#but after some untimely ends i am just... so fucking afraid.

[orcelito]

Tally's just a liiiiittle bit fed up with my clinginess today

Can't help it tho. She's my baby.

[cower-before-power]

Slippery When Wet: Part 2

Summary: An untimely accident in the shower leaves you injured and in need of rescue. Lucky for you, the object of your affections is more than willing to help.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, nudity, implied sexual content, description of injury (nothing graphic), unintentional voyeurism? (idk i mean like voyeurism in the name of helping i’m not sure how to say it ha), lots of dick talk, prolly really bad sex jokes

Link to A03 here

PART 1 HERE

A/N: First of all, THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO READ, LIKED, REBLOGGED AND COMMENTED ON PART 1. You are all amazing, I am so glad you are enjoying this silly little venture Gojo has dragged me on. Again, thank you so much to @ghost-party for her beta skills, you da best! I hope Part 2 makes you all happy :) please enjoy, sweet potatoes!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You shouldn’t look. Not because you don’t want to, but if you do you’ll know what is absolutely not warming your bed at night and then you’ll probably just feel worse. But, you were overwhelmingly curious. Just a quick look couldn’t hurt.

Right?

You peek through your fingers, just at his upper half. The sight makes you curse softly under your breath. Of course he’s absolutely beautiful out of clothes, did you really expect anything less?

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll get dressed,” he says, “just thought this would help you out.”

Help you out? Good grief this is going to be the star of your late night fantasies for months. Because instead of dreaming it up, you now have the real thing to recall.

“No,” you take a deep breath and drop your hands. “I’m fine.”

Are you though? He’s built to perfection, checking off all the boxes on your “Things I find physically attractive” checklist. You marvel at this long column of his throat, sweeping down into a set of collarbones that would make models die of envy. His chest is hairless (did he wax or was it just naturally that way?), miles of smooth skin and muscle that your fingers were just itching to trace.

Your eyes trail down past his stomach, briefly cataloging the very nice set of abs, before settling on what you were the most curious about.

The snort of laughter escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Excuse me, did you just look at my dick and laugh?” He asks accusingly, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle at the disgruntled expression on his face. “It’s just, I’ve always wondered if the carpet matched the drapes since I assumed you dye your hair. Guess I was wrong.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru visibly deflates.

“That’s what you’ve thought about?” His voice is full of frustrated disbelief. “My pubic hair?”

You can’t stop giggling. “You can’t blame a girl for being curious! Are you sure you shouldn’t get rid of it though? Doesn’t the white make people think they’re boning an old man?”

“The utter disrespect,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I can assure you that is the last thing on their minds when I’m working my magic.”

You wonder why you aren’t feeling more flustered. The fun and teasing atmosphere feels almost refreshing after the intense back and forth that was just occurring.

“What, you casting spells for dry weather?”

“Oh, you are evil!” He moans, then looks down at himself. “Don’t listen to her, big guy. You know what you can do.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk to it,” you roll your eyes, trying not to grin. “And don’t oversell the merchandise. It’s average, at best.”

(It isn’t. It’s probably the nicest looking one you’ve ever seen. But him and his astronomical ego do not need to know that)

Gojo grabs his chest as if you’ve physically wounded him. “Ouch! Shots fired, target annihilated!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you sigh. You wonder if he notices the quiet fondness in your voice.

He opens his mouth as if to retaliate, but then suddenly shuts it. A look comes over his face as if he’s just remembered something very interesting and important.

“Hey,” he says, and you watch his mouth spread into a smile. “You said you’d wondered if the carpet matched the drapes. That means you definitely imagined me naked at least once.”

And your blush is back.

“What of it?” You huff, cross your arms and looking away. “It’s only natural. I’ve thought of lots of people naked.”

“Do you ever imagine sleeping with me?”

The question causes you to choke on your breath.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

You take a look at him, standing naked and unashamed in front of you. His smile is different; there’s a sultry edge to it you’ve never seen before.

“Maybe inquiring minds should stuff it,” you stick out your tongue. Immature, but he’s got you feeling all funny now.

“Well, I’ve thought about it,” he says. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, actually.”

Your heart misses a beat in your chest.

