially for you.”

Heimerdinger didn't do things haphazardly. He gave students subjects that reflected them, or at least where he knew the results would be most interesting. You couldn't help but fear what he was up to.

When the students had dispersed, the tinkle of Viktor's cane sounded until he arrived at your side. You sighed audibly as you looked at him, crossing your arms over your chest as he gave you a winning smile.

He seemed to enjoy it when you got angry, and took great pleasure in teasing you constantly. Had he been a friend, you wouldn't have held it against him, even though your list of friends consisted mainly of Eris, Sky and Jayce. However, a friend wasn't supposed to be a problem for your success. There's only so much space in the academy for students who come out on top, and you weren't about to give yours away.

“Good,” he said at last as the last student passed through the doorway. “There's no need to point out that you two are the sharpest elements of this class, you're well enough aware of that, as is the rest of the school certainly.”

Your bickering and petty battles almost made the corridors of the school come alive again with the excitement of rumour and gossip partaking in your reputation.

“None of the fellow teachers in this establishment seem to have brought to the table, however, a possibility which seems to me to be the most interesting for both of you: teamwork.”

You arched an eyebrow, finding the reasoning profoundly moronic.

“Sir,” you couldn't help but point out, “this school is eliminatory. Why would you want to associate students who won't necessarily all have the chance to pass the exams?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, “I'm not doing it with the prospect of a pass or a gold medal waiting for you at the finish line, Miss.”

You tilted your chin up in a slight pout of surprise.

“You see, I'm not necessarily trying to prepare you for the exams, but for what will happen once they're over. Having a diploma is all very well on paper, but what counts most in the end will be what you achieve.”

“All right,” you admit, “but why put us in a pair like this?”

“It's quite simple,” he jumped up from his desk, trotting across the floor to stand in front of you, your eyes downcast on him. “In the working environment, you don't always find a shoe to fit. And when you don't have the power to dismiss your colleague just because you don't like them, you have to learn to sacrifice your temperament for the sake of the common good. Now, I'm not asking you to make sacrifices, that word is far too violent, but I am asking you to compromise.”

You exchanged a look with Viktor, your fists clenching until your knuckles were white. You'd already made enough compromises for one lifetime, and now you had to go on? He, for his part, didn't seem too bothered by the situation. How could he be so calm? So serene about the idea of cooperating?

“You don't always work with the person of your choice, and not always on the subjects you'd prefer. Oh, that's just it! Speaking of subjects…”

He stood on tiptoe, grabbing the last sheet of paper from his desk and holding it out to Viktor.

The latter, for once, frowned in pure confusion and even perhaps... irritation?

“The evolution of Zaun's power?”

Your eyes narrowed before shifting from Viktor to Heimerdinger, “Are you joking?”

“I do love to laugh young lady but the shortest jokes are the best. You both seem, for different reasons, to have an excellent knowledge of Zaun. Its political power, its evolution, and even the iconic figures who can make themselves forgotten in the shadows of its depths.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying to remain upright and not revolt on the spot. Heimerdinger seemed way too amused and happy of his little scheme.

“Any questions?”

Viktor read the subject and what you had to complete, “Do you have any books to recommend to us Professor?”

Heimerdinger's voice became a blur as your thoughts drifted like the Grey in Zaun. Every corner of this city was out to kill you, and even when you were out of it, it followed you like your shadow.

Were you ever going to get out of such a cycle, out of this city’s grasp ?

“Miss?”

The teacher's voice brought you back down to earth. Distracted, you simply offered a confused hum in question so that he would repeat his last words.

“Your assignment is due in a month. That gives you time to put your differences aside and find a way of working together. If you'll excuse me, my next class is coming up soon.”

He gestured towards the exit, and soon enough you found yourselves in the corridor. The momentary emptiness of the hall almost seemed to bring you back to reality.

You drew in a breath, meeting Viktor's gaze beside you. You couldn't afford to get a bad mark, especially not for a Heimerdinger course. He was one of the most renowned scientists in the country, with his own seat on the Piltover council. To produce mediocre work would be to end your career on the spot, and you were prepared to at least try to cooperate with someone like Viktor.

“Why are you not begging the teacher to put us both in different duos?” you asked while Viktor was still reading the subject content.

“Hm, I think it might be fun.” he said, not even glancing at you.

You scoffed, “You and me?” your trigger finger pointing back and forth between the two of you, “Together? Fun?”

His eyes dropped from the paper, scanning you with a changed interest.

“You'd rather go back in there and ask for a rematch like a loser?”

A muscle near your eye tensed for a moment.

He sighed, his eyes returning to the subject, “Admitting defeat takes strength.”

“So you think I'm weak ?”

But Viktor didn't seem to have the slightest interest in you at the moment.

You relaxed your shoulders, sighing. There was no point in trying to beat him, you weren't - on that subject at least - in competition.

“Can I see the subject?” you asked, reaching for the paper, but he removed it from your reach in an instant.

You frowned, this wasn't going to be easy.

“Do I disgust you?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard, your eyes blinking several times as you almost looked at him with fresh eyes.

If the question was purely physical, no, Viktor didn't disgust you. He was always accompanied at all times and in all places by that same invariable weariness that gave him a particular elegance. He had features common in Zaun, brown hair, amber eyes, and an accent that made some of the girls in your class drop like flies.

When it came to his character and personality though, it was another thing entirely.

“You annoy me,” you replied, managing to snatch the subject of his hand with enough agility that the gesture left him surprised, “but you don't disgust me.”

He remained silent for a moment. You could feel his eyes on you as yours fell on those of the subject.

“The only thing that disgusts me is your taste in pasta,” you confirmed.

He let out a little laugh, the kind that mixes humming and nose blowing, the kind you do when a remark makes you nostalgic.

“Friday, 5pm, library, don't be late.” he said simply, the clink of his cane echoing on the floor as he began to walk away.

As your eyes roamed over the page, you couldn't help but take in nothing of what was written. Your mind was stuck on him, on the trick Heimerdinger had just played on you.

He had just orchestrated a game that the whole school was going to bet on, the teachers were going to look at your situation in a new light, and in the worst case scenario, multiply the group work to put you both in pairs.

Your heart looped as you realised that this was undoubtedly another test. Heimerdinger was going to observe which of you was the best performer, the most pliable, the best at teamwork.

You had to be flawless, you had to.

Friday came earlier than you imagined, and you weren't looking forward to it in the least. You hadn't stopped thinking about it, finding yourself on numerous occasions distracted during your homework.

The card of the day you had drawn was Temperance, and the little booklet told you:

Alchemy. Mixing and harmonising opposing forces and concepts. Maintaining opposing ideas and encouraging complexity in life. Fusion produces evolution.

The archangel Gabriel, the angel messenger, is represented on the card. He wears the sign of the sun on his forehead. This is also the alchemist's symbol for gold. This card reflects the changing of the seasons and the adoption of new ideas. Temper in Latin is the act of repetition to invoke skill or to refine something, to make it sharper like a sword.

What a pain that was, and to think you'd have to endure this for a whole month of deep research and hours spent by his side working, together.

You dragged your feet as you made your way to the academy library.

It was a magnificent place, filled with the smell of varnished wood, old paper and dried ink. The ceiling was arched, the bookshelves forming real walls that separated the room like rows of pews in a church. If it hadn't been reserved for the academy's research students, it would surely have been on Piltover's list of monuments to visit.

There weren't many people there, apart from a small handful of students finishing their homework before basking in the arrival of the weekend. You were a good fifteen minutes early, and didn't see Viktor at all.

You were just about to put your bag and things down by a table and start your research, when a voice you wouldn't have preferred to hear at the time greeted you:

“Ah, there you are,” Viktor approached, coming out of one of the library corridors, “I just needed some help to get to the higher tomes.”

With his free hand, he held up a small stack of tomes, pressing them under his chin before placing them on a table with two or three other books already laid out.

You sighed, moving your things over to his table, “Have you been there for long already?”

“Why, do you care about me?” his cheeky grin made you roll your eyes.

“I think you overestimated my greatness. Which shelf?”

He said nothing, making his way to one of the shelves. You followed him. Fortunately, the women's uniforms at the academy had trousers. You wouldn't have known what to do if it had been otherwise and you'd ended up on a ladder above him.

“You know,” he began as you reached the meagre ladder to the upper shelves, “I've been looking forward to working with you.”

You arched an eyebrow, your hand gripping the ladder as you looked at him in confusion.

“Why?”

The two of you were only picking on each other, you were avoiding him like the plague, and you'd made it clear to him several times that your situation was that of a competition. So obviously you had a right to be surprised as to why he'd want to work with you.

He shrugged. “You were the top student before I came here, surely there must be a reason behind it.”

You expelled an abrupt puff from your lungs, your breath taken away by his insolence. You could only expect it after all.

You climbed a few steps up the ladder, looking for Zaun's historical tomes.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, or am I to believe my working buddy seeks to diminish me to a fictive second rank?”

“We're in a library, alas, reality catches up to this fiction, miss number two.”

You clutched the volume in your hand, your nostrils flaring for a moment in anger. He knew how to annoy you, and you never seemed to find a single point on which you could reciprocate.

You held out the tomes one by one for him to take. “Guess I could work on a pet name for you too.”

“Be my guess.”

Once his arm was full, you took a few tomes in your hands before climbing down the ladder and walking towards the table. “And make you the honour of thinking of something to be done for you ? I'd rather lick sandpaper.”

He feigned disappointment, “So I do disgust you, this pains me.”

You set the pile of volumes down on the table, reaching into your bag to pull out paper and pens.

“Yeah well, You were supposed to pretend I didn't exist, not try to bother me to death. So I guess we're both disappointed.”

He took a seat, grabbing a volume and placing it in front of him. “So I bother you ?”

You sat down opposite him, imitating his gesture as you searched with interest for a tome to start with.

“What a transcending sense of observation you have.”

He brought both his hands up in front of him, resting his chin on the backs of his fingers.

“How do I bother you?”

You were starting to get annoyed by his questions. You had come here to work, not to chat.

“Your simple existence?” you replied, staring into his eyes.

He sighed, opening his book and noting on the page its title.

“As if yours wasn't proof that failure has a sense of humour.”

You said nothing, letting his comment wander in the air as you started your own research in silence, locating the chapter of interest to you in the table of contents.

“But seriously,” Viktor continued, “why do I bother you?”

You sighed, pinching the page you were on before shifting your eyes from the words on it to Viktor's curious amber gaze.

“You want an honest answer ?”

He nodded. You let go of the page, straightening up.

“You come into my life and wreck everything I've built brick by brick, wouldn't you be the slightest bit frustrated if that happened to you ?”

It was his turn to be silent this time. He seemed to look at you differently, as if, by some miracle perhaps, he'd just realised what was at stake for you in this situation.

He wasn't even touching the tip of the iceberg of why you'd come to the Academy, but for a moment he seemed to understand how important it could be for you.

Your eyes returned to your page, trying to find keywords to write down or information to record.

“You surpassed me in the exam, teachers love you, you make great friends…”

“Almost sounds like you're obsessed with me.”

Your lips parted, eyes wide as you looked at him as if he'd just slapped you, leaving your cheek and your thoughts with a warm tingle. You were so surprised that nothing came from your lips, which was beginning to be enough for a flash of mischief to cross Viktor's eyes and for the corner of his lips to form a sneer.

“I'm not.” You finally reply, trying to remain composed and not to stammer for anything in the world.

“Denial would've worked before the long vacant stare,” he says, advancing slightly on the table.

“Why do you have to be like that?”

“Like what?”

You humph, dropping back in your chair in despair.

“Better than me.”

He recoiled slightly, as if the remark was completely far-fetched and unfounded.

“There are thousands of people better than me, why do you have to focus on my poor self, hm? Did I barge in your territory?”

He had, unconsciously he truly had. It was you who was supposed to be first, otherwise the consequences would've been mentally dire.

“Take it this way,” he continued, “there's surely something you're better at than me.”

You couldn't think of much on the spot, especially not when there was a possibility of you making a list of things he topped you in. There was surely one thing though.

“Running.”

He opened his lips in surprise, a smile stretching across his face which he hid with his hand. You were already regretting what you'd just said.

“Jayce is going to be the first one hearing about this.”

“No it's-”

“So you're participating in a system made against disabilities.”

“I never-”

“Are you going to steal my crutch next in hopes of beating me to a race?”

“You're never going to drop this now are you ?”

“With such a statement ? Never.”

“Whatever let's just- let's just work.” you mumble, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and shame as you desperately try to move on.

He gave one last chuckle before getting back to work. He seemed to be reading a tome on the history of the masters of Zaun.

“About Tytos, I still think you've got that wrong.” he said as he read another page from the tome.

“I think I'm going to smash your face in.” you replied calmly without looking at him.

“As if you could reach me.”

“You know what-” you began, raising your voice.

However, somebody shushed you in the room, restricting you to remaining calm.

“Raising your voice in a library? You'd have to be a stupid fool.”

“Trying to contradict me when even Heimerdinger considered my answer excellent is not the wisest either.”

“Heimerdinger would tell a snail that goes slightly faster than the norm it's excellent. But maybe your low self esteem is just common sense.”

“Maybe my self esteem will just leave this library right now.” you say, crossing your arms on the table.

“And leave me to pursue this matter on my own? That wouldn't be very serious, miss number two.”

You sighed, getting back to work. Your blood was boiling in your veins just from sitting at this table.

“None of the books mention Tytos.”

“Since when do you trust Piltover books on the accounts of the history of Zaun ?”

Touché. He raised his eyebrows as if it were the only relevant thing you could have said.

“You never said where you were from, in Zaun,” he remarked.

You tensed slightly. “Why do you want to know that ?”

“We're making an exposé on Zaun, we're both from there, might as well just know it,” he said, raising his eyes to yours.

You watched him for a moment, he didn't seem to want to make a joke of you once your answer was out of your mouth. But in any case, you weren't going to give it to him.

“You wouldn't know,” you replied simply as you jotted down another date.

‘I'm sure that I-”

“You don't want to know.’ you said firmly, the seriousness taking over your face to assure him that this was certainly not territory he wished to venture into.

He frowned, confused. He seemed deeply intrigued by you, and that made you uncomfortable. Never before in your life had anyone asked you so many questions about yourself in such a short space of time. And so here he was, shaking up every one of your pillars like a bowling ball knocking over pins.

This one, however, was not about to give way.

You looked at your watch for a moment, sighing.

“Let's work for one more hour. We'll make a plan and subparts of what we'll talk about at the end of it.”

This time Viktor seemed to get the message: silence. 

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. You noticed the way his long fingers flicked across the pages, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he read, the way he rested his cheek on the back of his hand with a sigh as he read a boring piece of writing. 

Or when he would click his pencil for a moment to write something down, and his handwriting would lie gracefully on the paper, scratching the grain of the paper.

It was not without surprise that, once the hour had passed, there was hardly anyone in the library but the two of you. 

When you explained your plan for the presentation to Viktor, he agreed, simply giving a few perfectly critical and serious remarks without condescending to him in any way.

“Good. I think this is a good time to stop for today,” you said as you stood up, taking a stack of books in your arms.

All in all, working with Viktor like this wasn't so bad, when it was done in silence. But as soon as either of you opened your lips to say anything, politeness left the room in great strides.

You put each tome away in its old place, both of you taking your things, and left the library. The academy wasn't closed yet, and some people still had classes or were hanging around in the corridors.

You walked side by side, your pace the same as Viktor's. All the students seemed to turn around as you passed, your duo seeming like a pair of circus animals. 

You glanced at Viktor, who didn't seem in the least affected by this.

However, a trio of students were watching you with evil, mocking eyes. You couldn't help but tense up, however, when the one who seemed as tall as he was stupid remarked: 

“Die already, cripple. You're slowing the traffic.”

Your shoulders tensed as you walked, expecting to do what you'd always had to do here despite the taunts: ignore and move on.

But Viktor wasn't going to listen to you like that.

“Thank you for your advice, I'll try euthanasia once you'll be able to count higher than the number of butterfingers you've got.”

A few chuckles echoed in the corridor at his reply, but the young man seemed to be boiling with hatred. It was as you passed in front of them that, in a cowardly move, he kicked Viktor's cane.

He lost his balance, falling face first to the ground as his cane fell beside him. The air stopped for a moment with the shock of the gesture, your eyes shifting from Viktor on the ground to the idiot who had just knocked him over. Students knelt down beside him immediately to help him.

“Oops, my foot slipped. Sorry.”

But nothing, of course, conveyed any regret at this behaviour.

He turned his back and walked off with his group of friends. Your blood ran cold.

Quickly, you grabbed Viktor's cane, which was still on the ground, and made it whistle through the air before it struck the back of the student's knees. It was his turn to shrivel up on the floor, and he immediately turned to you, his cheeks red with anger.

“Oops, my hand slipped,” you said, glancing at the crutch for a moment before returning to him. “Sorry.”

You turned back to Viktor, handing him his crutch. He looked at you with fried whiting eyes, deeply surprised by your gesture without moving a muscle.

“You fucking slut…” you heard behind you.

But as soon as you turned around, a sharp blow hit you in the cheek. The force of it knocked you back two steps, a metallic taste spreading through your mouth. You brought your fingers to your lips, hissing as you touched them, your bottom lip burning. Bringing your fingers back into line of sight, you found them bloodied.

You turned to the student, his face far too satisfied for your liking.

‘’What a brilliant idea,‘’ you breathed as, in one swift movement, you struck his crotch with the crutch.

He bent over instinctively, gasping for breath, before you punched him right in the nose. He fell, cowering on the ground like a miserable insect.

"What's going on here?" asked a stern voice.

Madame Agrane, one of your teachers, came into the corridor. Her eyes fell on Viktor on the floor, your lip split, the student on the ground surrounded by his two friends.

“Everyone in my office, now.”

You pressed a bag of ice cubes to your cheek, sitting next to Viktor who was clutching his crutch in his hands. As for the idiot, he kept grumbling and giving you nasty looks. You recognised him now, the student from the museum, the one that had called zaunites rats.

"Can someone explain to me what happened for you all to end up in such states?" questioned Agrane.

You were about to start but the idiot beat you to it.

"Madame Agrane, I was just minding my own business in the corridor when these two pupils came up to me! One was hitting me with his crutch while the other was punching me. I don't know what I've done to deserve this.' He exclaimed theatrically, Viktor and you looking at him like the most ridiculous being to ever be.

If there was one thing that helped your reputation, it was that you were known as serious students, who didn't fall into the category of those who would start a fight in the corridors for no particular reason.

"That is far from the truth," Viktor retorted calmly. "He insulted me, then made me fall, and then...’

He seemed to be hesitating over his words, or at least looking for the right term. He turned to you, letting his eyes drift for a moment to your split lip, and then back to Madame Agrane's gaze.

"... My friend protected me."

Friend? the word made you clench your jaw, inhaling. It was just a lie, just a word brought to the front to give your teacher sympathy. No, he certainly didn't mean it.

The teacher looked at you, seeming more convinced by your story than the other. Noticing this, the student couldn't help but plead his own case: 

"Madam, these two students come from Zaun. The blood of violence will always run in their veins."

Agrane seemed to give you a new look, as if you and Viktor were ready to pounce on her like two wolves.

"Is this a joke? You started all this," you said, offended.

"Beating you up would have brought greatness to Piltover." he replied.

"Oh, look at you, attempting greatness! Pity it's just an attempt." you sighed, pressing the ice pack a little closer to your cheek to put out the fire your anger was beginning to spread.