“You have?” Your voice squeaks as you force the words out.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You consider the question. You’ve got insecurities, but you know you are a decent looking person. And despite his flightiness about many things, Gojo has actually never given you the impression that he’s shallow in that way.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I guess I just never considered the possibility that you were interested in me in that way.”

He sighs. “Pumpkin, I’m not blind. You are stupidly attractive. Every time we’re out in Tokyo you’ve got a million guys and gals staring at you.”

“I just always assumed they were staring at your and your stupid blindfold,” you scrub at your cheeks with your palms, trying to rid yourself of some of the perplexing confusion you feel swirling inside you. “How come you’ve never made a move?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

You want to shout at him, to say of course yes a thousand times yes, but you pause. You realize you’ve never given him any signals, any hint that he was more than just your often annoying friend. Sure, you blushed at his silly flirting, but so did lots of people.

You shift back through your interactions, all the missions, the late night hang outs, the strolls through the city. Nowhere can you find any instant where your ever expanding feelings might have risen to the surface. But still, would your seeming indifference deter him? He was a very self assured man, after all.

“You have confidence coming out your ass, it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t make a move anyways, just to see,” you say instead.

His whole demeanor softens. “I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

Oh.

OH.

And you know exactly what he means. It’s why you’ve never said anything, why you forced your desires deep down into the pit of your being when in his presence.

It seems even the strongest shaman could be afraid of something.

“It’s not just about fucking, is it?” You ask, feeling your whole body start to tremble.

“It was never just about fucking,” he replies, and it’s like the universe explodes before your very eyes. “Why do you think I spend all my free time with you?”

“To annoy me?” You croak feebly. “To eat all my snacks? To enjoy torturing me by spoiling the end to every movie we watch?”

He chuckles. “Just side bonuses. Being with you is the real prize, pumpkin.”

“Oh,” you whisper, and your brain whirs like an overworked laptop. You’re having trouble processing that this is actually happening, that the man you’ve been pining after for what feels like forever is really standing there, confessing his own feelings.

Buck ass naked.

“You’ve got two options right now,” Gojo takes a step closer to you, and you shiver at the dominant aura that suddenly swirls around him. “Either I get dressed and we put today behind us, or I come over there and kiss you until you can’t remember your own name. Make your choice.”

Was there even a choice? There was only one option. A slow, warm feeling blooms in the middle of your chest and spreads outwards, dousing your whole shaking body in molten yearning. It’s not a new feeling, but the sensations are different. Because now you can give in to it.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out, breathless and giddy. “Get the fuck over here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

A flash of a savage grin, the soft thump of footsteps and then you are numb to everything but him.

He tastes like sugary coffee and chapstick, lips hard and hot against yours as he kisses you like he’ll die if he stops. He’s everywhere at once, in all your senses, drowning you in his onslaught of desirous fervour. It’s not a timid kiss of new sweethearts; it’s a passionate embrace of long overdue lovers.

Your hands run over every inch of him they can reach, mapping the ridges and valleys of his exposed skin. His own slip beneath your shirt to spread across your back, crushing you to him with a grip of iron. It’s not enough; you want them everywhere, you want him everywhere, until he’s branded onto your body. Until you no longer know where you end and he begins. Until he’s sunken himself into your very bones.

You need to breathe- you pull away with a gasp, one gossamer thread of saliva lazily trailing after you.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” You pant, digging your nails into his arms. He’s unwilling to keep his mouth off you, now pressing scalding kisses along your jaw.

“Blame it on mutual stupidity,” he sighs into your skin, teeth slightly grazing the spot just below your ear. “Let’s make up for lost time, eh?”

“I’m game,” you say, a soft whine leaving your lips as he works steadily on what is sure to become a bruise.

“Good,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue across the blossoming mark before leaning back to smirk at you. “Have to make you take back all your snarky comments about me and my game.”

You giggle. “Oh, so you’re saying it won’t be as dry as a desert ‘round here?”

“Well let me just check tonight’s weather report,” he laughs, grinning cheekily as he slips a hand down between your legs, brushing gently over the front of your underwear. You bite your lip, grip on his biceps tightening.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re in for a wet night,” he says in what you assume is his best weatherman voice. “Expect a great deal of precipitation, more so than what’s already accumulated. Perhaps we’ll even see some flooding. We’re talking possibly record setting levels here.”

You snort with laughter, pushing at him slightly. “You are such an idiot. Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, I intend to put my mouth in a lot of different places,” he removes his hand, snapping the elastic band of your underwear against your hip as he goes. “I know I just got you into these, but shall I undress you now?”

“Yes please,” you nod eagerly, already wiggling out of your shirt. He quickly helps remove the offending garment, but in all the lust and excitement you’ve forgotten about your shoulder, and you moan in pain when you jostle it.

“Owwwwwwie, stupid shoulder!”

“Shhh, pumpkin,” Gojo coos gently, leaning down to pepper the area with kisses. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You feel yourself melt at the sudden tender display, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his luscious hair as he continues to smother your bruised shoulder in affection. “You already are, Satoru.”

The first name slips out unexpectedly, but you like the way it rolls off your tongue. He seems to as well, judging by the pleased noise that rumbles from his chest.

“Well, allow me to continue then,” he purrs, and his lips leave your shoulder to capture yours in another toe curling kiss. You press yourself to him, the feel of his bare skin against yours sending a thrill shooting down your spine.

An idea suddenly pops into your head.

“I never got to finish my shower,” you break your kiss to speak, looking up at him under your lashes.

He catches on immediately, his smile once again turning primal. It makes your knees weak and your gut clench in anticipation.

“Maybe you should help me, since I’m injured and all,” you push yourself even closer to him, shivering at the feeling of his not-so-average excitement pressing against your belly.

“Hmmmm, I could do that,” he’s already got his fingers hooked in your underwear, slowly starting to push them down your hips. “But what if you slip again?”

“Well, you’ll just have to catch me then,” you wink at him. “With your dick.”

He roars with laughter, and your heart has never been more full.

“Oh, I’ll do more than just catch you, pumpkin,” he growls playfully, and before you can blink he’s rid you of your bottoms and swept you up into his arms. “I’m going to absolutely wreck you.”

You reach up to kiss him as he pounds towards the bathroom, your blood on fire and only one thought in your head.

Bless that stupid, slippery, wonderful bar of soap.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @satorudicks @sara-nyaa @dixonsbugaboo @fandomtrash100 @oikusa-snow @okemis @kuxredere @mylittleteddybear @the-fandoms-georgie @inaflashimagine @crapimahuman @elenapri0502 @fragments-of-aria @bollywoodghoul @wrdro @kiasnotforever @disregardedbymybias @lavihs @euniartsu @satjsstuff @lycorizzz @fushigurosimp @levisbrat1 @bxstboy-tetsu @one-leaf-grimoire @glxar (sorry i just tagged everyone who asked and commented haha, bold means I couldn’t tag you sorry!)

[hornime]

saeko, an angel

you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

warnings: gay lol

w/c: 2k

a/n: i’m so in love with her. also this is sfw which goes to show how much i am in love with her.

you crack your eyes open, a bright white light blinding you and forcing you to close them again, the burn settling into your pupils. you wait a minute, letting the red behind your closed eyelids warm to a fiery orange, before trying again, squinting as you let your eyes slowly adjust to the morning sun. and then you see her, through the blurry haze of dawn.

an angel.

you silently blink early tears away, too afraid of moving or making a noise and scaring the divine being away. as bubbles of light start sharpening into crisp clarity, you realize where you are: a hotel bed, with clean white curtains and walls framing a heavenly scene. and you realize what you’re seeing: saeko. so yeah, close enough, you think. an angel.

you remain immobile: your hands are tucked under the pillow and quickly going numb at the uncomfortable position, and the kink in your neck is demanding more and more of your attention as your nerves realize that you’re awake, naturally refusing to give you a mere minute of painlessness. but the aches in your joints and throbbing behind your eyes become secondary as you become transfixed on her, her. her, silently sitting on the edge of the bed and playing with the linen beneath her with the tips of her fingers, only half of her face towards you. she hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, a serene smile gracing her face as she remembers a joke, something between her and herself. saeko, an angel.

it’s funny, you think, how mom always told me that mornings were times of clarity, times when things make sense. you remember a story she’d tell you when you were little.