"Madam Agrane," he continued, turning to her, "you know what my patron will think about this. Imagine his reaction when he will hear how you have treated his favoured student?"

You had no idea who his patron could possibly have been, but she didn't hesitate for a second to say: 

"Miss, you'll get an hour's detention for your violent behaviour in the corridors. I hope I don't have to catch you again doing such barbaric acts."

Your eyes widened just as much as Viktor's.

"What?! But he's the one who-" you tried, pointing at the idiot who was smiling victoriously.

"There's no buts about it. The discussion is closed. You'll have your detention period this Monday."

"Madam, I think there's been a mistake." Viktor began.

"Do you want to be given detention too, young man?"

Viktor remained silent, sighing before lowering his eyes to the ground.

"Good, see you on Monday, then."

The fool stood up first, walking past you with a foolish grin on his face.

"Bet it feels just like home to be in prison by monday, hm?"

Your lip hemmed in disgust, your nose scrunching up.

"Try what you've done just once more, and I'll personally make sure you have no offspring."

He looked slightly frightened for a moment, then frowned like a child before leaving the room.

You sighed, standing up. You wanted to get out of here right away, away from the horrible feeling of injustice in your heart, away from the word ‘punishment’ burning into your skin.

Your free hand instinctively came to rest on your shoulder for comfort, and you stood up to get your things.

“You didn’t have to do this earlier, you know.” Viktor said.

You sighed, walking towards the door. “Whatever, what is done is done.”

"Hey," Viktor said, standing up behind you.

You didn't even turn to him.

"Thanks, I wasn't expecting that at all."

You waited for something, for anything that would come after what he had just said, but nothing came. Your turned to him.

"Is that all? No remarks about how I'd have been better off hitting him somewhere else, or stupid sarcasm about my action?"

He seemed surprised by your reaction, his face puzzled and almost saddened.

"We're not friends, Viktor." you said, your face as cold as the ice pack on your cheek. "We're..."

But what were you apart from rivals? Two rivals working together to do a job that would rely on both of you, that wasn't really rivalry. It was camaraderie in a way, you were classmates, but friends?

You pursed your lips, a slight trickle of blood beading from them.

"See you next week."

Without further ado, you left the room. You walked down the corridors, the students staring at you like an alien. You were suffocating under all those sharp, curious, numerous stares. You pressed on, leaving the academy as quickly as possible.

Once outside, you took the first quiet alley you could find.

“Shit!” you swore, pressing your back against the first wall you could find.

You brought your hand up to your forehead, sighing until you almost felt your body slide down the wall, running your palm over your face in frustration and exhaustion.

You wanted to cry, the weight of everything feeling like it was zipping up on you like a body bag. You'd been stupid, acting on your emotions. You should have kept your head down, let the administration do its job, not invented a life of heroism trying to redress the balance that some fool had tipped.

You didn't even like Viktor, but you'd still jumped at the chance to do him justice. No, you didn't like Viktor any more than that.

But you respected him.

Could you be friends with him?

The question passed through your mind for a moment, but you ended up putting it out of your mind.

You let your head fall back against the wall. The thought of an hour's detention in your perfect record seemed to you like a thread sticking out of a beautiful dress, itching to be pulled on. You tried to console yourself, to come to terms with the fact that it was just another hour of extra study. But you couldn't help feeling heavy with pain.

Eventually you gathered up your things and walked home, hoping that the cool night air would help to quench the fire that was still boiling inside you. Winter was on your doorstep, and ready to complicate things.

✦﹒previous chapter 　　　　　　 ✦﹒next chapter

[replenaryindulgence]

Before the Light: Chapter 2

Azriel x Calida (ka-lee-duh)/Reader

Summary: Calida wakes up disoriented, her captors' intentions unclear. As she learns more about the world around her, her path home becomes more uncertain.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: alcohol

a/n: Now we're getting into ittttt. I'm so excited to see where this fic goes. I love leaving things open-ended. can you tell lol? This series is based in my mind right after ACOSF, hence the tension between Az and Elaine. How would you react if you were Cal? I tried to put myself in her shoes & not in the shoes of someone familiar with the world (P.S. there are probably typos, I'm rereading it as we speak & I'm on the lookout lol plz forgive me)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The throb at the base of your skull echoed to your temples. Groaning, you pulled the blanket up further to hide from the flickering light. 

Sifting through your thoughts was like trudging through molasses; the events of the past day came reluctantly. The bite of the early morning air, the laughter that echoed over the lake. The pain in your head grew sharp and you rubbed circles trying to ease the pressure. Moments flashed in your mind. Toes in the water, the burnt taste of instant coffee on your tongue. The gleam of silver water through the trees as you ran. 

It all hit you suddenly, dizzyingly; the forest, the strangers. You shot up. A wave of nausea had you clutching the stiff cushion beneath you. You took deep, burning breaths, forcing it to pass. For long moments you sat like this, taking careful glances, afraid to move too quickly. 

The room was dimly lit. A small fireplace crackled before you, the light sharp in your eyes. The smell of rotting wood and smoke hung in the air. To your left was a door; the wood gnarly and weathered. The whole place was. There was little furniture; a small work table sat to the right of the fireplace, at the end of the bed a large armchair. The dark material glittered slightly in the firelight. It looked out of place, less subjected to the elements. There was nothing else — no one else. No light peered through the small windows. 

The door flung open, the tall man with the stern face from the forest entered carrying pieces of wood under his arm. You heard the thudding of your heart in your ears. He didn’t speak. In three strides he hovered over the small work table. That’s when you noticed it, barely illuminated; the dagger at his side. 

He spoke and you met his gaze, blinking through the panic as he held out a glass of water. You couldn’t move. He sighed, setting it on the stool next to the bed. Your eyes trailed him as he sat upon the small stool by the fire, stoking it with another piece of wood, keeping it alive. He looked over his shoulder and gestured to the glass, repeating the unfamiliar phrase. Your tongue felt like cloth in your mouth but the fear held you frozen in place.

He stood once more and walked to the table, searching through a small bag. The thud of chopping filled the cabin and you watched as he added ingredients to a small black pot. Several minutes passed, your gaze fell to the glass of water and you gave in to your thirst. The water streamed down your chin, dampening your collar. 

“Where am I,” you choked out, voice sounding like you’d swallowed gravel. You knew he couldn’t understand. “What did you do to me?” 

You tried to form a plan. It was dark, this place was unfamiliar. Your face heated. Your friends. They were probably scouring the woods looking for you; you had to find them. You reached into your pocket.

They’d taken your phone, your watch. Everything. 

You tried to stand, or make for the door, but whatever they’d done to your head had the floor shifting beneath you. You couldn’t make it back like this. You sat back, leaning on the wall for support. ”Please,” you begged, though you weren’t sure what exactly for. You couldn’t make it three miles, not like this. You watched as the man hung the pot over the small fire and took a seat before it. He finally looked to you, and you held his stare. A minute passed like this, the two of you silent and unwavering. 

His attention turned back to the fire, stirring the pot slowly, and you closed your eyes in defeat. Your mind led you through every twisted possibility. 

When he spoke again, you found a wooden bowl sitting on the stool by the bed. He sat, watching you, his own bowl in hand. Your stomach snarled. You waited for him to take a bite. You looked at the stew inspectingly; vegetables peeked out of a thin broth. You brought it to your nose. He muttered under his breath. You hesitantly took a bite. It didn’t feel safe, eating what he’d made, but the aching in your head persisted and you’d do anything for it to stop. 

You weren’t sure if it was just the hunger, but you’d never tasted anything like this. You barely swallowed before taking your next bite. Unfamiliar spices stuck in your nose. Setting the bowl aside you noticed the refilled glass. You reached for it, this time taking small sips as you settled against the wall, cautiously surveying the cabin once more. The only exit was the door, the windows were too small for you to fit through. You’d have to wait for him to leave or to be distracted, but you weren’t sure you could outrun him. You felt hopeless; you hadn’t outrun them before, when they wore those ridiculous wings. Maybe if you cried enough he’d let you go from annoyance. You tried to recount what exactly happened in the woods. All you could remember was the fear, and the pain. 

The man walked over to the stool, grabbing the empty bowl. You watched as he moved through the space. He made his way to the end of the bed, settling into the armchair. You clutched the glass tightly as he fidgeted in his seat.

“I need to leave,” you gestured toward the door, pronouncing each word, though it’d do no good. “My friends are out there looking for me,” you patted your chest, ”just, please,” you were begging now, tears burned your eyes, “let me go.” 

His head fell back onto the chair in dismissal. The tears that fell were hot. Panic filled your veins, taking over as you leapt up, but he was quicker. He slammed a fist to the door, blocking it. You stumbled back, legs hitting the cushions.

“Move,” you forced out. You pointed to the door again. He shook his head, this you understood. 

“Yes.” You seethed.

He shook his head again and spoke a single word. ‘No’, you assumed. He pointed towards the bed.

You repeated the word he’d said to you. He shook his head, amused, avoiding your resolute stare. You tried for the door again, but he grabbed your wrist. That’s when you noticed — his hand. It was covered in scars. Both of them were. They rippled in silver and pink swirls of raised skin. He tore away his grip, crossing his arms. He stared past you with a cold gaze. 

You fell backwards onto the bed, dragging yourself to the corner. He set the stool down with a loud thud before the door. His head fell back, eyes looking vacantly through the room. Your head mirrored his, leaning on the wall for some sense of support. You were stuck here — at least for the night. 

…

You’d gotten little rest. You kept yourself curled up to the wall uncomfortably, eyes on the stranger. He never moved. You weren’t sure if he slept either. You’d spent the night contemplating every terrible scenario until your lips were puffy and your eyes swollen. You were thankful when the fire died down and you were able to cry in the cover of darkness. Exhaustion eventually took hold of you.

You woke abruptly as a loud knock sounded. Lifting your stiff head, your eyes squinted in the light as your captor stood, cracking his neck as he reached for the door. The man that grabbed you in the woods appeared beneath the frame. Your heart began to race. 

He took a step in, ducking, as he looked at you with a small, tight smile. He handed over a small satchel. As they spoke, you listened to the words with intense focus, searching for familiarity. Their demeanor was casual despite the situation. The second man had taken off his wings too. They wouldn’t have fit into this cramped cabin, anyways. He rubbed the back of his neck, and turned to look at you. The muscles in your body stiffened. He took a step toward the bed and crouched. 

Holding his hand to his chest he spoke. You stared at him. ‘Cassian’, he repeated gently, patting himself. His name? You looked between them, the other man stood back with his arms crossed. This must be some ploy to try and gain your trust. The man before you hit the other and gestured toward you. He rolled his eyes, stating his name. You repeated it and his eyes shot to yours. 

The man before you nodded with a kind expression and gestured to you encouragingly. You took a breath. If you played along, played nice, maybe you could persuade them to let you go. Maybe this was some big misunderstanding, you let yourself hope.

“Calida,” you stated quietly. 

‘Calida,’ he repeated, standing. He spoke a quick word to the scarred man before turning back through the doorway. He hesitated, nodding to you once more before disappearing and shutting the door tightly behind him. 

That’s it? 

Where was he going? Were they letting you go? You tried to stand but your captor moved before the door. It was useless trying to argue with him. You were a prisoner. You sat back, staring at the door, at the light peering in through the curling wood, visualizing your escape over and over in your mind.  A bird chirped, pulling you from your angry haze. Light poured through the small windows, illuminating specks of dust. You watched despondently as they floated freely around you.

…

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. You’d been given water and more soup. It had been simmering over the fire and tasted even richer than it had the night before. The man left the cabin, taking guard just outside as you relieved yourself in the tiny bathing area covered only by a thin sheet. You scoured the place for a weapon before he returned, but cursed when you found nothing. He must have taken the knife he’d used for dinner. He came back in as you were reaching for the small bag near the armchair and were met with a scowl.

Perhaps your body had run out of anxiety, or perhaps your stillness had fooled it into peace as you sat, legs crossed, watching through the small window as the day passed. As birds and small animals roamed and sang through the forest, and the light filtered through the trees. You heard movement outside just as the door swung open. 

The man with the violet eyes entered, his companion, Cassian, just behind him. No sign of the woman. “Calida,” he spoke, tilting his head toward you. You held your legs in a failed attempt at comfort and prepared for their next move. He reached out and set a small object on the stool next to you. A ring. You looked at him confused, but he only gestured to it. 

You hesitantly reached for the ring, holding it in your palm. It was a gold signet with three deep green stones in the center. Dull metal and shallow scratches showed its age. They watched you silently, expectantly, so you slid the ring on your hand, finding its place on your pointer finger. You twirled it with your thumb.

“Now what,” you spat.

”Now, we find out if this was worth the hassle,” the violet-eyed man spoke, his voice clear and familiar. Your eyes went wide.

”Seeing as to how it went last time, I’m going to have to rely on your candor,” he continued. Your mind ran wild, a million questions on your tongue. ”How did you find yourself in these woods?”

”These woods?” You questioned through the shock.

He raised a brow. 

“I… I’m camping near the lake with a group. I went for a run and… got lost. They’ll be looking for me,” you threatened. 

“You’re not a human spy sent from Autumn with a mind full of riddles to throw me off of your trail?”

“I… what?”

He squinted at you, assessing as he’d done before.

“These are public lands."

“These are Night Court lands.”

Night Court? Reservation land was miles East from where you camped, and none of them were called the Night Court; there was no private land.

“You can’t keep me here, this is kidnapping—“ 

“These woods aren’t safe for you,” Cassian interjected, his voice even.

“I ran three miles without trouble, I can make it back just fine,” you argued, your heart in your throat. “So what, you think you’re locking me away for my own safety?” You mocked.

“Yes,” the man with the violet eyes began, “we are. You are not supposed to be here, and the more you can tell us, the better the chance we have at returning you.”

Returning you? Nothing made sense. 

“How can you understand me?” 

“Magic,” a sly smile grew on his face. You shook your head, your lips pressed in a thin line. This wasn’t a game, but he certainly treated it like one. 

“When you were running, what did you see? Anything strange or unfamiliar?”

“You mean, besides the men with wings?”

“Yes, besides that.” He crossed his arms.

You took a breath, thinking back to the forest, to the lake disappearing, to hitting your head. “I turned to avoid a boulder and ran into a tree. When I looked up, the lake was just… gone. I thought I was concussed,” you admitted reluctantly.

He sighed. “I needed to make sure you weren’t a threat. Clearly, you know nothing,” he sauntered over, settling into the armchair and crossing his legs. “Although… what I saw in the woods, it was intriguing. Where are you from Calida?”

“Washington,” you spat. 

He tapped the armrest with his finger, assessing you. 

“There have been reports of strange happenings in these woods. Herds gone missing only to reappear out of thin air. It’s not unheard of, though there hasn’t been a tear in…” he pondered, “thousands of years. Long before most of our family walked these lands. At least not that we know of. This one seems to be stuck open, for now, though we’re having trouble locating it.”

You blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Would you believe me if I told you the truth?”

Cassian and the other man watched your conversation silently. You looked for any sign of humor or mischief on their face, but they were unnaturally stoic. 

“Tell me then, and I’ll decide for myself.”

“Very well,” He clasped his hands with a casual grace that made you want to roll your eyes. “You must have slipped through a tear, or a door between worlds, because you, Calida, are not where you believe yourself to be. I attempted to read your mind in the forest, and saw nothing familiar. We don’t know where you slipped through. You’re in Prythian, a land of humans, like yourself, as well as Fae and magic,” he pointed to your ring, “the reason we can understand one another.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“The humans here look and smell like you, but you are wholly different. A glimpse into an unfamiliar world.”

You sat still, looking at the men in the room, deciding drugs must be involved. Your mind pulled you back to the scarred man, Azriel. He watched you, and you could’ve sworn pity lined his eyes.

“I see…” you started, “I appreciate your protection and hospitality, but I’m sure I can find my way back.” You spoke calmly, afraid of their reaction.

A deep laugh filled the cabin as the violet eyed man stood. 

“Very well, we’ll see you on your way.” He reached into a small bag and set your belongings down beside you. 

“Rhys-” Azriel began, but the man held up a gentle hand to silence him.

He nodded toward the door, and Cassian opened it apprehensively. They seemed to share a wordless communication. You grabbed your things before they could change their mind. Azriel’s worried eyes followed you through the door. The cool forest air bit at your lungs, a flutter of hope filling your chest. The men behind you made no attempt to grab you. You didn’t dare look back; your feet skipping below you as you began to run through the thick trees. Moments passed and the hope sang louder in your ears as you blindly headed West, your eyes searching wildly for something familiar as your feet skipped across the forest floor.

After some time you came to a stop, leaning on a large rough tree while you caught your breath. You heard nothing over your loud breathing. Eventually it slowed and you realized you heard nothing, no birds sang, no creatures skittered. It was silent. Hairs stood on the back of your neck. Your eyes scanned the forest. There, in the distance, something caught your eye. You were flooded with a sense of familiar dread. You squinted, afraid to move, to breathe. You leaned ever so closer.

As if day was marrying night, a thick, dark swirl of shadow appeared before you. Along with Azriel. Your scream was muffled by his hand as he grabbed your arm with his other. He hushed you and you froze. His head snapped to the right, scanning the trees. You felt your breath in his hand.

”Shit,” he breathed. Before you could blink a darkness washed over you. It swallowed you whole, its gentle claws pulling at your ankles and combing through your hair. What kept you in place was not gravity, but Azriel as he held you to his chest. And just as the darkness had appeared, in a shadow, it had vanished before the light. The cabin filled your vision and you fell promptly to the soft ground, the world around you swirling.

”What was it?” Cassian questioned.

”Naga,” Rhysand spat.

You propped yourself on your elbows, your mouth hanging open, brows furrowed. You looked at the cabin, shocked. Suddenly, a swirl of shadow appeared and dissipated just as quickly as before, and a woman, the woman from the woods, stepped through. Definitely a concussion. 

”Let’s go,” Azriel pulled his dagger from his leg, nodding to Cassian. Wings, the giant membranous wings appeared on their back. This time, they moved as gracefully as the rest of them. Your breath caught in your throat. Your neck fell back as the men leapt up twenty feet in the air, their wings beating the wild grasses flat as they ascended. A cry left escaped your lips. You heard voices in the distance; you stared unblinking at the bright sky.

”You said yourself she’s harmless.”

”I said she’s not a threat. We’ll keep searching. Azriel will watch-“

”You want to keep them cooped up in that cabin? They’ll be at each other's throats. These woods aren’t safe,” She gestured toward the forest.

”The cabin is warded. We can find a spot for her elsewhere-“

“There is a spot. The River House.”

”Feyre, we’re not opening our home to her. There’s too much unknown.”

"Just for a day, Rhys. She’s human," she emphasized.

"Human, yes, but from a foreign world."

The woman stilled and they stood looking at each other for a long while. 

“You knew when you read her mind she wasn’t dangerous. She’ll be my responsibility. Madja will look over her again,” she held a hand up to stop him from arguing. ”That was me Rhys, this could have been me.”

It was decided. The woman made her way to you and knelt.

"Don’t be scared," she began, “but this may be uncomfortable.” She grabbed your arm and again you were swept up in rolling darkness.

…

“I was asleep for a day and a half?” You questioned in disbelief, eyes vacantly set on the wall before you.