“there’s something about the time when half the world is sleeping and the other half wishes they were sleeping,” she used to say, “that makes things make sense. everyone’s too groggy to start thinking their thoughts for the day. so the universe has all of these thought bubbles in the air, floating around, waiting for someone to just pluck it out of the air.”

“like a ballon?” you’d ask.

“yes,” she’d chuckle. “like a balloon. and you can just pluck it out of the air! sometimes, when the universe needs you to realize something, all those thought balloons will come rushing towards you, and they’ll form a big,” she’d spread her arms for emphasis, “big, big cloud of thoughts. and suddenly, everything would make sense. and you’d get the courage to do something that you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

you used to laugh at that story, imagining someone with a giant thought bubble sneaking out of their ears, carrying them up, up into the air. what could someone even be thinking about, you’d wonder, that would make their bubble so big? you couldn’t fathom contemplating something so large and important that you’d worry it could whisk you away into the atmosphere.

but now, laying here in silence, mom’s words were resurfacing to the flesh of your chest, warming it with something that had been burning there for a while, burning with what the universe had been wanting you to realize for quite some time now. 

you were just scratching the surface of what that was threatened to make you weightless, the strings of balloons tugging restlessly at your arms and legs, wishing you’d just let them fly already. wishing you’d just let yourself fly.

you don’t even realize your eyes are closing until you glance back up again, at the angel perched next to you, wingless yet still able to show you the wonders of the sky. saeko, an angel.

you study her for who-knows-how-long, noting the sheer beauty before you, so delicate yet strong you worry it’ll break itself or break you from the weight of its magnificence. she doesn’t even know, you register, she doesn’t even know that each moment around her is a blessing.

and you know for a fact that each moment is a blessing, because angels are blessings, and she’s an angel. somewhere in the murky depths of moral ambiguity, between drops of bitter vodka from a teenage birthday party and stolen quarters from the mall fountain, there is a glow of truth and irrefutable certitude: that she is an angel. saeko, an angel. 

and you, blessed.

wisps of blonde hair curl from her forehead to her jaw, whispering words in gold that you can only partially translate into a hymn of some kind, its rhythm vibrating along the headboard of the bed and prodding at your ears. you wish to brush them behind her ears, so cliche, she’d say, just so you can see more of that heavenly face. god, you groan internally, why’d you make her so fucking perfect? how’s that fair to any of us mortals? how’s that fair to me?

you trail your eyes down the bridge of her nose, slanted perfectly. you’ve never really thought about what the perfect nose bridge would be, but you know without a doubt that she has it. of course she does. saeko’s perfect. saeko, an angel.

and before you can help yourself, you’re tracing the curve of her lips, plump and pink and oh-so-kissable. you’d drown in those lips if you tried: visions of how they stretch into cheeky grins and purse into pouts could flood your mind if you let them. and you don’t let them, at least not as often anymore, especially since her lips can be really distracting, and last time you thought about them you were driving, and saeko shrieked in laughter when you called her telling her the reason there’s a new dent on the side of the car. 

“we can’t both be bad drivers!” she’d giggled. “that’s feeding into the gay stereotype!”

“it’s not my fault,” you’d grumbled, “that i can only concentrate on one thing when i’m behind the wheel.”

“that ‘thing’ should be the road! not my lips!”

“yeah, i know! but ‘i kissed a girl’ was on the radio and then i thought about kissing a girl and that girl was you and then one thing led to another and...”

the corners of your lips turn up at the memory. although you had been pretty pissed about having to pay for a repair, saeko proceeded to try and fix the dent herself with a plunger since she has a vendetta against auto shops because “they’ll take advantage of pretty things like you” and “motorcycles aren’t that different from cars anyway, so its fine.” and she was sure to give you some quality time with the lips that you’d been so distracted by, so even the fact that your insurance company had upped your rates hadn’t bothered you too much.

the strings of your thought balloons dangle in the air, glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. you wonder how saeko hasn’t seen them yet. she must really be lost in thought.

your gaze remains steady on her face, her glory, her beauty. i’m lucky, you decide. so so lucky. you can feel your limbs be lifted slowly into the air. the balloons are getting restless.

you’re almost taken aback when you feel something wet roll down your cheek. are you... crying? seriously? you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get a hold of your emotions. when’s even the last time i felt this in lo—

“hey.” saeko’s soft voice makes you crack open your eyelids as she runs a hand along your hair. “are you okay? you’re crying.”

you smoosh your face further into the pillow. “i don’t know,” you mumble through the comforter.

she repositions herself on the bed so that she’s sitting criss-cross towards you, leaning forward to bring her face closer to yours. “are you on your period?”

“no,” you respond immediately. you nuzzle further into the sheets, but poke your head out again. “wait, i’m not sure. what day is it?”

“the 21st.”

“oh,” you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms out hoping that she’ll hug you. “then maybe.”

saeko obliges to your silent request, crawling her way over and straddling the blanket over your legs before resting the top half of her body on yours. “i knew it,” she whispers into your neck.

you don’t dare look her in the eyes. you know that mortals will disintegrate if they look directly at an angel. you read that in a percy jackson book or something.

but the thought balloons are yanking at your arms, forcing your fingers to run down her spine and through her hair. i must be insane, you think. i’m insane to think that i’ll ever be enough for her. 

she’s an angel, you remind yourself to no avail. wingless, but can still fly. and you are nothing but a human, rooted to the ground by gravity and inevitable death. you’d be a fool to think that you’d ever be enough; after all, what bird would choose to stay on the ground when it can explore a limitless sky?

but you are a fool. you know that now, even if you were in denial before. you’ll let your delicate and fragile thought bubbles carry you into the air and bask in the temporary feelings of freedom before they pop and you crash and burn through the atmosphere. you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

you most certainly are a fool, because you let your thought bubbles wrap their strings around you like a harness, pull themselves taut, and prepare yourself to jump out into the morning heavens, putting your trust into the wind to carry you alongside her. your toes are dangling across the edge, the open beyond becoming more and more appealing than the safety of the hotel room. you know that there is no do-over once you take the leap, once you try to fly. you’ll either get to fly beside her or you’ll fall to the ground and face an untimely end. but fuck if you aren’t daring, yearning, stupid enough to jump. 

you swallow. there really is no going back from this.

“saeko?” you let the words carry through the stagnant air of the room, filled with the lemony scent of an air freshener and saeko’s shampoo.

“hm?”

“i—” the wind whips widely at your back and at your balloons, sending them into all directions as they maintain their hold on you. it’s compelling you to fall, to throw caution into it and hold tightly to your faith and let go of your tether. you must be crazy because you’ve already made up your mind. this decision shouldn’t be that easy, but you are scarily sure. 

the earth’s roots are retreating back into the grass and your body is free for the first time. you can’t tell if the air will catch you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. you’ll be the first human to fly, even if it kills you. it probably will.

“i love you.” your feet leave ground and find nothing below them. the helium in your balloons is straining against your weight. your breath hitches—maybe this is how your life ends. maybe this is how the illusion that you’d created for yourself, a love between a human and an angel, disappears: shattered like bones on concrete.

you open your eyes. you hadn’t even realized you closed them. they meet a sky of warm brown, glinting with the promise of flight. the brightness of her smile makes the light of the sun pale in comparison, the same sun she’s gotten closer to than you ever will. her nose is dotted with freckles, mirroring the constellations that you’re sure she’s flown through countless times. you can practically see her wings, her halo. your confession, one you thought would land heavily in the space between you, feels like its expanding into something light. something... weightless.

the air seems to grow solid beneath you. it’s like you’ve realized you can fly. you’re starting to think you can.

“i love you, too.” 

she loves you. saeko loves you. 

saeko, an angel.