The woman, Feyre as she’d told you, nodded, sighing. She was much better at calming your nerves than her husband had been. She’d expressed sympathy for not being there when you woke, something about dealing with a disgruntled citizen. She’d also apologized for Rhysand’s hostility. ‘You look similar to the people we have… political disagreements with,’ she’d said. ‘People, or “fae?”’ You’d questioned, but she’d just given you that same careful smile. 

When Feyre had brought you to the house you’d vomited on the floor, a reaction from what felt like being thrown a thousand feet in the air. Winnowing, she’d called it. You’d laid your cheek on the cool dark tile, steadying your breath. An older woman with a cautious face had appeared. She kept her distance as she moved her arms above you in slow circles. With a simple nod, she was off. Feyre seemed relieved by this and slowly guided you up the stairs and down the hall. 

You'd since decided that you died in the woods, or were clinging to life somewhere having fever-induced dreams. Now you sat on a bed in the grandest room you’d ever seen, unsure of how you’d imagined something like this. Swirls of gold decorated the walls, the wallpaper a faded, clear night sky. Painted portraits and landscapes filled the room. They glowed, the color so rich you swore you could step into the frame. The sheer pale curtains stretched high above the windows, breathing in and out with the uncertain breeze. 

Feyre had confirmed Rhys’s story. Prythian, Fae, the tear between worlds. You half-absorbed it, overwhelmed to the point of numbness. She handed you a small vile that the older woman had left, and you sniffed it suspiciously. ‘It’ll help with the nausea and the headache. I took it all the time when I was pregnant,’ she’d said. You took a sip and puckered. It tasted like lemon thyme. 

“So those men can fly.”

She chuckled, setting a pair of shoes down by the mirror and muttering something about the males being dramatic. “They can. So can Rhys and I, but we can conjure them. We had a glamour-” she paused, “we hid their wings with magic so you’d be less afraid.” 

Less afraid. You scoffed. Thinking back to the way Azriel had walked about the space so carefully, it was clear now. Maybe you hadn’t seen his wings because you didn’t want to.

“That man,” you interrupted the silence, watching as Feyre sorted through a box of clothing she’d brought to the room. “Azriel,” you continued, picking at the skin around your nails, “what happened to him?” 

She stilled. “I’m not sure that’s my story to tell.” She folded a gray sweater, and walked to the wardrobe, setting the pile of clothing inside. “As scary as these past days have been for you, there’s much worse beyond these walls. As long as you’re here, until we can get you back to your family, you’re safe.” 

You weren’t sure why, but again you felt a peace settle into your chest with her words. You read her sincerity. She spoke with a sureness that would ease any anxious mind. You refused to think about what else laid beyond these walls. Your imagination had never been kind to you.

“Rhysand was afraid to bring me here,” you responded.

She nodded, folding her arms. “He’s protective of our family, our son. So am I.” She tilted her head. “But, I saw into your mind through his, you’re not dangerous…” She continued after a pause, “I was lost once. And I was lucky enough to have someone to help guide me back.”

You hummed in response. ‘Saw into your mind.’

“Dinner is at sunset, but until then, rest. If you don’t want to join us you’re more than welcome to have dinner in your room.”

You nodded in thanks, as she reached the bedroom door. 

“There’s a bath waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.” she gestured toward the arched doorway that led to the bathing room. “Drink the rest of that vile,” she stated pointedly. The door shut softly behind her and you fell back, arms spread behind you. Your mind twisted around her words.

You grabbed your phone; dead. With a huff you plugged it into your charger and prayed.

… 

The bath water was still steaming hours later. You’d slept for a while, the adrenaline finally retreated, leaving you a heap of heavy limbs. The knot in your stomach loosened only slightly as you stepped in. You let your head fall back onto the cool porcelain as the hot water licked your tense body. You sat, watching the sun sink slowly beyond the windowsill. You scrubbed your body and inspected your hand. Flexing your fingers, you realized the scratch was gone. A dream, you thought to yourself. You stepped out, combing your lavender-scented hair.

The clothing Feyre brought was far nicer than most of what you owned. It looked well crafted, handmade. The brown knitted cardigan fell gently over your cream silk pants that you’d slipped on, along with a white t-shirt. Everything was familiar, but not. Every detail of the clothing was slightly different than you were accustomed to. You stood, fidgeting with the ring on your finger as you stood frozen in the mirror. The hairs around your face curled as they began to dry.

Down the stairs and to the left was the dining room, you’d been told. With a breath you stepped out, your silk slippers patting gently on the tiled floor. The grand hallway was barely illuminated. Sconces lined the walls, their warm flickering glow mixed with the cool light that shone through the windows. Flickering shadows danced on the giant paintings that filled the hall; your eyes landed on familiar wings and you shuddered. With each step down your anxiety heightened. Even asleep you couldn’t escape it.

Conversation filtered through the house, growing clearer with every step. You hesitated, heart beating heavily. The voices hushed. Every gaze turned toward you inquisitively as you stepped into view. Some faces recognizable, some not. A woman with long golden hair looked over you. A dark-haired woman at her side leaned over her elbow curiously, eyes squinted. A handsome man with dark skin and pure white hair whispered into her ear. Opposite them, a woman who looked remarkably similar to Feyre sat beside Cassian. You met Rhysand’s gaze as he sat at the end of the long dining table, Feyre by his side. She stood, coming to walk you to the opposite end near Azriel. You felt their burning gazes as you stiffly took your seat.

For a moment, there was silence. You glanced around, in awe of the people before you. At the towering wings. Their unnatural beauty. That’s when you spotted their ears, Feyre’s hair had covered them before. Delicate, pointed ears. You glanced around, realizing they all had them. All except Azriel and Cassian.

“Sorry if we scared you, kid,” Cassian interrupted the silence, taking a swig of his drink with a mischievous grin. 

“Calida, you’ve met Cassian, the Commander of our Armies,” Rhysand began. “Azriel, our Spymaster, as well as High Lady of the Night Court, Feyre. These are her sisters Elain and Nesta.”

Elaine, sitting closest to you, offered you a small smile, while Nesta only stared. 

“Morrigan, my cousin,” he pointed to the golden-haired woman to your left, “Amren my Second-in-Command, and our friend Varian.” 

“Call me Mor,” She replied, before turning to Rhys. “What’s with the formalities? And why did I just get ‘cousin’?” 

“Third-in-Command, Queen of Velaris, take your pick,” Rhys responded smoothly, sipping his wine. 

“If she's the Queen, what does that make you?” You asked, eyes set on the man across the table. 

“High Lord of the Night Court, and more powerful than most everyone at this table,” he responded coolly.

“Most?” you questioned. 

“Most,” Feyre responded, a smile playing on her lips.

Cassian interrupted, “See Nes, you two will get along great.” The woman at his side chuckled. The atmosphere was tense. You weren’t helping. 

The focus turned to dinner. The scent of roasted meat and vegetables filled the air. You all loaded your plates and ate in near silence. It tasted so real. So many questions racked your mind, too many. You weren’t sure how to organize them, so you observed. For a ‘foreign world’, there was a lot of familiarity. Their mannerisms, the food. You stabbed a carrot with your fork. Light conversation skittered through the room. You felt Azriel’s eyes on you while you ate, as if he was waiting for you to pounce. You grabbed a slice of dark bread. Everyone seemed unsure of what to do with you. 

“Calida.” 

You looked up, startled. Elain offered you a smile. “That’s a beautiful name.” You felt lingering glances.

“Thank you,” you responded windlessly, “It’s Irish.”

“Is that where you’re from?” She questioned.

“My great-grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America,” you responded. “I grew up in Washington, near the city of Seattle.” You knew this meant nothing to them, but she nodded anyway.

“And what do you fill your time with?” She inquired.

“I’m a student,” you began, “or was. I studied English. Books and authors.”

“What kind of books?” Nesta chimed in.

You looked at her in surprise. “A little of everything. Classic literature, poetry, non-fiction.” 

She hummed in response, tilting her head and reaching for her glass.

Elain asked about your family and friends. You told them about Jack, Annie, and Brooke. A little about your parents. Sometimes they looked at you like you’d said something totally foreign. You were sure you had.

“How do you know each other?” you questioned. Cassian and Azriel looked like they could be related. They had the same large frame and dark hair like Rhysand.

“Cassion, Azriel, Mor, and I grew up together,” Rhysand answered, leaning back in his chair. You glanced at Azriel beside you, but he remained uninterested in conversation.

“My story is long and complicated. I was born human, and eventually found myself here,” Feyre added.

“Born human?” 

“Nesta and I were, too,” Elain emphasized. 

“How did you–”

“It’s a long story,” Nesta repeated, shutting you down.

This time, it was the dark-haired woman, Amren, who spoke. “I come from a different place, just like you, girl.” She set her glass down, crossing her arms on the table. Her stare felt cold. “About five-thousand years ago I crossed over from a different world. It seems we have that in common.”

“Five thousand years?” You scoffed. 

“Yes.” 

Your mind flew back to Rhysand’s comment at the cabin. You looked around the room for an answer, a rebuttal. 

“Amren’s ancient. I’m 537,” Cassian spoke, stretching his arm behind his head with a yawn. 

“I’m twenty-three,” Elain offered. You turned to her with a smile, a small laugh bubbling in your chest at the ridiculousness of it all. You decided you liked Elain. She reminded you of Annie. 

A thought crossed your mind, and you turned to Rhysand. “Why did you ask me if I was from Autumn? What does that mean?”

You felt Azriel’s gaze slip.

“It was mostly a joke. Your hair is red like the family from Autumn Court, but I knew you were human. Nevertheless, I wanted to see your reaction.”

“Autumn Court? There’s another court?” You questioned. 

Before he could answer, the scrape of Azriel’s chair pierced the air as he pushed himself further from the table, his wings flaring slightly behind him.

“We have an early morning.” He stated, focus turning to Rhysand. 

Rhysand ignored his interruption. “There are several courts. You don’t need to worry yourself. Tomorrow morning you’ll go back to the forest, search for the tear, and this will all be behind you.”

“Alone?”

“No. Azriel and Amren will accompany you. She may be able to spot the tear.”

May. Your mind and body grew heavy. You felt yourself falling deeper into the abyss of your mind. You reached out to grab the bottle of dark liquid closest to you. Azriel stole it from your hands.

“That’s not a good idea,” he stated, peering at you with dark eyes.

“I’m old enough to drink.”

“And how old would that be?”

“Twenty-two,” you rebutted. He scoffed, shaking his head. You looked at his hand that rested before you. A fresh cut sliced along the back of it.

“It's not real,” you whispered to him, staring into his eyes intently. They almost looked brown in the dim light. He furrowed his brows.

“A small glass is fine, Az,” Feyre offered.

He sighed, sliding it over. You poured yourself a glass as he settled back into his seat. You watched his wings as they moved. The candlelight shone through ever so slightly, illuminating dark veins. You stared, amazed as you sipped the wine. It was tart, tasting like cherry or currant. It made your head buzz.

“So you read minds,” you gestured to Rhysand and Feyre.

He smiled. “Yes. But I wasn’t very successful reading yours, what with you fainting and all.”

You nodded, thankful for the absence of the ache in the back of your head. “What did you see?” 

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. 

“Faces, feelings; some things familiar, some not.” 

You hummed in response, swirling your glass on the table.

“You don’t seem upset that I was in your head,” he inquired.

You shook yours. “It reminds me I’m not making it all up.”

Taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @latinxbipride @inkedinshadows @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1

[usedpidemo]

Update - 3rd year anniversary! (and some future plans, a reflection, etc.)

Hi everyone! π here.

By the time this post is up, it'll be the 13th of May. Three years since I began my writing journey and this Tumblr blog. Three years. Time flies by so fast. I was close to graduating senior high after it was delayed because pandemic, had my graduation in an empty room basically, now I'm hitting my third year of college. Crazy stuff.

With that said, here are the stats + timetable of the blog so far:

First work: Sandwich (Wendy) (published 05/13/21, 4:03 a.m)

Highest note count: Tell your friends (Yujin x Wonyoung) (published 01/14/23, 1274 notes)

Number of works published: 91 fics (1 fic every 12.03 days)

500 followers: June 18, 2021 (36 days)

1000 followers: October 12, 2021 (152 days)

2000 followers: June 18, 2022 (401 days)

3000 followers: November 12, 2022 (548 days)

4000 followers: May 22, 2023 (740 days)

5000 followers: December 18, 2023 (950 days)

Current follower count: 5615 (1 new follower every 5.12 days)

It's been a hectic final month of college, so I apologize for the lack of activity in recent times :< But summer is coming up very soon, so hopefully I'll have all the time in the world to write more till then! I will say, a new fic is on the near horizon, so please be on the lookout!

I would like to take the opportunity to thank every single of you, whether reader, lurker, or a fellow writer for your support! Especially during these lull times, your unwavering support has kept me afloat and has been a motivation in continuing to write. Love you guys as always. Here's to another fruitful year <3

From this point, this part will be an overall reflection and life summary of the previous year, my thoughts on some personal matters, and some ideas I've been contemplating. If you don't wanna read this, you can stop here.

I miss 2023 quite a bit, not gonna lie. I know nostalgia can quickly grow warm and fuzzy, seeing the past through rose tinted lens, but I'll admit that 2024 hasn't been off to the start I envisioned it to be. That year was mostly peak for me, and I could even argue it's my favorite year to live out based on all my experiences. Traveling to new places, finally attending live events, interacting with my K-pop biases, and so on—it really felt like the best was yet to come with how 2023 flowed and transitioned into the new year.

Five months in, and I am struggling. Horribly. Most plans, dreams, and ideas have gone up in smoke, and it's just one devastating gut punch after another. I have a shitty professor in one major that basically made me check out of that class, and I don't know my family will react when I tell them I have to repeat said class because that professor was a dick. My family's been infighting on a daily basis, and I'm mostly collateral damage to them. Not one week can go by without some serious confrontation between them. There was a brief health scare with my mother, but that seems to be a nothing matter; thank God she'll be okay.

All this just makes life so deflating, in all honesty. I get that no life is without struggle, but I genuinely don't know when we'll be in the clear. Not anytime soon, I reckon. In these tough times, there's very little comfort except the past, when everything was pretty all right for the most part. It's been demotivating to write when mom comes forward with another grievance with my sister. It's hard to write when you have a professor who likes to power trip their students into submission. It's hard when you don't know how to admit to your mother that he failed his one class because of said power tripping professor.

But that doesn't mean I will let it eat me alive. I know we've been through some utter lows in the past. And we always get back up. If no one has us, then God does.

Summer break is fast approaching and I want to fix things. Even in my own little way. I know none of what I'm saying has anything to do with writing degenerate stories about hot K-pop idols, but real life circumstances have definitely affected me more than I can brush off. I should be calm, unfazed, undeterred.

After all, some stories are meant to be finished. They just take a more unconventional route. Ask Cody.

With all that being said, I will finish these commissions over the next two months. I'm really sorry to everyone who requested and paid for their stories months and months ago; I genuinely feel bad for not getting these out on time, but I am very mindful of quality control, and I have no one to blame but myself for being a slacker and lazy worker. Despite my feelings, I should remain professional—that's what being a worker means.

A lifestyle overhaul is definitely in my list of things to improve over the summer too. Figuring out how to get writing done, finding ways to alleviate my PokeRogue addiction (GOTY), whilst having a healthy work/life balance and not losing my sanity over it. Or worse, burning out.

And I want to take this opportunity to thank all my friends—peach, caps, majorblinks, chunk, frisky, raf, c.o, levi, sins, iz, ken, v1n, ddeun, notions, kevin, eros, brandon, kaede, svn, frisky, cray, rpg, prael—for putting up with my shit for another year. This life is tough, but you guys make it tolerable. Thank you for letting me air out my grievances even when it wasn't the best time to. I pray that when everything passes, I'm able to repay you all in some shape or form generously.

And to you, dear reader, for making it this far, thank you. Whether you've been with me since day one, or day 1094, as a commenter, reposter, liking, or just passing by/lurking, thank you for giving me a chance. Without you, all of this would have been for nothing. I don't know where I would be now if I didn't take that chance, that leap of faith back in 2021, and it's because of you I am able to keep doing this for the love of the game.

With grace,

Peter / π

[theyoungeragrippina]

15 more gentlebeard fic recs!

that i have lovingly hunter/gathered for you all. may they act as sustenance for u in this drought.

they are all complete, do not feature any ongoing steddyhands, and are above 20k words.

peruse part 1 and part 2 at your leisure if you want to compare our tastes/devour more fine literature, or check out my masterlist as an ao3 collection.

happy reading!

it's what isn't in the name by @tciddaemina

41k, mature

"The first thing they see - apart from Captain Bonnet himself, all silked up and frilly and I sight in his own right - is the cat sitting primly by his ankles."

writing is top quality, the depth of understanding the author has for every character is unmatched. i have never felt so gutted to know a writer hasn't written anything else for ofmd.

clarity by @kat0nline

44k, explicit

"After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back."

amnesia/memory loss fic done justice. mary continues to be the best and i love her. only note i wrote after i finished was 'screaming crying throwing up i love you author'.

you are at the top of my lungs by @ratchet

55k, explicit

"Ed has a simple life. He has a self-built, off grid, mostly self-sustaining house tucked away in the middle of a forest... the appearance of an incredibly nosy, incredibly handsome stranger three weekends in a row has him questioning every self-imposed rule he's ever set himself."

this is really a story about healing and hope and grief and love. one of my most favourite eds. this author makes me want to change my whole life, and in this case become an off grid chicken owner that grows food and has gay christmas dinners.

seven point three miles, also by @ratchet

20k (technically just under but it gets a pass because everyone should read it rn), teen and up

"Stede takes a job as a remote forest fire lookout in the summer following his divorce, with a plan to find out who he is, and what he wants his life to be. With the help of the enigmatic lookout on the other side of the forest, he ends up getting more out of the experience than he could ever have hoped."

when will this author receive their nobel prize in literature. i want to be a fire lookout now. i also want to scream and cry and maybe stare at the ceiling for five hours to process this fic. there is a reason everyone loves this fic.

fine dining by wishingonalightningbolt and sugarybowl

37k, explicit

"Edward Teach is one of the most famous chefs in the world, working under the handle Chef Blackbeard. Not one to be tied down, he does random pop-ups in all types of kitchens, and for the absurdly wealthy, he caters special events. Stede Bonnet wants to throw the best engagement party ever for his ex-wife and best friend, Mary. His assistant recommends the extravagant work of Chef Blackbeard."

my notes just say: 'ed is a chef and stede is a cute guy and they are cute together' and i think that is a pretty good summary tbh.

Old Bae Season by nomadsland

57k, explicit

"Ed picks Stede up at a bar for what ought to be a one-night stand, but it turns out they're attending the same academic conference the next day."

they are scientists and stede experiences self discovery. crab door knockers as a symbol of love. i love this fic because it made me smile so much (and want to get my life together, weirdly).