[internalsealpanic]

Lover, Tell Me, if You’re Able

Summary: You trek down to the underworld to save a certain Robin using your admittedly limited knowledge of Greek Mythology. Nothing a little moxie can’t fix right?

a/n: I’ve been wanting to do an Orpheus Eurydice thing with Jason for a while now. I’m pretty sure this has been done but I really wanted to take a stab at it. 

listen to this song while reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP47npl3rHo

warnings: angst, slight body horror, unhealthy grieving, bad decisions, and kind of an eating disorder caused by unhealthy grieving. There is some tooth rotting fluff though.  

word count:  5,049

You snorted in your usual short, breathy laugh—which according to certain asshats sounded less like a laugh and more like the death rattle of a hyena —as you nearly tripped over what felt like the fiftieth rock in the past half hour. You cursed quietly wrapping your shaking arms around yourself letting your unkempt fingernails dig into your thoroughly abused coat which probably had a few unwanted holes by now. It wasn’t even that cold nor was it even remotely scary. You know, aside form the ghostly moaning bouncing off the walls but that was par for the course in Gotham subways. No big deal. 

After what felt like the seventieth rock, you swore. You swore loud and vicious and cutting.  You swore to capital ‘G’ god that when you found Jason Peter Todd you were gonna curb stomp his ass into next week. This is his fault for being stupid enough to- to-

Just like that, your anger and frustration plummeted into grief.

Your mind fell back to the funeral, 

For the first since you entered the dark tunnel a few hours ago—a few days ago?—, you could feel the cavernous walls threatening to close in on you as you took another shaky step. 

To all the ‘I’m sorrys’ and condolences,

You could feel your rib cage fall open. Each gentle pat on, gentle look, and hushed whispers scooping out your insides leaving a vast empty cavity save for a heart that ached too much to beat properly and a pair of lungs clogged with too tar to breathe. The expanse of your chest feeling too full and too hollow at once. 

To all the ‘he died too young’ crap,

No shit!

No friggin shit!

He was 16. He was six-fucking-teen. He just got his fucking driver’s license. 

You wanted to scream but the words lingered in your bones. Instead, the nestled and furled into a mantra and worked their way up to your throat, burning. As if folding and creasing them into a perfect, proper eulogy of hand-picked words would bring him back. 

You knew it wouldn’t. You weren’t foolish. You weren’t that hopeful. You weren’t even disgustingly hopeful. You were Alley born. You were practical and brutally realistic. You were also not dumb. As much as people in Gotham Academy seem to believe, you weren’t stupid. You knew there was no ending to his story that involved a long peaceful life. He was also a child of the Alley, born of Gotham’s gutter, there was no way he would not die young. 

Your tongue felt heavy like a tombstone being set into place. 

And to all the ‘he’s in a better place now’

HA! 

The words set your grief a flame burning it into the kind of white anger that consumes even those around you. 

Fucking hilarious. 

Just fanfuckingtastic. 

You’d see about that. 

You took a long sobering breath holding it in afraid that if you breathed out the anger would seep out leaving you with nothing but grief. 

After what felt like an eternity, you breathed out sure that all the anger, all the irritation, and all the sputtering hope had settled in your bones. 

You were going to get him back. 

You will. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

Jason tapped the edge of your science textbook with his pencil morse coding something and clearly demanding your attention. You rolled your eyes, moved your textbook an inch closer to you, and continued reading through the passage electing to ignore your likely scowling best friend. 

He tapped again. You didn’t look up sure that he’d go away if you pretended his existence was an elaborate hoax. This ingenious strategy is probably why you two have been glued together for the last 10 years.  

Losing patience, he snatched up your textbook earning a petulant, half-hearted glare from you. “What the fuck do you want, Jay?”

“Do you remember the Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

You blinked at him, honestly confused. 

He gave you a questioning look. He could probably see the gears turning in your head. 

You’d heard the names before but you were struggling to associate them with anything. Until it clicked. 

“Oh yeah, Hadestown the dude with the guitar-”

“Lyre,”

You made an affronted noise which made him roll his eyes at you but you could see the slight twitch in his lips at your antics. You would count that as a win. 

“He plays the lyre, you uncultured swine. Did you even read the packet?” He asked lightly tapping your head with your textbook. 

“Your posh bitch is showing,” you snorted.  he tapped your head just a tinsy bit harder with the textbook. You scowled at him. He gave you a gentle reassuring smile which roughly translated to ‘it was an accident I swear’. “Uh sure. Yeah. Course, I read the packet” you lied reaching over for your textbook which he sets down on the table behind him. 

“Are you even literate?” He joked. 