Vitalis by jfc_anna

29k, explicit

"Crown Prince Stede Bonnet. Reserved, anxious, and newly arranged to be married. A child is expected. Though, with the Prince’s lack of experience, is also highly unlikely. There are murmurs of an educator of sorts amongst the nobility, with raven hair and eyes like fire, who has been the cure of impotence and disagreeable attitudes. He has been called many names, whispered behind hands or between cracks in doors. Siren. Kraken. Devourer of Love."

short and sweet and so different from most other things i've read in this fandom. lots of flirting and pining and copious amounts of seduction.

all that might happen is here somehow by @sungmee

27k, teen

"Stede gets caught in a time loop at the moment where Badminton tries to shoot him."

i put off reading this because i thought i wasn't super keen on time loop fics. i was wrong. this is charming, and a little bit heartbreaking, and VERY well written, and i loved every word. don't make my mistakes. read this rn.

turn on the light by smallestchurch

55k, explicit

"Lighthouse Bookshop had been there seemingly since time immemorial. Over forty years at that spot, sitting proud, a beacon at the heart of the community, and when the old owner decides to sell, it's the perfect vessel for Stede's odd restlessness. And the building is connected to a famous cocktail bar run by a mad genius behind the stick."

smiling through my tears rn. i was so absorbed that the end of the fic came up on me like a jumpscare. stede and ed continue to be posterboys for maladaptive coping mechanisms. books & cocktails & outrageous flirting.

our tesco means death by @stedesparasol

21k, general

"Determined to prove he can earn a living without his family's wealth, Stede applies for a job at the UK's biggest retailer (probably). Hmm, I wonder who his supervisor will be... surely not a handsome bearded man sick of the retail grind until Stede joins his workplace and makes things interesting..."

so unserious and so funny. fuckin' brilliant. made me genuinely laugh out loud so much that my dad asked if i was okay.

Queen Anne’s Renovations and Remodelling by bythedamned

32k, mature

"Ed didn't know why Stede’s house had a room sealed off. Two decades gone, filled with the creation and destruction of things they'd never shared with each other, and Ed no longer had reading privileges to the Book of Stede. So he's left to wonder - what's in the room? Why is the door plastered over? And why does Ed remember kissing Stede on a make-believe ship they’d invented as kids?"

thank u sm to @okayestokapi for the rec!! i love the sort of magical-mystery vibe this carries the whole way through & the conclusion was so charming and clever. heaps of fun.

help me to find peace (tell me you're okay) by @percyjacksonfan3

38k, general

"Stede and the crew come to find Ed and make things right. Turns out Ed is doing the same".

i am simply a sucker for a good post s1 reunion fic, and this is up there with the best. it flows really well, the characterisation is so good, and it felt like such a natural continuation of the s1 story and character arcs!!

Invisible String by @dimplyowl

48k, mature

"Scourge of the Caribbean" has been Stede's favorite book series since he was 12 years old. Now, age 47, divorced, and an aspiring author, he turns back to the series to draw inspiration from the familiar story. But as he starts reading, he realizes that something is different. Blackbeard, the main character, is apathetic and depressed, and the story has changed. Even stranger still, Stede seems to be the only one aware that this change has occurred."

more magic realism!!!!! this is so much fun and such a clever idea (plus such clever execution)! lots of flirting and stede being flustered and cute dates.

The Lion, the Witch and the Auxiliary Wardrobe by @xoxoemynn

21k, explicit

"Edward "Blackbeard" Teach's foolproof strategy to get over devastating heartbreak: 1) bring a witch aboard the ship 2) get trapped in an auxiliary wardrobe with the man who broke your heart 3) well, you'll have to read to find out."

in this house we read everything em writes because it is all brilliant and hilarious, and this is no different. its silly and fun and still tender and sweet, and ed & stede get to be just as embarrassing as they deserve (also there is a currently updating work by the same author u should look at too - take it as an unofficial rec).

Due North by surprise pink (+ gorgeously illustrated by @sungmee who appeared earlier on this list!!!!!!)

28k, mature

"Burnt out from his corporate job and his miserable marriage, Stede takes a seaside vacation where he meets Ed, an artist who takes inspiration from strange dreams that feel like memories. A museum exhibit about Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate brings them together, but it doesn't feel like the first time they've met."

had me googling 'pirate museums near me???' urgently at 1am. romeo & juliet meeting through a fishtank/starcrossed lovers vibes. absolute oodles of pining. a joy of a time to read.

[thighzp]

WIP Wednesday and of course I'm back with more Vampire Alex! Good news (that I'm announcing for accountability purposes)... this fic will be posted NEXT WEEK! (Don't know what day yet so be on the lookout!)

I have some really exciting stuff lined up once this baby is finished and posted. This will be the longest fic I've ever written once it's finally done, and what's to come is going to be an entirely new adventure for us as well! (That announcement will come in a couple weeks)

Okay without further ado, y'all can thank @firstprincehornyramblings & @tailsbeth-writes for the early af tags today!

Two sudden, sharp pains dug right into where the throbbing had been earlier, and he found himself slipping. Fuzzy mental images of the party danced across his vision while the man dug those pointed nails in deeper. Henry felt a tickle where there was a droplet of what he could only assume was blood pouring from his neck. He’d have thought he’d be more scared to know the man was drawing his blood. But instead… Instead he leaned into the feeling, the dizziness. As his head became more empty of blood, his heavy eyelids trying to flutter open, he could see the man’s dark gaze as he watched the droplet. The brunette licked his lips at the sight. Fuck, Henry thought. Why is this doing it for me?

love giving you guys snippets from all over the place cause you have no idea the order of events of this thing lmao

tagging: @taste-thewaste @onthewaytosomewhere @judasofsuburbia @catdadacd @caterpills

@pinkamour1588 @sophie1973 @kiwiana-writes @porcelainmortal

@bitbybitwrites @stratocumulusperlucidus @sugarycloud1

[mrsstarkey1]

this is me trying - rafe cameron

SUMMARY: based on 'this is me trying' by taylor swift. takes place after the events of season three.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

WARNINGS: season 3 spoilers

A/N: you cannot tell me this song doesn't portray rafe cameron perfectly like ??? it's insane. also check out my most recent rafe fic

------

i've been having a hard time adjusting

i had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

rafe couldn't remember a time before the gold, before the cross, before his dad became obsessed, before he let his dad drag him down with him, before his dad was dead.

rafe's entire life, he made decisions with one thing in mind; his dad. then suddenly, he was gone. it was as if in one singular instant, rafe's life became meaningless. his purpose - gone. his reasoning for every terrible thing he's ever done - gone.

he wanted to be angry, to blame someone. he wanted to not believe the story that sarah told him. but something inside him wouldn't let himself blame anyone but himself.

as rafe wandered the streets of whatever city he ended up in running from his problems, he found remembering glimpses of his life before everything got complicated. he used to have money that didn't come from gold; he used to have friends; he used to have the possibility of a future; he used to be happy. he missed that. and he could finally admit it.

i didn't know if you'd care if i came back

i have a lot of regrets about that

rafe left the outer banks without saying a word to anyone the same day that sarah told him about his father. he didn’t even say anything to you, but he wished that he did.

now it’d been so long, he was so worried that even if he came back to you, and God knows he wanted to, that you'd never forgive him.

he told himself that you probably wouldn't even care if he came back. in reality, he was just terrified that if he faced you and you felt how he thought you did, he'd lose the one thing he was still living for.

if he lost the idea of you; the possibility that maybe one day he could hold you in his arms again, then he'd have nothing. he couldn't bare the thought of that.

pulled the car off the road to the lookout

could've followed my fears all the way down

rafe twisted the key out of the ignition, tossing it onto the passengers seat. he opened the car door with a shaky hand before he could talk himself out of it.

he dragged his feet along the ground, dirt kicking up as he walked. breathing in the mountain air, he looked down, kicking a rock over the edge. he estimated about it was about 300 feet until the first ledge.

rafe lifted his eyes up, blinking the tears away that he hadn’t realized had formed. he took in the view along with a deep breath. his head was level with the clouds, and he’d never seen something so beautiful; so calming - the fresh air, the mountain view, the feeling he got. taking it all in, rafe finally felt at peace. which made sense, given what he’d pulled over the car to do.

almost every part of him was ready. every part of him except for the part that still loved you; the part of him that wanted to make things right.

he was still terrified of facing you, even more so now since it had been almost a year. and now he had a choice to make. he could take one more step forward and chase that fear all the way to bottom; take the easy way out. or he could turn around, and follow his fear back home.

and maybe i don’t quite know what to say

but i’m here in your doorway

i just wanted you to know

that this is me trying

rafe could barely keep his eyes open by the time he’d pulled into your driveway. a twelve hour drive running on no sleep and no food, it was a miracle he hadn’t wrapped his car around a tree.

rafe’s heartbeat quickened when his eyes met your car parked on the side of the street. you were inside. a part of him had been hoping you wouldn’t be home, and he’d have a little longer to decide what to say. he’d thought 12 hours would have been enough, but his shaking hands suggested otherwise.

he gripped the steering wheel, closing his eyes and forcing in a deep breath. this is why he was still alive, for this very moment.

he pushed open the car door as soon as he’d psyched himself up enough. within a couple seconds, he was at your front door, fist held up inches from the wood. this is when he finally realized what he was doing.

you were never going to forgive him, what was he doing? his heart beated against his chest like a drum, and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. his body went completely weak, and he practically crashed into the front door.

it was the footsteps on the other side of the door that brought him out of his weakened state, and he realized what had just happened. you were coming to the door. he was going to be face to face with you in less than a minute. he stepped back from the door, glancing back at his car, weighing his options.

the door swung open so quickly, rafe jumped out of his skin, for a lack of better words. he opened his mouth to say something, but not even a breath came out.

there you were. you looked even more beautiful than he remembered. your hair was lighter and a lot longer, reminding him that it had been an entire year since he’d seen you.

“rafe,” he’d barely heard you say, still trying to believe that you were within his reach. you took a step closer, eyes scanning over his entire body. “you-you’re here,” you breathed out.

your eyes asked a million questions, and all he wanted to do was answer them. but every time he opened his mouth to say something, only silence followed. before he knew it, your arms were wrapped around him and hands tangled in his hair. your hugs still felt the exact same after a year, and the second he breathed in the scent of you, it felt like he’d gone back in time.

his eyes fluttered shut and his arms closed tightly around you, hanging on for dear life.

the embrace didn’t last nearly as long as he wanted, which was forever. you pulled away, keeping your hands on his arms. “where the hell have you been, rafe?” you asked, eyes scanning his face. he wanted to tell you everything, he needed to, but his throat was closed shut. all he could do was stare into your eyes. “talk to me, baby. you’ve been gone for a year. no contact, no nothing. i understand why you left, okay? you lost your father, and i know how much me meant to you. but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. please, rafe, just talk to me.”

“i-” he started, a pathetic feeling engulfing him when his voice broke after one word and he looked at the ground. you moved closer, hands slipping from his arms and up to the sides of his face. you trained your eyes on his, silently begging him to talk. rafe took a shaky breath, “i’m trying,” he let out weakly.

you nodded your head intently, “i know you are.” you saw it in his eyes, the broken part of him. you leaned in, resting your forehead on his, “i know you’re trying.”

rafe nodded, a sigh of relief escaping him. twelve hours ago, he was standing on the edge between life and death. looking into your eyes now, he knew that he would spend the rest of his days trying to pay you back for being the reason he chose life.

at least i'm trying

taglist (message me to be added): @withbeautyandrage @willowpains

REQUESTS OPEN !!

check out my obx masterlist || taylor swift song inspired fics

if u follow me & reblog my posts i'll do the same for u !!

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 16) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter 16

“We can’t stop here.”

“Why not? It’s out of the way. There are abandoned buildings. It’s perfect.” Dabi gestures down at the small village between the hills. “I don’t get what your problem is.”

Spinner crosses his arms over his chest. “Just trust me. It’s not a good place.”

“Why not?” Toga asks – whines, almost. “I’m tired. It’s dark. Can’t we just find somewhere and –”

“We’ll protect you if there are ghosts!” Twice chimes in. “Or you can sleep in a tree.”

Spinner’s shoulders stiffen. “Hey,” you warn. You turn your attention to Spinner. “If you know something we don’t that makes it not safe for everybody –”

“It’s safe for you all,” Spinner says. “Not for me. This is a sundown town. The CRC has a branch here.”

Your heart sinks. “The who?” Tomura says blankly. Everybody else looks just as confused.

“The Creature Rejection Clan,” you say, before anyone can prompt Spinner to explain. He shouldn’t have to explain. “They’re a hate group. Against people whose quirks visibly alter their bodies.”

“Mutants,” Spinner says shortly. “If they catch you with me we’ll all be in trouble. It’s safer to find somewhere else.”

“No,” Tomura says. You look askance at him, and you’re not the only one. “Fuck them. They don’t own this town. Why should you have to leave? Let’s just kill them and then we can all sleep.”

“Um –” You feel like you should say something about this turn of events. Like that murdering however many people are in this town’s CRC branch is a bad idea if you’re trying to keep a low profile. “Shouldn’t somebody scout and find out what we’re looking at as far as numbers go? I can do that.”

“Yes,” Compress agrees. “We should plan –”

“We don’t need a plan.” Tomura cuts him off. “We’ll tell them we’re there to steal their shit. When they attack us, we’ll kill them, and then we’ll steal their shit. Easy.”

“Like an item drop,” Spinner says, and cracks a weak, angry grin. “Fine with me. Let’s go.”

The CRC branch headquarters isn’t hard to spot. The League strategizes quietly on the walk there, trying to decide who will attack what, and you walk in the middle, unsure of what to do. They’ll tell you what to do, right? Somebody will. It’s not like you can fight. Sure enough, Tomura drops back from a conversation with Twice and falls into step beside you. “I want you to stay out front.”

“Still keeping your precious Saintess’s hands clean?” Dabi sneers. “She’s on the run. It’s too late.”

“We need a lookout,” Tomura says. “If it looks like backup’s coming, we need to know. And if anybody gets out –”

“Not likely!” Toga trills.

“Someone needs to stop them,” Tomura continues. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” You answer before you’ve really thought about it, but you won’t be any use in the main fight, and if they’re doing this, you need to help. Besides, how hard could it be?

The answer to the question “how hard could it be” turns out to be “pretty hard”. The League is outnumbered, unable to use Dabi’s wide-range quirk without potentially burning themselves alive, and Toga and Spinner are the only ones who actually use weapons in hand-to-hand combat. The front door locks from the inside, and while you know Compress locked it on the League’s way in, it must not be very hard to unlock, because there are multiple people trying to open it and escape. You throw your weight back against it to keep it shut, but you’re not going to be able to forever. “Um –”

“Hey, where are you guys going?” Toga’s voice is syrupy sweet and all the more terrifying for it. You hear an agonized shriek. “Come back in! We were just starting to have fun!”

The pressure on the door lessens significantly, but a moment later, there’s a crash, followed by someone in a creepy mask diving through a window and sprawling out on the ground in front of you. This is your job to deal with, but you don’t have a weapon. A quick check of your surroundings reveals an umbrella stand by the door. You knock it over, spilling the umbrellas, then pick up the stand. The CRC member is on their hands and knees, struggling to rise, and you deliver a sharp strike to their kidneys with the base of the stand.

You knew what you were aiming at. You know it hurts. The CRC member shrieks, and your stomach turns. “Stay down.”

Toga vaults through the window and lands on the ground, graceful like a cat. “Thanks for grabbing him,” she says. She stabs one of her syringes into the man’s leg and his body jerks as the device on her back begins to suction blood at a rate that collapses his veins. “We’re almost done in there. It’s too bad you couldn’t see Tomura-kun fight. You’d like it when he gets angry.”

You don’t know that you would. You don’t feel very good about what you just did. You’re not sorry that you hit the guy who tried to escape, and you’re not sorry that the members of a hate group are getting what’s coming to them, but – you don’t really know why you feel weird. You just know it’s the kind of thing you should keep to yourself.

The front door opens just as Toga’s finished draining blood from the man you hit. Dabi sticks his head out. “Grab that guy and get in here. We’re searching the place.”

Toga grabs the dead man’s feet, leaving you to grab beneath his shoulders, and the two of you drag him up the front steps and into the house. You’re used to handling the injured. You’re not used to dead bodies. You’re more than a little relieved to set him down, and you don’t feel entirely better until Tomura’s touched him and turned the corpse to dust. “We’re searching in groups, in case anybody hid,” he informs you and Toga. “Toga, you’re with Compress. And you’re with me and Spinner.”

You nod and follow them deeper into the house – Tomura in front of you, Spinner behind. “Did either of you get hurt?” you ask. There’s an awkward silence. “I need to know.”

“I got clipped. It’s not that bad,” Spinner says. You glance back and see him grimacing, and you switch spots with him in line without another word. “It’s not that bad. Seriously.”

“I’ll look at it once we’re done,” you decide. You address Tomura next. “What about you?”

“They couldn’t touch me.” Tomura disintegrates the first door the three of you come to and peers inside. “Empty. Let’s search.”

There’s not much in the room. Some antiques, but those are easier to trace than regular stolen goods and would be harder to sell. There’s a bookshelf, and a case full of ancient bladed weapons, which Spinner promptly breaks and begins to sort through. “These are old but good,” he says. “They did a better job with steel back in the day. Here.”

He’s holding out a knife to you. “You should have a real weapon. I don’t know how you stopped the guy who got out –”

“Umbrella stand.”

Spinner looks honestly taken aback. “A knife’s faster,” he says. “Take it.”

“Thanks,” you say. You’ll have to think of somewhere to put it later. It won’t be much use in your backpack.

Out of everybody who’s searching the house, you and Toga come up with the items with the highest resale value – Toga has a good eye for clothing, and having recently hidden your own jewelry from Compress, you have a good idea of where to look for concealed objects. Rather than helping with the search, Dabi’s gone looking for food, but in spite of the fact that he’s found whatever the CRC was planning to eat at the conclusion of their meeting, he’s still in a mood. “Why are we doing this? Wasn’t the point of the supply caches so we wouldn’t have to?”

“This wasn’t just for food and a place to sleep. It was about taking out the trash, same as dealing with Overhaul was.” Tomura starts picking through the food. You sit Spinner down to check out his injury. “There’s no place for them in the new world.”

Dabi makes a derisive noise, and nobody else is paying attention – but you’re right up close with Spinner, and you see his eyes widen. “The new world?” he asks quietly. “I’ve never heard him say that before. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

You nod. “You should ask him.”

“No, you should tell me so I can decide if I want to know. I – ow.”

“Sorry,” you say. “Do you know what this is from?”

“It was a pitchfork. Classic, right?” Spinner scowls, grimaces, while you explore the wounds. They’re deep, but not deep enough to do real muscle or organ damage. Infection will be the biggest risk – like it usually is. “How’d you know about the CRC? Most people who have quirks like mine – don’t.”

“Most big cities have CRC offshoots. Yokohama’s no different.” You clean out the wounds one at a time, doing your best to be gentle. “They have neighborhoods they hang out in, and the clinic I worked in sat near the border of one. People they attack come to the clinic for treatment. Or hide in there to get away. The CRC are, um –”

“Top-flight assholes.”

“Yeah.” You pick up some bandages and a roll of medical tape. “I shouldn’t have talked over you earlier. I just didn’t want you to have to explain.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad somebody else knew what I was talking about.” Spinner gives you a curious look. “How are you doing with all this?”

“This?”

“Being on the run.”

“Oh,” you say. “It’s fine.”

It’s been three weeks since you took a leave of absence from work and ran for the hills, and since then, life’s been broken up into long periods of travel and short periods of stillness. Kurogiri was captured by the heroes sometime after the temporary alliance with Overhaul was made, which means that overland travel at night is the only way the seven of you can get anywhere without getting in trouble. You aren’t doing hardly any fighting, and your medical skills are only needed when somebody needs patching up, but you’re keeping busy in spite of that. You’re still the only person the police aren’t looking for.

Scouting, supply runs, running interference if the daytime hiding place is at risk of being found – all of it falls to you. You’re supposed to be a medic. On a day-to-day basis, you’re logistical support. It’s exhausting, but not particularly dangerous. It feels more like a hard day’s work than anything else, and at the end of it, you’re with Tomura, which is the important thing. You’re there to remind him that a new world can be built after the old one’s been destroyed, to convince him that the new world is something he wants to be a part of. That’s your job now, more than anything else.

Tomura comes over to check on you and Spinner. “How bad is it?”

“Painful, but they aren’t deep,” you report. “I’ll monitor them, but the infection risk is low so long as we all stay clean.”

“That’s the hard part,” Spinner mumbles. “It’s too cold to take baths outside.”

“Saintess said no more baths outside anyway,” Twice calls from the other side of the room. “Since some people can’t swim.”

“You can say Tomura-kun,” Toga says. “It’s okay.”

The realization that Tomura can’t swim was an unpleasant one for everybody, since it necessitated yanking him out of an icy pond while avoiding contact with his quirk. Twice and his clones came in handy, and nothing bad happened other than embarrassment on Tomura’s part, but it’s still not an experience you want anybody to repeat. “We’ll find ways. Worst comes to worst, I’ll rent us a motel room.”

“One motel room for all of us? You’d be doing the heroes’ work for them,” Dabi sneers. “If I have to sleep in a confined space with all of you, you’ll be dead by dawn.”

“Fine. The roof of the hypothetical motel room is all yours.”

Tomura looks irritated. “He’s this close to being more trouble than he’s worth,” he says in a low voice. “We could cut him loose without the risk he’d turn us in. He hates heroes as much as I do.”

“Yeah, but he’s our only ranged attack,” Spinner says practically. “I say stick it out.”

Tomura glances at you. You hate it when he does that on questions about strategy. “Keep him,” you agree. “He’s all talk.”

Tomura nods, still dissatisfied. Spinner looks a little nervous about it, but you aren’t – it’ll dissipate, like most of Tomura’s bad moods do sooner or later. He’s moody, but not volatile. “Do you want food?” he asks abruptly. You nod. After a second, so does Spinner, and Tomura gets up and walks away.

“Is he really getting food for us?” Spinner asks. You nod again. “And you’re sure about the new world thing. It’s not going to piss him off if I ask?”

You shake your head. Tomura mentioned Spinner specifically as someone you should talk about it with, but you think the idea itself should come from Tomura. The mission all of you are on is Tomura’s dream, really – you’re just trying to make sure it doesn’t kill him.

Tomura comes back with some of the food that Dabi scavenged, passes it out, and sits down next to you to eat. Spinner waits until Tomura’s mouth is full before he asks. “So, uh – you mentioned a new world. What’s that about?”

“Ask her.”

“No.” You glare at Tomura. “I’m your sidekick. It’s your idea. Tell him like you told me.”

“I’m not telling him like that,” Tomura says, and you elbow him, exasperated. He’s smirking slightly behind the hand as he addresses Spinner. “The old world has to be destroyed. Once it’s gone there’s a blank slate. And you –”

You elbow him again. “We get to decide what it should be like,” Tomura corrects himself. “Mainly her. And the two of you should talk about it, because you have ideas, too. Right?”

“Uh –”

“Anti-discrimination laws,” you suggest. Tomura snorts. “Come on. Anarchy isn’t sustainable long-term. A new world won’t automatically be better than the old one. If we don’t want it to be worse, we have to make sure it isn’t.”

“If you say so.” Tomura wolfs down his last few bites of food, then lies down, stretching out with his head in your lap. “I’m done planning for today.”

You can tell Spinner doesn’t like seeing Tomura call it quits when there are things to do. You make eye contact with him and try to bridge the gap. “You wouldn’t have checked out from the world if you thought it was a good place to be. Tell me what’s wrong with it.”

You and Spinner talk a bit while Tomura dozes, but things are winding down, and eventually the League barricades the front door, shuts the windows, and retreats into two of the back rooms to sleep. Tomura stirs when everyone else leaves, but when you try to get up, he won’t let you. “We can’t sleep out here,” you remind him.

Tenko kisses you. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

“Tenko –”

He cuts you off with another kiss, one hand sliding inside your jacket, the other dipping into the pocket where you keep his gloves. Tenko’s hair is getting long. You weave your fingers through it as he puts on the gloves, trying to ground yourself, to find a second of calm. You know there won’t be any once Tenko gets his gloves on.

In retrospect, having sex with Tenko for the first time the night before you went on the run might not have been the best idea, because Tenko’s been taking advantage of every second where the others are looking away ever since. In some ways it’s hot. You’ve never had a boyfriend who’s this handsy with you, this addicted to you, and the fact that Tenko barely cares about being caught in the middle of something makes it even better. But as hot as it is, you’re not sure about doing whatever Tenko’s got in mind in a place where at least two dozen people just died.

You don’t even know what he’s got in mind. “Tenko,” you mumble as his lips press against your neck. He bites down slightly and you shiver. “What are you doing?”

“Give me a second.” He’s leaving marks. One at the side of your mouth, one down against your shoulder, and you feel almost uncomfortably hot at the idea that it’ll all be visible without your veil. “Don’t rush me.”

You’re not going to rush him, but your discomfort is building, and if you don’t do something soon, it’ll be too late. You plant your hand on Tenko’s chest and push him back, crawling over him to press your lips against his. You know Tenko likes it when you show you want him, and it’s not hard for you to do. It’s not the idea of hooking up right now that bothers you – more the venue, and you find yourself caring less and less about it with every second that passes. Something is wrong with you.

Knowing that doesn’t stop you from straddling Tenko’s lap, grinding against him. There are multiple layers of clothing between you, but you know he’s getting hard, and you can pretend that the heat between your legs is the result of his touch rather than simple friction. Tenko’s kisses are eager and messy. His hands slide beneath your shirt, up from your waist to your breasts – but your bra is in the way. He taps it impatiently and speaks without pulling away. “I hate this thing.”

“I taught you how to unhook it.”

“Still.” In fairness to Tenko, you’re wearing a front-fastening bra. “I’m banning these in the new world.”

“You don’t get to ban stuff in the new world unless you’re planning to be in it,” you say, and your heart leaps when he doesn’t argue. Then you think about it. “Hate groups, heroes, and bras. That’s really what you want to get rid of?”

“I’ll think of other stuff,” Tenko says, unconcerned. He unfastens your bra, then runs his gloved fingers along the underside of your breasts. One of your nipples is captured between his thumb and forefinger, and he tugs and pinches lightly at it, making you squirm. “This is a good start.”

You hate it when he does this. You hate how much you like it. The friction between your legs provides the only relief, so you grind further into Tenko’s lap, looking for more. “Stop,” Tenko says, an edge to his voice. “Don’t do that if we can’t –”

“Who said we can’t?” You made one last addition to your med kit before you left, hidden in an inside pocket. You slide your backpack off your shoulders, reach inside, and produce one of several condoms. Tenko’s eyes widen. “What do you think?”

He slides his hands out from under your shirt to pull at your leggings and underwear. You decide that counts as a yes. Getting out of your clothes is a pain – your boots have to come off, followed by your leggings, followed by your underwear. Your boring underwear, according to Toga when she helped you pack. A thought crosses your mind, and like your thoughts usually do when you and Tenko are together, it comes out of your mouth. “Do you think my underwear is boring?”

“I think it’s in the way.”

You weren’t sure there was a right answer, but that counts. You kiss Tenko and work on unbuttoning his pants. It’s much less of a production for him, and once his cock is free, you can’t resist taking him in hand for a few strokes. Tenko’s body tenses in response, and you watch as his red eyes dilate. He picks up the condom on his own this time, putting it on with sharp, frantic movements, and as soon as it’s in place, you shift forward, lining up and sinking down onto his cock.

All the air leaves your lungs, and Tenko’s breath hisses out from between his teeth as you settle fully into his lap. “You didn’t give me a second,” he mumbles, his voice strained. A questioning sound is all you can manage in response. “I was going to eat you out.”

Your stomach ties itself in a knot instantly. You shift your weight, drawing your attention to the stretch and pressure of Tenko’s cock inside you instead of on what he just said – or maybe you’re trying to get him to stop talking. You’re not sure which. Either, way, it doesn’t work. “We haven’t done that yet,” he continues. Riding him isn’t shutting him up. You try kissing instead, but leaning forward to do it leads to an unsustainable change in pace, one that leaves you gasping. “I like how you taste.”

Tenko’s hands are on your hips, holding on with an iron grip. You were trying to set a faster pace, but his hold on you forces you to slow down, prolonging the slide of his cock against the most sensitive spots inside you and making you shudder. You wish you’d taken off more of your clothes. You feel hot and shaky all over and somehow even more out of control than you did when you were underneath him the first time. Tenko’s eyes are wide, pupils dilated so far that his irises are noting more than a thin red rim. His hips lift slowly beneath you as his hand leaves your hip to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you down for a kiss.

Tenko’s pace is slow and intense, almost agonizing. Your legs are trembling so badly that you couldn’t maintain a rhythm of your own if you wanted to. Tenko holds on even as his control deteroiorates, while he twitches beneath you and moans into the kiss. When you draw back to breathe, you find his eyes squeezed shut. A tear leaks from beneath one of his eyelids, and you stare for a moment in shock before leaning in to kiss it away.

From there you kiss the scar over his right eye, the one you’ve never asked about, just like you’ve never asked about the one on his mouth – the location of your next kiss, once you’ve decided against kissing the birthmark on the other side. Tenko sucks down a breath, mumbles your name. Then: “I love you,” he says. Your stomach twists again, this time with anxiety. It doesn’t make a difference to Tenko – he moans and thrusts sharply upwards. Your body shifts independent of your mind, making sure his cock hits the right spot. “Fuck. I can’t – I love you –”

Whatever unspoken rule there is against saying I love you during sex, Tenko’s clearly never heard of it, and seeing and feeling him fall apart between your legs sends you over the edge in a few seconds more. For a moment, your mind goes totally blank, and in the absence of thought or restraint, the worlds almost slip out of your mouth, trailing after his name. “Tenko. Tenko –”

I love you. The weight of it keeps you silent. But only just.

Tenko doesn’t comment on the fact that you haven’t said it back. He never does, which is a relief. You’ve shown that you love him, and you’ll show it again, so it doesn’t need to be said. What does have to be said is the same thing you said last time. “We can’t sleep like this.”

“I know.” The sulky note in his voice almost makes you laugh.

By the time the two of you retreat to the back rooms, some of your anxiety’s worn off, and like always, you feel better once Tenko’s asleep next to you. You have him. All For One can’t take him away from you. He belongs to you, and you’ll keep him with you, through the end of the world and into the new one. The thought comforts you, but it’s not comforting enough to fall asleep on. You’re awake most of the night, like you have been for months.

The League of Villains is awake and in motion before dawn, heading towards Kurogiri’s last pre-capture coordinates. You’re not sure what’s waiting there. Tomura isn’t sure, either – just that it’s something his master left for him, some power that’s supposed to help him reach his goal. Dabi’s theory is that it’s some kind of super-Nomu, while Spinner thinks it’s a weapon. “What kind of weapon?” Twice asks. “Like a sword?”

“No, like a really big gun.”

The idea of Tomura with a really big gun is inexplicably entertaining to you. You struggle to muffle your laughter. “My quirk is better than a gun,” Tomura says. “If it’s a gun, Spinner, it’s yours.”

“Shouldn’t it be mine?” you ask. Tomura looks askance at you. “I don’t have a quirk or a real weapon. And I’m an okay shot.”

“In Call of Duty,” Tomura says. Spinner wheezes. “It’s a game.”

“We should get you a gun,” Toga decides. “Those creepy yakuza guys had one, and they had quirks. You should definitely have one, because you don’t.”

“A gun or a quirk?”

“Both,” Dabi says. He stops walking, and you walk directly into him. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Twice asks, and makes a fart joke that has Toga and Spinner groaning. “I gotta tell you, Dabi, if you can feel them –”

“There it is again,” Dabi says. He twists around to look at you. This time, you picked up on it, and so did Tomura. “What is that?”

“If I knew I’d say it,” Tomura snaps. “Sensei didn’t tell me.”

“You should have asked. If you had asked, then we wouldn’t be –” Dabi breaks off as the vibration strikes a third time, hard enough to make all of you stagger. A plume of dust rises from between the hills ahead of you. “What the hell is that?”

Not a hill. It’s not a hill. What you thought was a hill is the curved back of some giant thing, and now it’s straightening up, getting to its feet. It rears up, taller than you and everybody else by orders of magnitude, and you see that it’s human-shaped. Its features are craggy, like it’s been carved inexpertly from rough stone. Looking at it, it’s hard not to imagine that this is what Kurogiri was looking for, and it’s impossible for you to imagine that he was unable to find it – or that the heroes didn’t find it, too. All For One didn’t leave Tomura a weapon. He left him a mountain that walks.

The mountain-that-walks steps towards the group of you, rattling your bones on every step. “Master’s heir,” it says, in a voice that sounds like rocks shattering. “Where is he?”

Tomura steps forward. “Here.”

For a few moments they’re simply looking at each other, Tomura looking up and the mountain staring down. Then the mountain’s face distorts, an anguished howl issuing from a mouth filled with jagged teeth. “No! He’s too weak!”

“What?” Tomura snarls. The giant is clawing up dirt and stone from the ground, looking for something. For a weapon. Your blood turns to ice, but Tomura steps forward. “If you think you can just –”

“Die!”

The giant hurls a massive chunk of stone at Tomura, and you throw yourself forward, too, hitting Tomura in the back and knocking you both to the ground. You land hard, biting the inside of your cheek as the rock crashes down in the same spot as Tomura was standing a split second ago. The giant wails again, tears running down its face. “Weak,” it howls. “Too weak. Master, how could you do this to me?”

You’ve got seconds before it throws something else. It’s already looking around for another weapon. You drag Tomura to his feet and pull him away, ducking around the boulder and back to the League. “We need to get out of here.”

“Right now!” Spinner looks just as scared as you feel, which makes two of you who are reacting normally. “If we split up and run –”

“Outrun that thing? No way.” Dabi’s face splits into an eerie grin. “We’ll fight, right, Shigaraki? Or is that thing right about you?”

Tomura yanks his arm free of your grip and takes off toward the giant, throwing an order over his shoulder. “Get her out of here, Spinner!”

It makes sense. Spinner’s quirk doesn’t equip him well for a fight like this, just like your lack of a quirk doesn’t equip you at all. Spinner doesn’t look insulted at being stuck on girlfriend protection duty, and you’re not opposed to getting out of here – except you’ve got a job to do. “I’m the medic. I can’t leave!”

“If they get hit, there will be nothing to fix,” Compress says shortly. Your stomach turns at the thought of Tomura being struck by a flying boulder or getting crushed in the giant’s fist until he’s nothing more than a bloody smear in the dirt. “And he won’t be effective if he’s worried about your safety. Get clear.”

A wave of blue fire fills your vision, then dissipates. Toga’s voice is bordering on a shriek. “That didn’t work, Dabi!”

If Dabi’s flames aren’t having any effect, this opponent’s too dangerous for the League. Tomura’s the only one who could take the giant down, but he’d have to get close. There’s a horrible crash from somewhere ahead of you, and Spinner grabs your arm. “Let’s go!”

You balk again, agonized, but then you hear a voice – one that’s not the giant’s, not Tomura’s, not Dabi’s. Someone else. “How are you, Shigaraki? Are you well?”

“Sure,” Tomura says, tense and frustrated, “but I might be mincemeat in a second.”

“Then let’s have a chat, shall we? Stand by.”

Stand by for what? The giant’s coming. You can’t stand by. You all have to run. You try to say that, but suddenly a foul taste pervades your mouth, and it fills with something slimy, something that makes you cough and gag. Everyone else is doing the same. You hear Dabi curse, the words muffled and then choked off entirely. Your own body contorts in discomfort, and when you force your eyes open, you see black slime emerging from the others’ mouths, engulfing them entirely, engulfing you. It obscures your vision, and when you open your eyes, you’re somewhere else entirely.

It’s some kind of warp quirk, and overall, you much prefer Kurogiri’s. You glance around at your surroundings, just like the others are doing. They’re completely unfamiliar – an enormous room, high-ceilinged and dark. The only light comes from the tall capsules filled with bodies suspended in glowing liquid on either side of you, and from a bright screen up ahead. In front of the screen sits a man.

The location looks unfamiliar. But as you cough and struggle to clear the taste of the sludge from your mouth, you catch a familiar smell. Rot. Like a morgue, and suddenly you know exactly where you are. It was even darker last time, but the smell is unmistakable. This is where you met All For One.

All For One’s not here, and you have a feeling about who the man is, a feeling that’s confirmed a moment later when Tomura speaks. “Doctor,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed. I always intended to reach out, but I wanted to see how you would do on your own. It’s been –” the doctor makes a displeased sound. “Underwhelming.”

“What part of taking down the Shie Hassaikai is underwhelming?”

“The fact that it wasn’t your doing. The heroes did the lion’s share of the work,” the doctor says, “while the lot of you merely swooped in, crippled Overhaul after he had already been captured, and kidnapped a child – only to return her. If you’d held onto her, I would have reached out sooner. That was quite a quirk you let slip through your fingers.”

“That wasn’t him. That was me,” you say. You’re not about to let Tomura take the fall for something you did, particularly when you aren’t at all sorry you did it. “If you’d reached out and let us know you were interested, I might have held onto her.”

You wouldn’t have, but there’s no need for the doctor to know that. He rises from his chair and turns to face you. “And who were you to make the determination to let her go?”

“I’m the one who’d have wound up taking care of her,” you say. You already didn’t like the doctor – the fact that he refused to care for Tomura when he was hurt leaves a bad taste in your mouth – but you like him even less now. You keep yourself conciliatory with an effort. “We didn’t have the capability to contain her quirk long-term. It was too much of a risk.”

“And you allow your underlings to make those decisions, Shigaraki?”

“I trust my comrades’ judgement,” Tomura says. “The League of Villains is functional whether we’re working as a group or not.”

“It’s quite a group,” the doctor says. “Let’s see – one teenage girl, one societal reject, two petty criminals, a serial arsonist and murderer, and a civilian to round things out.”

“You went with ‘civilian’ for Saintess? Really?” Dabi never says your codename with anything less than scorn. “Try quirkless next time. Then you’d be eight for eight.”

Now that you think about it, it’s weird that he targeted your lack of a record, when anyone else would agree that your quirklessness is the larger problem. The doctor ignores Dabi. “Still, it’s a team worth paying attention to – and perhaps worth helping, depending on what you intend to use them for. What do you intend to do with them?”

“Destroy All Might.”

The doctor tsks. “Those are your master’s words, and you aren’t him. Try again.”

“Destroy hero society.”

Tomura sounds like he’s taking a test. Taking one, and failing it. The doctor tsks again. “Close, but not quite.”

“Destroy everything,” Tomura snaps, and the doctor smiles. That smile cements your dislike for him for good. “Everything I see, I hate. There’s nothing about this world that’s worth saving, so I’ll destroy it all at once.”

Toga makes a skeptical sound. “What about me, Tomura? Are you even going to destroy the things I like?”

“There’s always room for my comrades’ wishes,” Tomura says. Toga grins. Tomura glances sideways, meets your eyes, then faces the doctor again. “My comrades can’t live as they want in this world. I can’t live in it at all. So I’ll tear it down, brick by brick, atom by atom, until there’s nothing left in our way.”

“Anarchy, then?”

“Anarchy’s not sustainable,” Tomura says, and you find yourself hiding a smile under your veil. “What happens next isn’t my problem. My comrades can choose what to do.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything?” Twice asks. “I want to drink coffee and eat sushi.”

“Ugh,” Dabi mutters. “I don’t give a shit about any of it. As long as nobody stops me from doing what I need to do.”

Every so often, Dabi alludes to some mission of his, trying to lure one of you into asking so he can tell you to fuck off. You’ve all learned to ignore it by now. “As long as the things I like are here, I don’t care what happens,” Toga says. “Everybody else can choose.”

It’s quiet after that, other than Twice musing out loud about whether sushi and coffee go together even slightly. The doctor raises his eyebrows. “Three of you are awfully quiet. Compress, Spinner, Saintess – what plans do you have after you’ve helped Shigaraki destroy everything?”

“I’m keeping my options open,” Compress says. “A true performer waits for the right moment to claim the spotlight.”

The doctor lets that go, probably because Compress is a real adult and not somebody he feels like kicking around. He faces you and Spinner. “The shut-in and the civilian. What will you do?”

Spinner opens his mouth and you cut him off. “I’ll do what Shigaraki asks of me,” you say. It’s not a lie – he’s asked you to build the new world, and you’ll do it as long as he agrees to live in it with you. “I’m his sidekick. That’s my job.”

“I’m not a sidekick, but I’ll do what Shigaraki asks, too.” Spinner’s smart enough not to bring up Tomura’s instructions about the new world. “I don’t have my own vision. I’ll follow the person with the best one.”

“And you believe Shigaraki’s vision is the best one.”

“Yes.” Spinner doesn’t hesitate.

“Remarkable,” the doctor says, but he doesn’t follow up with Spinner. Instead he turns to you. “I have no need to question your loyalty to Shigaraki. You had more to lose in following him than the others.”

More to lose, sure – but losing him would have been worse. The doctor returns his attention to Tomura. “It seems you do have some degree of vision, as warped and simplistic as it may be. And you are capable of inspiring some degree of loyalty. The situation is not as dire as I originally thought.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s still rather dire,” the doctor says, like Tomura’s acceptance of the backhanded compliment wasn’t the most sarcastic thing you’ve ever heard him say. “Still, I’ll assist you on a limited basis for now.”

“How limited?”

“Some financial support. You’re still lacking in that department. That being said,” the doctor continues, “I can promise significantly more should you convince Gigantomachia to submit to you. He was your master’s most powerful servant. If he accepts your rule, I’ll throw my considerable resources behind you.”

“So we have to fight him until he quits?” Dabi sounds skeptical. “Fuck that. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“Like what?” Spinner asks.

“There’s a potential ally I’m cultivating. If I’m right about him, it’ll be a coup for us. Way more than converting some random civilian.”

Tomura’s shoulders tense, and you pray he’ll let it slide – and he does. “I look forward to meeting them.”

“While you’re doing that, perhaps you can assist with the testing of a Nomu,” the doctor says. So he’s the one who makes them. You weren’t sure. “I’ve created a class of high-tiers, far more powerful than the Nomu Shigaraki deployed at USJ, and they’re ready to be tested against powerful heroes.”

Dabi looks like he’s about to tell the doctor to fuck off. Then he tilts his head, considering. “How powerful of a hero do you want?”

“As powerful as you can secure. If I’m correct about the strength of the high-tiers, lesser heroes will fall before them easily.”

Dabi cracks a nasty grin. “I’ve got somebody in mind.”

“Excellent. As for the rest of you –” the doctor snaps his fingers, and the smallest Nomu you’ve ever seen scurries forward. It’s carrying a box, and when you look closer, you see that it contains earpieces. “Take these. This is how I’ll contact you from now on.”

You each step forward to take them. “This is really it?” Twice asks, not all that quietly. “We just have to get the big guy to bow down?”

“It won’t be easy,” the doctor says. “His strength and stamina are unmatched. I’ll be very impressed if any of you survive.”

Spinner looks worried. You’re worried, too. Tomura isn’t. “Thanks for the tutorial,” he says to the doctor. You’re last in line to collect your earpiece, and you tuck it into your ear. “Send us back. I feel motivated all of a sudden.”

The doctor signals something – another tiny Nomu – and black sludge begins to erupt from the others’ mouths. The others’ mouths, but not yours. You look to Tomura, a surge of panic rising within you, and Tomura reaches out, his fingers closing on your sleeve for a split second before the warp tears him away. He’s gone. They’re all gone, and you’re alone in here. With the bodies floating in the glass capsules and the two tiny Nomus and the doctor.

You have the knife Spinner gave you strapped to your back, concealed with your backpack, but you don’t know the doctor’s quirk, and you still can’t fight. The only way out of here is if the doctor decides to let you go. “Sir, please –”

“Manners for me, too? I’m glad to see that someone in Shigaraki’s gang of misfits respects common courtesy.” The doctor smiles. It’s not quite a leer, but it’s enough to make your skin crawl. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll send you back to your master in short order. I just need to run some tests.”

“Tests?” you say uncertainly. “What kind of tests?”

“Nothing too painful, or too invasive.” The doctor beckons you closer, and you take a few hesitant steps. You don’t want him to get mad at you. This, whatever it is, will be worse if he’s angry. “All For One had a hunch when he met you, and I’d like to confirm it. You want to be as useful to your master as possible, don’t you?”

You don’t like that he keeps calling Tenko your master, but you do want to be as useful as possible. You nod. “Excellent. Hold out your hand,” the doctor says. You do, at which point he jabs a needle attached to an electrode into the meat of your palm. You yelp in pain. “Oh, hush. Has anyone explained the theory of quirk latency to you?”

Even with your palm stinging, even in fear for your life, you can’t help rolling your eyes. “Yes.”

“And you seem not to set much store by it.”

“It’s a lie,” you say. “Something they tell quirkless children so we’ll stay hopeful instead of recognizing how the world really sees us.”

“Explain it for me.”

The needle in your palm is buzzing. It feels like there are insects crawling beneath your skin. “Quirk latency theory suggests that the majority of people who appear to be quirkless are not. Instead, they possess latent quirks – quirks that don’t manifest for the first time unless certain conditions are met, and if those conditions are never met, the person in question appears to be quirkless for their entire life.”

The doctor yanks the sensor out of your palm. “Give an example.”

“If someone’s quirk is driving stick-shift perfectly,” you say. It’s the example you heard in school. It was stupid then and it’s stupid now. “It’ll never show up if they never get behind the wheel of a stick-shift car.”

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter,” you say. The doctor wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm. At least, it looks like a blood pressure cuff – when it constricts, it jabs dozens of needles into your bicep, and you whimper in pain. You can slice into your skin without blinking, but it’s different when someone else is in control. “If it never manifests and you never know what it is, it’s the same as not having one at all.”

“Mm. I suppose.” The blood pressure cuff squeezes your arm agonizingly tight, then beeps and releases. The doctor peels it away. “Your decision to release the girl, while frustrating on a professional level, was the correct decision with regard to Shigaraki’s survival. Lift the veil.”

“Sir –”

“I know your face already. Lift it.”

You raise the edge and flip it back, at which point the doctor stuffs a thermometer into your mouth. That one doesn’t stab you, but he jabs a needle into your lower lip a second later. A mask lowers over your eyes, ringed in tiny needles just like the cuff, and all the needles deliver a low, buzzing shock. The thermometer in your mouth beeps, but the doctor doesn’t remove it. “It’s intriguing that Shigaraki selected you, of all people, to serve as his sidekick – but far more intriguing is the fact that you accepted the role. All For One had charisma. The strength of his character drew others to him, and his wealth and benevolence certainly didn’t hurt. Shigaraki Tomura possesses nothing of the kind. How on earth did he entice a civilian away from what for all intents and purposes appeared to be a relatively normal, happy life?”

Not by being Shigaraki Tomura – and not just by being Shimura Tenko. You call him different names depending on who you’re with, but he’s the same person, the same man, regardless of whether you use the name given to him by his master or his father. The thermometer in your mouth beeps sharply, and the doctor extracts it in a hurry, followed by the needle in your lip. Then he lifts the eye mask away. Next he slaps electrodes onto your temples, the sides of your neck, your forehead, your chest – the same microneedles, the same electric shocks. You clench your jaw against the pain. You’re not going to make another sound.

Why are you letting this happen? The same reason you let Overhaul touch you, the same reason you didn’t give in to panic when All For One’s hand descended over your face. You’re doing it for Tenko, so you can stay with Tenko, so no one will try to take you away from him or take him away from you. When you think of it like that, it’s – not easy to survive, exactly. But it’s easier. Easy enough that the chorus of stings and shocks from the last set of electrodes don’t visibly break your composure.

It’s only once you’re free of electrodes and needles that you remember you were asked a question – and that you don’t remember what it was. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question. Would you mind repeating it?”

“Don’t worry. You’ve answered it,” the doctor says. “And All For One’s hunch about you was correct. You’re a victim of quirk latency. You are not quirkless.”

You look blankly at him. Your skin is stinging in a dozen places, and there’s an unpleasant buzz in your nerves. “The tests I just conducted were tests of the most common locations of quirk factors,” the doctor says. “The hands, the eyes, the mouth and nose – when receiving certain types of stimulation, quirk factors produce an abnormal response. I was unable to identify a discrete quirk factor for you, which indicates that your quirk is not vulnerable to external attack. Overhaul, Shigaraki, Compress – remove their hands, and they’re useless. Your quirk factor, however, can’t be separated from your body so easily.”

He's looking at you, clearly pleased with himself, clearly waiting for you to respond in kind. “I don’t have a quirk,” you say. Your instruments are wrong.”

“My instruments are never wrong,” the doctor says. “Neither is All For One. You have a quirk, my dear. It’s latent, and without a discrete quirk factor, we have few clues as to what it might be, but make no mistake, a quirk is present. You said you wish to be as useful to Shigaraki as possible. Imagine how much more useful you’d be with your quirk.”

“I don’t have a quirk.” You know you shouldn’t argue, that you should pretend to be happy or at least let it go, but you can’t. You’re quirkless. That’s it. That’s all you’ll ever be. “If I had an actual quirk factor, maybe I’d believe you. But those abnormal reactions – you jabbed needles into my face and shocked me. Of course my system acted up.”

“Your system reacted normally to the electric current. What indicated the presence of a quirk factor was something else. Don’t question me, my dear. This is my area of expertise.” The doctor’s smile is horrendously smug. “I’m tempted to keep you here, and send you back to Shigaraki once we’ve awakened your quirk –”

“No!”

You clamp your hands over your mouth too late to silence yourself, and the doctor continues speaking like you didn’t say a word. “But I’d prefer that Shigaraki stays focused on mastering Gigantomachia, rather than hunting me down to retrieve his favorite toy. I’ll send you back, but well away from the battlefield. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before we’ve discovered your quirk.”

You know better by now than to argue about whether you have a quirk or not. You nod mutely, and since you have your mouth shut, the black sludge oozes from your nose instead. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the taste and the sensation to fade, and when you open y our eyes again, you’re on a wooded hillside somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There are clouds of dust rising in the distance, and in the midst of them, you can see Gigantomachia’s silhouette. Tenko’s already fighting him.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you take it out. Twice has been messaging you. A lot.

Twice: Saintess

Twice: hey Saintess

Twice: are y coming back or what

Twice: I k already had to make ten clones of Shigaraki to go get smashed because the real one can’t focus long enough to fight the big guy

Twice: sorry TWELVE clones

Twice: i won’t make any more fart jokes if you come back right now

Twice: WHERE R U HES GOING BERSERK

Damn it. You call Twice, praying he’s not up close and personal with Gigantomachia right now, and he picks up on the first ring. It’s colossally noisy on his end of the line and you find yourself having to shout. “Hey! Tell Tomura I’m fine and tell him to get his head back in the game!”

“Hey, you’re back! What took you so long? I – hey, boss, you might want to get back out there –”

“Make another clone,” Tomura snarls, and a moment later you hear his ragged breathing on the line. “What happened? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. He just wanted to talk. I’ll tell you about it the next time we have a second.” You speak quickly, calmly, even though the sound of Tomura’s voice and the fact that he’s worried about you are this close to making you burst into tears. “He dropped me off away from the battle so I wouldn’t get trampled. I’ll make my way back. Just focus.”

“Drop a pin. Spinner and Toga will come get you.” Tomura swears into the phone a moment later. “It’s not fucking fine. He can’t just –”

“Just focus,” you say again. “We’ll talk. Be careful.”

“I love you.”

Your heart twists. “Be careful,” you say again, and you hang up the phone.

You drop the pin as requested, then use your phone camera to check out the damage the doctor’s tests did. It doesn’t look good. Your lower lip is swollen, and you’ve got a rash around your eyes and your forehead and your neck — everywhere a microneedle went in. Your eyes are puffy, maybe from the needles, maybe from wanting to cry this much and holding it in. But maybe you shouldn’t hold it in. You’ve got some time before Spinner and Toga get to you. Maybe you should just get it out of your system. You sit down on a rock, bury your face in your hands, and cry, but the longer you cry, the worse it gets. A quirk. The doctor says you have a stupid quirk, and your whole life –

You can’t think about it. You can’t stop. You have to stop right now before anybody sees, and with no one else to turn to, you find yourself turning to a coping mechanism you thought you gave up on. It was nice of Spinner to give you the knife. You know for a fact you weren’t supposed to use it for this.

But it works. You wouldn’t do it if it didn’t, and by the time Spinner and Toga come to get you, you’re neatly bandaged under your shirt and sitting behind your veil with dry eyes. “Where have you been?” Toga asks. “Tomura-kun was really upset.”

“The doctor and I needed to talk about something. It’s all okay now.” Your voice sounds perfectly steady, and you’re perfectly calm. The doctor is wrong. You don’t have a quirk. You’ve never had a quirk, and since you’ve never had a quirk, your entire life hasn’t been built around dealing with something that was never even true. “How’s Tomura?”

“If we didn’t have Twice, we’d be screwed,” Spinner says. He looks grim. “Let’s go. Somebody’s probably going to be hurt by the time we get there.”

“What did the doctor want to talk to you about?” Toga asks as the three of you hike through the woods. “Something fun?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “He just wanted to give me a hard time about letting Eri go.”

It’s a safe lie, you think. One the others will buy, if Toga’s reminiscing about how cute Eri is are anything to go by. The real question will be if you can sell that same lie to Tenko. You think you probably can. You’ve lied to him directly before. And you’ve lied by omission, every time he tells you he loves you and you don’t say it back.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone. Back again with another round of the fic I've been reading this week. You can find previous rec lists here.

A reminder I'm here for all buddie/bucktommy/buddietommy configurations, and I'm always on the lookout for more henren fic to read, so please send author and story recs my way! (Feel free to self rec!)

21 June 2024

it's always on the tip of my tongue by @littlespoonevan omg 😭 smacked in the face with my closet romantic demi Eddie feelings. After (most of) the events of season 7, Eddie's reflecting on his past relationships and his conclusion “I don’t think I know how to be in love anymore.” But through therapy he realises what he thought he believed about love might not be what he actually needs, or deserves. Buck is steadfast by his side, supportive as ever. This fic, part one in a tbc series, absolutely stole my heart. Beat for beat it delivered in beautiful characterisation, introspection and self reflection, and such a wonderful arc. I felt incredibly seen, and can't wait for the next part!

eyewall by @vgreysoncellars and now for something completely different...so much smut! 'Tommy finds out that Buck and Eddie have been jerking off together for years without ever talking about it, considers knocking their beautiful empty heads together, and then figures out something better to do with the two of them instead.' Glorious (lengthy) buddietommy pwp, in which Tommy has the patience of a saint and Buck and Eddie are maybe not so oblivious dummies. Hilarious and yet heartfelt, bless you Tommy, what are we gonna do with them?

Echoes of Your Name by @usersiren a fic from 2022, feeling lonely and exhausted whilst working three jobs in Texas, and needing an outlet for his stress, Eddie is recommended an audio erotica site by a well meaning friend. He soon discovers the dulcet and sweetly submissive tones of EvanEssance, and is hooked. But when he moves to LA and joins the 118, there's something familiar about his new friend Buck. I really love the 'sex hobbyist' depiction of Buck having fun in this, and the way Eddie slowly finds his confidence.

everything's coming up milhouse by @henswilsons another from 2022 but in all honesty, I started here and then proceeded to spend the entire week reading LITERALLY EVERYTHING @HENSWILSONS HAS WRITTEN (apologies for the kudos influx) and they're ALL just absolutely golden buddie feelings, so. Go go go. But starting here, Eddie finds viral internet fame as the personable and unintentionally hilarious Mr LAFD Updates Man, and has to find ways to handle his new found recognition...and maybe stop accidentally flirting with Buck from the work account. Just the most delightfully funny and heartwarming perfect pick me up fic.

True (It Follows Me Around) and Could Go to Hell (But We'll Probably Be Fine) by @sonofatoasterwaffle last week I recommended Got Your Six and then immediately realised there were new instalments in the series, in which Tommy, Buck and Eddie continue to navigate the kink scene, shibari, and their new found dynamic. *fans self* yes and please and thank you.

heaven and hell were words to me by @goldenbcnes is a henren oneshot in which Hen reflects on her family, with Karen, Denny, Mara, and the 118, and her habitual loving text message: About to go somewhere you can’t follow. I love you and I’m coming home to you.

Potato Salad by @lazybakerart a funny and charming Josh POV bucktommy fic post-7x06! '"I'm sorry," Josh says, "You had a hot gay pilot in your back pocket this entire time?" god I love Josh POV so much, and now I need to see his reaction to Tommy (and Buck's bisexuality) on screen, pronto.

Until next week! Happy reading.

[tonberry-yoda]

And for ur event, how about 10 with our lover boy Sanji<3

(Lol I love him ❤️)

You Feel Like Home - Sanji

notes - I love writing Sanji fics for you!! I love that Sanji is just your boy now and I am more than happy to provide you the content you need for him <33 Like omg that birthday fic was so fun!!! Love you bunches and thank you for all the support! word count - 254 ~~BUY ME A KO-FI (COMMISIONS ARE OPEN)~~

It had been a long week and not only were you tired, but you were just in deep thought. You had been away from home for so long that it might have been getting to you and you just kinda felt... lonely.

You loved the crew, but at the same time, you were missing your friends and family back home.

You sighed and wrapped yourself in a blanket as you were on lookout. The sea was pretty though, you had to admit that.

"Hey, I brought you some hot chocolate." Sanji said, handing you a cup.

"Thanks, Sanji." you said, taking it, but not looking at him.

"Are you okay?" He sat next to you. "You've been looking a little upset lately."

"I just I just miss home." You ran your thumb over the mug and sighed.

"I know how you feel. Believe me."

"Yeah, you were around Zeff for your whole life, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I'm sorry you're feeling homesick."

"It's okay." You leaned on Sanji's shoulder.

"Well, I haven't been feeling as homesick lately just because of circumstance."

"Thanks for bragging, Sanji." you snorted.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's just," he smiled. "You feel like home."

You looked at Sanji with sparkly eyes, nearly tearing up. "You mean that."

He nodded and gave you a kiss on the head. "I wanna make it home for you here, so let me know if I can do anything."

"You're already doing enough." You snuggled on his chest and breathed him in.

~~~~~

one piece masterlist | pinned post

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Nineteen

Brushing Teeth - Joel Miller/F!Reader

Summary: Grief is cruel and just because you and Joel live in the safe haven that is the Jackson community it does not mean you're immune to it.

Possibly the saddest (but also kinda best) thing I have written so far.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader

WC: 2400

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, jackson era, No use of y/n, Crying, past trauma, Survivor Guilt, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Tooth Brushing, This is like seriously sad pls beware, Author has already scheduled a therapist appointment

AO3 LINK

notes: a huge thank you to my beta babes maria and aura for reading this a month in advance. i love you both so much.

this is a really, really sad fic. it's likely not gonna go the way you think. please continue with caution <3

_________________________________________

Circles

He died just after sunrise.

It had been supposed to be a simple shift, guarding the perimeter from one of the high posts along the fence that stretched around Jackson. The wood had been icy, slippery. There had been a railing. But when his heart had failed and he had collapsed to the ground, slipping over it like an ice rink, it hadn't been able to stop his body from falling.

There was nothing that could have been done. He had been old, older than most. Even with modern medicine, his condition would have caught up to him sooner or later.

Fate had decided on sooner.

Word hadn't reached Joel before he had left for patrol and so he had spent the day clearing Infected and checking the lookouts, unaware of the tragedy that had, for once, struck within the very borders of home. It wasn't until he came back in the early evening, that he noticed something was off.

There were no children bustling around on the playground, no adults studying the notice boards to see which movie was on tonight or who offered guitar lessons. Curtains were drawn shut. It was quiet.

The somber look on Tommy's face, who was waiting for Joel at the stables, was enough to send him into a panic.

Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

Tommy must have seen it coming because he had already raised his hands, as if surrendering to his brother, ”They're both fine.” Joel nodded solemnly as Tommy explained, repeating the events of the day in a few words.

He could live with that. As long as it wasn 't Ellie. Or you. Never you.

Ellie had spent the day with you, trying to look after you, doing the best she could. She was waiting in the large armchair in the living room, as close to the front door as she physically could.

Joel practically barges in, his gaze quickly checking the adjacent rooms. When he sees Ellie, he immediately relaxes a bit, knowing that at least someone has been here. Someone who kept watch.

“How is she?” He asks, disregarding any need for a greeting towards the teenager. She doesn't seem to mind, instead hopping up from the seat and walking with him, the pair quickly moving through the hallway.

“I gave her some food. I don't think she ate any of it. She wouldn't talk to me either. I'm sorry, Joel, I-'' He quickly shakes his head. He'll take care of Ellie, reassure her that she did a good job, which he undoubtedly knows she did. But Ellie is not the person in this house who needs him the most right now. Ellie is not the person who lost someone today.

“Later, okay?” Joel demands softly. His voice carries an underlying, stern tone that he rarely uses anymore. In other circumstances, Ellie would get mad at him, but she understands. He is in survival mode. He is making sure the people he loves are still there. He is scared.

Joel remembers your form that he had left behind this morning. Still in bed, sleepy, only reluctantly pressing a small kiss to his lips, the sweet promise of a few more minutes of sleep too tempting to ignore. He remembers the night before, the bubbly, talkative personality you usually have, that is a just little too much for him sometimes.

Your world had changed in just a few hours, a few minutes. And he hadn't been here.

Why had he not been here?

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks hesitantly and only then Joel realizes that he's stopped in the middle of the hallway. He continues his steps.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Ellie gives a shrug next to him but Joel barely notices, still too caught up in his thoughts.

He needs to see you. See that you are fine, just like Tommy had promised. Not truly fine, maybe, but alive. Breathing.

As they reach the old, wooden staircase, Ellie stops, taking in Joels gaze, that to her, still seems miles away, ”She wouldn't leave the bed. I barely recognized her.”

Joel just nods, his worry growing with every word. His grip on the banister tightens slightly, knuckles turning white.

“Go see her,” Ellie whispers and gently nudges him.

“Right.” That finally gets Joel to move again, his voice a little higher than usual and trembling slightly. Ellie knows he is close to crying. She presses her fist into his back a little harder and he nods again before he hurries up the stairs two steps at a time.

It's not until he reaches the end of the landing, until he is two steps away from the bedroom door that he slows down. Once again, uncertainty takes over his body. What does he say? Do? He's not equipped to handle this, he's not good with emotions, much less sad ones.

He's not sure what happens. An instinct takes over, steering his body steadily towards the door and pulling his fingers towards the brass handle. Maybe it's some old, parental instinct from before the outbreak, that he still carries buried in the back of his mind. Either way, he sends a silent, thankful prayer that it's there, that it allows him to continue putting one foot in front of the other despite having no idea how to.

The wooden door creaks slightly as he pushes it open. It's a familiar sound, more comforting than unnerving.

Joel is greeted by cold and darkness. He shivers as he steps into the room:'' Jesus Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He doesn't have to wait until his eyes adjust to the light. He can find his way in the darkness. 

He quickly turns the radiator higher, another familiar noise flaring up. Familiar is good. Familiar is safe.

He doesn't want to turn on the big light but he finds the switch for the small lamp in the corner and finally, he can take in the scene before him. His gaze is immediately caught by the bed in the middle of the room.

Whenever he goes out on patrol and you get the bed to yourself, you make use of his absence by occupying the entire bed, sprawling yourself out in the middle of the worn-out mattress. More than once, he had to physically fight you if he wanted his side of the bed back.

Now, however, you aren't in your usual position. You are curled up, tucked into the far corner of the bed, blankets and pillows wrapped around what Joel can only assume to be your body, some of them resting against the headboard.

It almost looks like you are trying to protect yourself, shield yourself from the grief that is knocking on the door downstairs, that is coming the same way he just has, slipping into the dark, cold room. A nest, to fend off the grief. Joel knows it wont work. He has tried.

A few of your limbs poke out from holes in the fortress of pillows and blankets and Joel softens slightly as his gaze wanders over them. He suddenly wants to run again, but he is afraid it'll startle you so instead, he approaches slowly, softly, like one may approach a wounded animal.

The bed dips slightly beside you as he sits down, his strong arms immediately wandering under the covers, searching for you. He finds the fabric of a shirt first, and then there's skin. Soft, gentle skin and he wants to cry with the familiarity of it. Looking down, he isn't surprised to see the shirt he had discarded last night, his favorite green flannel, now wrapped around your trembling body.

The thoughts come back. A small body, wrapped in a flannel shirt. He has seen it often enough to fill several lifetimes. He doesn't mind it anymore.

He knows it's a lie. He does mind it.

They had wrapped Sarah in flannel.

He can still see her. Still see the shirt, stained with blood. There had been so much blood.

Joel thinks about his daughter, his everything, his whole world, taken from him, wrapped in a shirt and buried in a backyard under a tree somewhere in Texas.

Joel knows he can't have these thoughts right now. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs until they feel like they're bursting. He pushes the thoughts away. Later.

His right arm finds your hair and you finally make a noise, whimpering softly at finally, finally having him here with you.

The blanket is gently pulled to the side, allowing Joel to see your face. Your hair is messy, your cheeks tear-streaked, eyes red and puffy from crying. You look like you have just been through hell.

Joel reminds himself you probably have.

His insides clench as he pushes down his own tears. And then you open your mouth.

“It was supposed to be my shift.”

That's all it takes. He hates himself because he's supposed to be there for you, he's supposed to be strong. But the fear is stronger, the knowledge that he could've lost you today gripping him again and not letting him breathe.

He leans forward in an attempt to hide his tears, his face, his own sorrow and you break too, shamelessly sobbing into his chest. You stay entangled like this, bodies pressed tightly together, you crying loudly and him crying silently. It feels like a long time. Your voice becomes hoarse but the sobs wont stop. You're not sure they ever will.

Joel moves, eventually, kneeling down on the floor so that his face is level with yours and he can study your face. His hands remain on your skin, not once breaking contact. He rubs small circles into your skin, caressing every part of you he can reach. 

Nothing can touch you as long as he does.

“Gonna help you a bit. That alright, darlin'?” He mumbles softly. Your answer comes automatically, the same one you've given Ellie throughout the day, ''I'm not hungry.”

“I know you ain't,” Joel mumbles. He lets it slide:” But we should clean you up. Just a bit.” He promises as he leans forward and kisses your cheek. You don't struggle as he picks you up more carefully than ever, hoisting you onto his hips and wrapping his arms around your legs to keep you upright against his chest. It's almost like being carried by a father.

Joel takes you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter. There is a bald patch on the wall where a mirror used to be until he gave it to Ellie. He always gives.

Patiently, he waits until the water is lukewarm and then begins wiping your face with a washcloth. You probably smell but you can't bring yourself to care and neither does Joel.

He moves on to your hair, untying the knot that once resembled some sort of hairstyle and brushing through it with his fingers for a moment before tying it back again. His movements are so gentle, so smooth. You watch as he grabs your toothbrush, gently wetting it and putting some toothpaste on, his left hand all the while remaining on your thigh.

Joel gently nudges the toothbrush against your mouth and you dutifully open up, allowing him to start brushing your teeth, still as gentle as he can.

He can feel the sadness again, threatening to overwhelm him. He brushes in small circles.

The last time he had done this was with Sarah. She was eight. She had been sick then, caught a stomach bug at soccer camp and thrown up for days. Joel had dragged his mattress to her room, sleeping beside her.

He moves on to the other side of your mouth. More circles.

Sarah had vomited on him, in the middle of the night, staining both the carpet and his pants. He hadn't batted an eye, just stripped the beds and taken her to the bathroom to clean her up. All he had needed was for her to feel better. And if him enduring it would lessen her suffering, he would have chosen it time and time again.

He doesn't say this. He thinks he may, some day. But not anytime soon.

Circles. Joel brushes in circles.

When he's done, he holds a cup to your lips and you lean sideward, spitting into the sink. He is still caressing your thigh, a constant, reassuring touch. He brings his other hand up to your face, using his thumb to wipe the last bit of toothpaste off the corner of your mouth.

“Let's get back to bed, hm?” You don't trust your voice again yet so you just nod and sniffle a bit. As he picks you up again, you feel another wave, a nauseous wave of grief coming down on you. You think he feels it too because he grips you a little tighter. You start crying again.

You return to the mess of pillows and blankets that still cover half the bed. But now he is there with you. His too large frame under the covers next to you, watching with sad, brown eyes as you curl up against him. He pats your hair, leans down and gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It has been ages.

The small streak of light that falls through a hole in the blankets reflects in his broken watch for a split moment. He looks down at it, the motion so familiar still. And he knows. He knows how you feel.

“Get some rest, babygirl,” he whispers. He'll do right by you. He won't let you go through the things he did. You close your eyes, taking in his smell, his warmth. It feels different now.

It could've been her. It could've been her. Thank god it wasn't her.

You're still in his arms, you're still here, still breathing, chest falling and rising in a semi-steady rhythm. He makes the choice in that moment. Or, he realizes it. He feels like he has made it a long time ago.

He will endure it. He will endure everything if it just takes away a little of your grief, of your pain.

He doesn't need to say it. It's an unspoken truth.

Joel Miller will be there.

[sunshiline-writes]

Ribbons

This is a little fic I wrote for @befuddled-calico-whump for their OC Hunter! This was for the @artwhumpersanonymous trade event on the server!

God this was so much fun to write and I loved reading everything about Hunter for Calico's T$S story. 10/10 I totally recommend reading it! Great art and great story. Linked HERE !

CW: GORE

The room was cold. Hunter could hear the way the water dripped from the ceiling. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Why was it always him that got the short end of the stick? He was always the one left behind. Well, he did deserve it didn’t he? With all the colors of irritation that followed them whenever he was around. Maybe he got too much again, left people with the sour taste in their mouths. He was told to wait by the door, be a lookout. He only saw the bright flash of orange a second too late before rose petals of pain blossomed from behind him. Then darkness. 

Now he was here. Somewhere dark and cold with a goddamn leaky pipe. One that he was unfortunately handcuffed too. What was this? Some kind of shitty warehouse basement? Like the ones on tv. The ones where people get kidnapped and there’s always a way out. Hunter needed their luck. Movie protagonist luck was probably the best luck someone could have.. Or the worst. Yeah nevermind, maybe he didn’t want that type of luck following him around. His own was bad enough as is.

Drip, drip, drip. 

There was a sound of a door opening, creaking slowly. It grated against Hunter's ears as he looked back at the small glow of warm light that came from the staircase. A basement then? Is that where he was? The man walked down the steps and flicked on the lights. He was surrounded by a bright red glow. A walking stop light. Danger. Hunter smiled at him. 

“Did you know that your pipes are leaking?” 

“What?” asked the man, raising a brow at him. The bottom half of his face was covered by a bandana. Grey colored with a pattern. There was a flash of yellow in the aura. He didn’t know what that was. 

“You have a leaky pipe. Annoyed the shit outta me.” 

The yellow flash stayed steady as the man chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He took a few steps toward Hunter, crouching to his level on the ground. Heading tilting to the right. Studying him. The soft red glow that surrounded him only got brighter, burning into Hunter's eyes. Right above his brow. 

“Yeah. Been meaning to fix that. Never got around to it. Busy I guess,” his tone was casual as he reached toward Hunter’s handcuffs. “I’m gonna uncuff one of your hands. Try anything and I’ll break your arm, you hear?”

Hunter scoffed but nodded as the man unlocked one cuff. Then he let Hunter move his hands from around the pole he was handcuffed around, moving his wrists and shoulders. Orange sparks coming from the joints. The man cuffed his hands in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulder and hauling him upward by the shoulder. The red glow got softer, less angry, less dangerous. Hunter felt himself inhale. The man made eye contact with him. 

Now Hunter had never been the king of smart decisions. He was in trouble constantly. Bored, elusive, desperate for something to take his mind off the thoughts that plagued him at times. But this had to be one of his dumbest decisions he ever made. Especially as he beared down and slammed his shoulder into the guy's chest. Knocking him backward for a few steps. That red flash came back in an instant as Hunter started to turn the other way. 

One, two… three steps around the table in the middle of the basement before Hunter's scalp was on fire. Orange dandelions exploded in front of his eyes as he was yanked backward by a hand in his hair. No no no. He screamed out for a second as his balance failed him and his head was slammed into the table. More sparks across his vision as he groaned. 

“Fucking.. Little shit..” the man growled, trapping him with his own weight pressed on top of Hunter's back, making it hard to breathe. 

“Get off me! Fucker. Asshole. You bi–” Hunter screamed again as his head was slammed into the table a second time. His vision went black for a moment. The world flipped around and he couldn’t lift his head. The world was spinning and if he kept his eyes closed it felt like he was being lifted. Hunter groaned as his body moved. Handcuffs unclinking and reclinking. God, everything was swimming in orange. 

“You look better when you can’t even lift your head. I warned you man,” his captor mused. Moving his arm off the table, letting it hang off by the elbow. Hunter finally found it in himself to open his eyes. Swirls of orange and black all around himself. The red of the man dressed in black bright and pulsating. His temple was wet, probably with blood. Something inside him screamed at him to fucking move. Get up, fight, do something. 

He tried to push himself up, get his chest off the table, but he couldn’t move. He twisted his head to see the rope that held him down. Tying his waist to the underside of the table. His legs were tied together and to the underside of the table too. Did he pass out? When did this guy tie him up? Black cracks started to form in his vision, surrounding his arm that hung limply off the table. Hunter moved it slightly, and a hand wrapped around his arm, just above the elbow. 

“I warned you what i’d do if you tried anything, remember? Say it.”

“You.. You said you’d break my arm.” 

“Oh so you were listening, that’s good.” 

The grip on his arm tightened and black cracks made their way up his arm, crawling up to his neck, making it hard to breathe. 

“Wait! Wait wait–” he lifted his head, struggling as the other hand came down just beneath his elbow. Oh god, oh god, oh god. “COME ON MAN, JUST WAIT.” 

The pressure built up slowly at first, before there was a horrifying snap. The world exploded into a firework of orange, black, yellow and red. Then his vision went black for another moment. 

A second of peace. Of forgetting that he was in someone's shitty basement, with a concussion and a broken arm. Forgetting that he was just left here and that no one was coming to get him. Hunter had a moment of peace. Of perfect, inky stillness. All good things must end right? All good things must end. 

His eyes opened and he was met with a stark contrast of white and red. Shattered bone sticking out of his skin and blood dripping down slowly. He couldn’t feel his fingers. That was a bad sign right? Meant the nerves were damaged or something? Orange flowers danced around the oddly angled arm, making his head pound. His eyes burned with tears. 

God he couldn’t cry now. If he cried now, he’d look stupid. 

“Shut up,” said the man, dragging a chair to sit next to the dangling arm. Grabbed just above the break on the part that was still on the table. “You’re whining and whimpering isn’t going to save you. In fact, it’s been long enough. I doubt anyone’s gonna save you.” 

Hunter whined, lifting his head, gathering salvia in his mouth. Then he spat on the man. Glob landing on his cheek. Just above the bandanna that covered his mouth. His eyes hardened, and the red pulsated again. 

“Fuck you.” 

The man laughed, actually laughed. Short and melodious as he wiped the spit off his cheek. Then he squeezed his arm, blood flowing more freely as he did. Hunter bit back a scream, his other hand curled in a fist. That was not his smartest decision. 

“How many layers of skin do you think it’ll take for me to get down to your bones? Ten? Fifteen? Wonder if I’ll hit an artery on my way down.” 

Bandanna Man took a knife from his back pocket and held it to the part of Hunter’s arm that dangled freely. Bone moving as the arm moved against his will. The pain burned into his shoulder, up his neck, and made his face heat up. A sob escaped him before he could even stop it as Bandanna held it straight, skin catching on bone, and brought the knife to the skin. 

“No.. N..no please… Please..” 

“No use begging, why don’t you just keep count yeah?” he said casually as he slowly and carefully cut away the first layer of skin. 

It was pink for the first layer. Red for the second, red for the third. Oh there was so much red. Blood pouring down his arm and steadily making its way to the floor. Sometimes, if Hunter focused more on the colors, rather than the burning, white hot pain, he could almost ignore it. Almost. His throat was raw from screaming and the deep ache settled in his chest. One that he recognized as hopelessness. It sat heavy on his body, squeezing all the air out of him. Making the room spin and the walls turn into grey nothingness. 

Muscles split down the middle, blue veins carefully being ignored. Yellow fat moved to the side. 

“Sixteen..” Bandanna said, voice coming back into focus as he leaned in close to Hunter's face. Tilting his head. “You still with me Harbor?”

Harbor, Harbor, Harbor. Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. He never told this guy his name. He never even got the chance. 

“Harrrborrrr,” Bandanna sang, gently tapping Hunter’s temple with the butt of the knife. “I need you awake. If you don’t open your eyes, I’ll just take them out.” Hunter's stomach lurched as he forced himself to open his eyes. The world was spinning still and it took a moment to focus on Bandanna's face. 

“There you are, your team is on their way you know. Got the location about an hour ago. We’re almost done. If you manage to live, I think they’ll be impressed,” the man said nonchalantly as another slice of tissue was taken from his arm. They rolled back elegantly toward his wrist. Ribbons. It reminded him of using scissors on a piece of ribbon. Scraping it on the material and then it rolled and curled up. That was his skin. Layers upon layers of curled up ribbon. “I’m impressed. I think we’ll make it to twenty, before we reach the bone. Really incredible,” the Bandanna man sounded far away, distant. 

Drip, drip, drip. Splash. 

Leaky pipe, blood dripping down his arm, onto the floor. Hunter was painfully aware of the sound. The sound of the knife cutting away at skin was awful too. The smooth shlick of it peeling back and the sound of Hunter's quiet sob mixed together. Orange, red, black and grey fireworks were everywhere.

 Finally, white bone appeared in his vision. Hunter was being fully held up by the ropes now. Body weight on his hips, but the ache was just a distant echo compared to the fire on his arm. Bandanna laughed and it echoed. Gently he stroked the bone, caressing it like it was something to treasure. 

“You did well Harbor.” 

Then he let the arm drop down again. Let it dangle there. Gravity pulling the weight of all the skin, muscle and fat down to rip down the rest of the way. Making him scream and his vision went white. The sound of tearing skin and the way it all hit the floor was the last thing he heard before his vision went black again. 

He was going to die here. 

Echoes of a past life surrounded him. Purple, blue, green colors blurring together in a mess above his head. Hands gently touching his head, his shoulders, holding down his legs. His vision cleared for a moment and he was greeted with a familiar, pained smile. 

“Don’t worry Harbor, we got you, we got you. You’re going home.” 

Home. If he was going to go home. He should really remember whatshisfaces name. Barney? Bacon? No.. something else. Benji. His name was Benji. 

A gentle hand wiped the blood from his forehead. Oh he really was going to go home now wasn’t he? His arm was fucked, his head was scrambled eggs but they actually came for him. They came for him and.. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be left behind after all. He let the thought settle in. 

Then he drifted again. Into a swirl of colors he couldn’t remember the names of. But he was in the arms of people that cared. That was enough for him to sleep. 

[wanderingblindly]

The new October Birds chapter is lovely (and you are too for writing such a gorgeous fic)!

Any behind the scenes information you want to share about it? Sentences that didn't make it in or oscar POV moments that can't get told from the fic's POV?

- Snippet Anon

(october birds)

oh my goodness thank you so much darling! Chapter two was one that I initially felt very little confidence in (I think I sent it to like, three people to see if the vibe matched the first one even remotely), so the response it's garnered has absolutely floored me. I literally cannot say thank you enough 😭💖

There were fewer things that stumped me in ch2 than in ch1, thank fuck lol. But there's one scene that I really did struggle with, and one key Oscar moment I haven't seen anyone comment on yet!

New Years

Ok so when I was originally picturing the new years scene, I wanted it to be with small fireworks on the beach. Then I rubbed my two (2) braincells together and realized that A) Perth is literally not near the beach at all for the sake of a midnight trip B) fireworks are super illegal in Tas. So that was very fun for me.

That then posed a big question of 'where the fuck are they meant to go?'.

At first I considered seeing if they could reasonably find a viewpoint of the Launceston or Hobart fireworks shows, since those are close enough to be feasible. But then I was like 'fuck, Lando had the anxiety moment about not going into the city, idk if there's really a place that would be isolated enough AND in view of the fireworks'.

After spending a lot of time on google maps, I found a viewpoint that was quite lovely: Max's Lookout in Nunamara, Tasmania. It's about a 40 minute drive away, and I could embellish the details to sell The Fantasy that I was picturing -- delightful!

In terms of the actual Event, the parts that I rewrote the most were the details around Oscar offering Lando his hand. It was difficult to both keep the "swept up in the moment" feeling and emphasize the tentativeness, the hesitation. I struggled a lot with figuring out how Lando would feel in that moment, especially because he'd technically already touched Oscar's hand before in Feast -- was this different enough for him to be affected? Was it similar enough to feel familiar? Was it scary, exciting, unremarkable?

Oh, and I had to google how to open a beer bottle with another bottle + your heel; I knew it was possible, I've just never had beer before lol.

Oscar and Lando's "Panic Attack"

Oscar's eyes flick overhead, taking in the fiery orange blossoms hanging from above. His under-eyes are more hollow than usual, the blue tint almost leaning purple in the early-morning light.

Oscar heard Lando in the kitchen.

In a different version of the scene, I actually had Oscar come out and try to help Lando, but then I realized it was far too early. Chapter 2 Lando is only beginning to peak out of his shell -- any intense display of emotion embarrasses him, he tries to talk himself out of them and pretend "it's fine" or that it's something he'll make himself "get over". Having Oscar come in at that point would have been mortifying for Lando, and waaaaaay more vulnerable than he's willing to be.

Of course I could decide that as the writer, but what was Oscar thinking about?

I have a really strong image of Oscar waking up to the sound of Lando's door closing, or maybe him falling against the oven door more forcefully than he thought (Lando's not the most reliable narrator at that point. And as Oscar jumps to go see what's happened, he hears it -- Lando's sobbing, his panic.

His hand would hover over the door handle.

At this point, based on what Oscar knows, Lando's clinically standoffish. He's clearly upset, but he doesn't want to say why -- even though he didn't deny his assertion that he wants someone to ask.

But would going and asking now be too much too soon? Too little too late? If he makes the wrong decision now, is he going to lose whatever opening Lando's worked open thus far?

He chooses not to go because he doesn't want to risk over stepping, but he can't sleep once he's heard it; Oscar gets as little sleep that night as Lando, and that's why he was awake so early. He heard him leave for his run.

There were a few specific things I cut from this chapter that I miiiiiight repurpose later, so I'll keep those to myself, just in case :)

[r0zzk1ll]

i present to you

GEORDI'S BIRTHDAY AU‼️

this au takes place not too long after first contact and before insurrection (hence data's skin defects bc i thought it'd be silly if he had "scars") but ANYWAU

after an away mission on a class-m planet that sent a distress call, data notices a dog that looks very uncared for and decides to take it in, the reason being geordi. he noted that ever since the events of s6ep13, aquiel, geordi always had a sort of emptiness to him, after the dog that aquiel had owned gained a strong impact on him. after the fact, geordi started bringing up more and more about how much he wanted a companion of his own (to which data gathered enough context clues to assume it was a dog).

he assumed it was more than a coincidence the dog was there, and that it was geordi's birthday on the same day, and took it in.

while troi and data were cleaning the dog up, troi helped data begin to realize that he didn't just do this to do something nice for geordi, but he was also very much in love with him, and he had to take a minute to process it. he thought about it more, and more realization came to him that it had started ever since they installed the emotion chip. he then confessed his feelings when he surprised geordi with the dog and they are happy and in love :3333

THIS IS GIZMO (laforge) :333 i guess you could call him an oc he is, of course the dog in question. he is a 5 year old border collie with some interesting quirks including;

a hypospray solution crusher gave him so he'd live out his silly doggy days longer (about 50 years), this is also the reason why his ears, paw pads, and mouth are purple‼️ crusher is still working on a way to fix that effect HEELP

he does in fact understand human gestures and basic language somehow, but doesn't speak it (he usually responds with pants and/or barks and etc.)

he is incredibly strong. like sooo strong he can push over heavy machinery/equipment with the help of another officer (probably effects from the hypospray)

him and spot are also like best friends i don't make the rules they met and immediately were companions

the comm badge on his collar does in fact work and can be used to track his location in case he gets out of geordi's quarters, or otherwise stated (he usually escapes when something is wrong)

i've had this idea ever since i watched the aquiel episode (which was about a month ago) and i hope u guys like it 😭‼️ i also have a fic i'm writing for it but it's still a wip, i might post it to ao3 so be on the lookout o_< here's some more little doodles for it!!!!!!

please pleeassee ask me abt this btw this au makes me soo insane /GEN HEELPP

[sun-aries]

Recall (totk zelink fic)

Sorry for the inactivity ':) spring fever got me down! Thank you to @defaulthousefrau for the request! I hope you like it <3

Link was the first thing she saw.

A blinding light saturated her lidded eyes and as she blinked herself awake, she saw him there: hovering above her, respectfully distant and yet protectively close. Dripping wet and somehow warm, she laid sodden in the tall grass, unable to place herself.

Nothing made sense. Distantly, the last thing she could remember was the heat of the stone, like a lump of coal in her chest, and the cold steel against her collarbone as she embraced the Master Sword. She could remember pleading to him to find her, to somehow know what she'd done and where she'd gone thousands of years in the future.

And yet he'd done it. Not that she doubted he would.

They'd stopped at Lookout Landing first for a goodnights rest before setting off to the heavens and witnessing the departure of her newfound – or perhaps old - friend Mineru. Afterwards, Zelda insisted on stopping by Kakariko to see Impa, if only to ease the old woman's heart, and Link had followed her dutifully.

Through it all, she was different. It showed itself subtly at first - a mispronounced name here, a wrong date there. Every time someone would correct her, Zelda would pause, swallow, and nod with a distracted apology. There were moments where she'd confidently march off in the wrong direction and he'd have to step in and guide her down the right path. And though Link was there every time, he had yet to say anything about it.

Zelda admitted to him previously that she couldn't remember any part of her existence as an immortal dragon, as though she'd been asleep the entire time. It was just as how Link had lost his memories after a century long slumber; an ironic twist of events perhaps, but at this point, they were well aware of how ironic fate could be.

The breaking point was in their cottage in Hateno. Standing in the storage beneath the loft, she frantically foraged through the boxes, getting more flustered by the minute. She couldn't for the life of her remember where she'd placed the lesson plans she'd apparently had stored away. She knelt atop one of the boxes as she reached for the furthest, dustiest crate, inadvertently elbowing a haphazard pot. It rolled down the stacked containers before crashing to the floor with a loud smash. From the kitchen, Link rushed to her side.

Zelda defeatedly slumped into her makeshift seat and placed her head in her hands. His footsteps slowed to a stop beside her, and though she couldn't see him, she felt his presence light up the damp and dingy pantry. "I just-" she took a short shuddering breath, "I don't quite feel like myself anymore." She drew her head from her hands and looked up at him pleadingly. "I feel like I've lost who I am - ever since…" Her words faltered, her eyes wandering away – unwilling to finish that sentence.

Zelda knew what she was giving up when she swallowed that stone. She knew that she'd lose herself, everything that made her her, and that she would most likely never recover her human form. Despite all odds, he'd found and returned her to her true self, but it was not without loss, it appeared. Parts of her were still missing and she'd been trying to find them ever since.

But Link already knew what she meant to say. Silently, he placed his hand before her and she blinked confusedly when it came into view. Her eyes followed his arm up to his face, the unassuming, kind look that seemed everlasting, and he said, "Come. I want to show you something." Without reservation – she'd follow him to the end of the world at this point – she set her hand in his and stood up.

She couldn't say how long they travelled, but the sun had bound across the sky and below the horizon by the time Link pulled his mare to a stop at Ulri Mountain range. The princess followed his lead to the cliffside, shivering a bit as a salty breeze swept through her golden hair, lifting her cloak behind her.

Zelda took his hand once more as he carefully guided her to the spiral in the sea, where a thousand shimmering stars danced across the surface of the water. When they reached flat terrain once more, she noticed something in the sand a bit away from them and dropped his hand to investigate. He followed her.

Kneeling in the sand, she reached her hand out and brushed the petals of the flowers. "Silent Princess's? They're everywhere. What is this place?"

"This is where I found you."

Zelda looked back at him, brows raised, but he was looking up at the sky. The breeze picked up his hair and swept the bangs off his face. "I came back here every day. Sometimes I found you; sometimes I couldn't." Her steady gaze withered, her heart wrenching in her chest when she realized what he meant. "But I always looked for you."

"Link-" She rose to her feet. "I'm sorry."

The hero met her gaze and simply shook his head. There was nothing to apologize for. What she did was braver than anything he'd ever seen. "You're not lost. You've just forgotten."

Her head turned up to the sky, watching the slow glide of the few clouds. "How do I remember?"

Link reached out to his side and pulled out the pad hitched onto his belt. "When I'd lost my memory, it was you that helped me remember. Your pictures." Holding out the pad, he caught the scholar's gaze again. She took it into her hands and curiously looked at the screen.

There were pictures that she hazily remembered taking what felt like decades ago, photos that still hung on the walls of their home. Pictures of Magda working the Floret Sandbar, Chork with his beloved white goats, the Don-Don species, she'd been researching, and more pictures of their adventures together; as she flipped through the gallery, she was quick to realize just how many pictures she'd taken, all of which he'd saved.

Zelda paused and looked up at him, unsure what to say. Instead, he continued, "Now it's my turn to return the favor."

And he did. Not that she doubted he would.

[skepticbeliever-bookclub]

Happy New Year, shippers & readers~!

We've come back after the holidays and wanted to reflect on the past year 2023, so the theme we chose was "Any fic published in 2023!" and what do you know, we chose a very special fic called The Call of the Forest by ÉcrivainFantôme

We love an AU in the book club and we love even more when the premise has them developing a slow little romance over the radio waves deep in the forests.

Rating: E

Summary:

If you’d have asked Shane five years ago what his five-year plan was, he’d have had a very different answer to the one he's living now. Today, Shane starts his first summer as a fire lookout in California. He's miles and miles away from civilization, and the closest person to his lookout tower is a strange man who keeps asking him questions about Bigfoot.

But, like The Rolling Stones say, "You can't always get what you want", but Shane sure hopes he'll get what he needs.

Book Club Thoughts

Firewatch is one of my favorite shorter video games and I'm sooooooo thrilled to have a shyan take on it It was the details that counted for me. The solitude Shane experiences that feels comforting to someone who loves being alone and then there is always that feeling when you first speak to someone and they just shake up your world Okay but this fic has so many good things.... I love how [the author] weaved in the canon of Ryan hunting for cryptids/ghosts and Shane being a skeptic normally, i like to take notes during the live reads (if i remember to), but this week, all i wrote was "That Anne of Green Gables ass moment where they freak themselves out discussing a true crime event" there's something to the like, manufactured intimacy of talking to each other over a private radio channel and sharing that sort of mundanity with someone who you don't really know The way intimacy is explored here so great. The lack of touch and physical presence, the isolation, makes it more intense for me

WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN US FOR OUR NEXT DISCUSSION? CHECK OUT THE FAQ, AND SEND US AN ASK! IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR FIC RECS, PLEASE CHECK OUT OUR READS, NOMINEES AND BOOK CLUB REC LISTS!

[quaranmine]

One more ask, lol.

Something just occurred to me that really drives home just how unsolvable this whole thing was.  Grian found Mumbo on pure accident, which just drives home the fact that Grian is not in control.  This is something you made clear through the narrative and in the authors notes. 

It had to be an accident.  Because I'm think back to when Grian and Scar were analyzing the initial search.  They both saw fault with the fact that they focused the search on Cloud Lake without even considering Pinnacles, and the fact that Mumbo was given a permit for a Cloud Lake, a closed trail, in the first place.

But Mumbo was SO FAR off trail in such a tricky, hidden spot that, EVEN IF the initial search would have led them to Pinnacles, EVEN IF they would have found the bag and the bike, EVEN IF Mumbo had been given a permit for Pinnacles instead of Cloud Lake from the very start... it might not have mattered.  It might have already been too late.  They STILL might not have been able to find him alive, or even at all, before the area was evacuated for the fire.

Just... there really was no rhyme or reason.  No hidden cause.  No fault.  Just...

There's this Irish folk song I'm low-key obsessed with in which the countryside is described as "where nature is seen both majestic and savage." 

Mumbo died due to the majestic, savage nature of... well.  Nature. 

And there's nothing anyone could have done.  

(I hope it's clear that I'm using the word "savage" as an adjective describing a fierce, violent force of nature and not... other contexts 😬)

Yes, exactly! Actually putting this under a cut it got long lol

Not going to lie I did Worry a few times throughout writing this about having a plot that was so heavily dependent on accidents. Like, is it undermining character agency to have significant things just happen? Do my characters drive the plot or is it just happening to them? The other hikers finding Mumbo's bike in chapter 3/4 was an accident. Most of the events of chapter 11 were an accident.

But genuinely from a real-life perspective...that's how things just happen. This story is kind of a non-mystery mystery. It's a mystery in the sense that we don't know where Mumbo is or what happened. But it's not a mystery in the sense that is some conspiracy to be unraveled, a killer to be arrested, etc. I talked about this in another ask a few weeks ago about how I mystery write, but this fic had a lot of unique barriers to it. Firstly, from a purely practical plot perspective, Grian has like nothing to work with. He has no access to any SAR tools. He doesn't have access to documents (at first lmao) or any other type of hard copy research. He cannot go out and interview people or do anything else a mystery protagonist would typically do to find "clues" because he's alone in a fire lookout. That's it. That's the setting. There is a guy who is alone in the wilderness who wants to find someone.....out of hundreds of square miles of nothing. With no real tools except his own two feet, a map, and a new friend who can only give voiceover help.

So.....there's already a hard limit on what he can reasonably do without the narrative helping him out a little. And I think I did my best harnessing everything he could do on his own. Now, Grian also THINKS he can solve it all himself. He sees no issue with this set-up. As the author though I'm forced to consider HOW he plans to do all this though lol. So again from a reasonable perspective, he ain't working with much. He himself would not have considered Pinnacles if the bike didn't get found. He might have pieced together that Mumbo took a different trail, but he would've had no way to figure out which one. Meanwhile, I just focused on building the plot of his personal journey. I also just focused on the parallels between how Mumbo got to the place he was and how Grian ended up there too.

Also speaking of the initial search at Cloud Lake, I want to highlight a case I listened to on the Out Alive podcast from Backpacker Magazine. It's the episode "Finding Life on the Edge of Death" about Andrew Devers who was missing for 9 days on the Pratt River Trail in Oregon in 2021 (and survived.) First of all, excellent episode. Also, I did not listen to this until after I had worked out the plot, but it really strengthened my conviction in the storyline I had laid out. And I did end up referencing something from this episode in chapter 10. Specificaly, Andrew went hiking alone on a trail that recently had a landslide. Because the environment was so drastically changed, when he turned around to hike back he couldn't find his way at all. And I was like, yeah. That's why Mumbo's search continued to stay in the same area even though the trail was closed. Because this happens. They thought he lost the original trail in the landslide, just like this guy did. They thought that the trail being closed actually increased his chances of being lost there because it increased his chances of losing his way. They just didn't realize he actually turned around and went somewhere else. No conspiracy. Just a misguided assumption on the situation.

Also it really is horrifying how difficult it is to find people in the wilderness. So many people who go missing are found months or even years later on accident. I'm also reminded of the tragic case of Geraldine Largay, who died after going missing on the Appalachian trail. She survived 26 days. Search teams got within a 100 yards of her location, but they didn't find her body until two years later. She was only two miles off-trail, and only 30 mins walk from a road. She got turned around after simply stepping off trail to use the restroom. It hurts my heart so much. More recently last November, in my own beloved Big Bend National Park, Christy Perry went missing on the Lost Mine Trail for 8 days and was later found alive. She was so lost but only 1/4 a mile off-trail. I've been on that trail many times. I've....um.....been off-trail on that trial many times....Anyway, I was keeping an eye on updates constantly hoping she'd be found because it looked so bad for her, but she was fortuantely okay.

Anyway I guess my point is that people really do get hopelessly lost all the time while being close to trails, and being close to trail doesn't mean someone will be found quickly or at all. And in Mumbo's case...he wasn't anywhere where people thought he might be. Grian's mission was a needle in a haystack. If I were truly being realistic, he wouldn't have found him at all, but that's where I'm using narrative power.

So yeah. Accidents. Sometimes you're just not in control. Sometimes bad things happen. Nature majestic and savage indeed....