“Last time I checked I needed that to forge doctor’s notes for rich snots,” Jason wrinkled his nose trying his level best to scowl at you but from the crow's feet forming at the corners of his eyes the laughter bubbling in his chest was clearly winning out. You knew he was just worried about the unnecessary risk you were taking but it was a bad habit from the Alley days you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t like you were likely to get caught. 

“The In Class Essay is next period, dip shit” he sneered as harshly as he could. He was so bad at being a hard ass that you just smiled. “Yet here you are talking to me and depriving me of my education,” you snarked, gesturing vaguely to your book.

 You could technically get up and get it yourself but you were too lazy and you were pretty sure Jason wasn’t gonna let you get the book that easily. “Sides, it’s English who cares?” At that, Jason wrinkled his nose in disgust. “How am I friends with you again?”

You hummed, leaning back in your chair, tilting your head back dramatically before flinging yourself over the table to snatch up the textbook from the table behind him. You were a good amount taller than Jason which really wasn’t something to be too proud of. The bar wasn’t too fucking high. 

You plopped back down to your chair grinning ear to ear victoriously immensely enjoying his shocked look. Then he looked like he was about to deck you. 

“Well for starters, I’ve saved your ass from getting shanked about 15 times now. That’s just counting instances out of uniform,” He looked at you affronted. You simply rolled your shoulders. “Plus,” You reached into your blazer pocket and produced a beat-up looking tootsie pop ring.”You’re the one who proposed,”

Jason turned a luminescent shade of red as if you had just pulled out his entire cash of porn which you’ve done. “Why do you still have that?! How?”

“Because you still haven’t given me a proper one,” you said smugly tilting your head to the side inviting him for a rebuttal. He sighed exasperated. Resting his chin on his hand, palm covering half of his face, he glared at the opposite wall making damned sure that he didn’t look your way. The flush in his ears peaked through his cropped curls. It was hard to catch but your nosy ass definitely heard him mumble “I’m saving up,”. 

Your face broke into a stupidly wide smile, a warm feeling bubbling up in you. “I’ll hold you to that, lover,” you cooed cheerfully, giving him a quick peck on the nose as the bell rang. You could see the mortification attack his entire being in waves. 

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Stumbling out of the tunnel, you find yourself in a fray of souls all crowding towards the shore. You keep your head down and shuffle in step with the dead. 

‘The dead hate the living’ Constantine warned as he handed you the drachma and a beat-up old map. You handed him a wad of cash. He didn’t seem to care that money was dirty. 

You keep your expression carefully blank and focus on your feet but the sheer anxiety crawling up your spine rattling every vertebra was making that very difficult. You swallowed thickly trying to think of anything else but the depressing moans and absolutely haunted expressions were also making your life difficult. Instead, you focus on your award-winning bullshit speech that was surely going to win over the lord and lady of the underworld. Ok, sure, you weren’t half the thief Jason was nor were you even half as smart. But you were definitely the better conman. You might have had absolutely no interest in English class but words have always been your friend. You could definitely spin it with the best of them. It helped that all the rough edges that came with being an Alley kid tucked themselves neatly away behind trustworthy eyes and easy smiles. Even gods could be taken for a ride, right?

Somehow you made it to the shore without incident and even got yourself on the boat without even as much as a glance from the ferryman. That was a little unnerving but you weren’t about to complain. Not when it brought you a step closer to your goal. It might have been partially due to your unkempt appearance. Long nails, dead fish eyes, ratty coat, sallow cheeks, and dimming complexion all thanks to this wonderful diet called ‘grieving over your dumbass boyfriend/best friend because he decided to be a dramatic bitch and die an untimely death’. Part of you wonders if you simply want to bring him back so you could murder him. Maybe. Looking around at the haunted looks on your fellow passengers move that to a probably. 

Uncomfortable, you jam your hands into your coat pockets. One hand dug deep into the recesses of the pocket where the little ring was safely squirreled away. You fidgeted with it passing it from finger to finger like the coin trick you’d learned a while back.   

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Marry me,” Jason demanded unsurely, kneeling on one knee clasping your hand with both of his tiny ones. His little face ironed into something serious but cheeks flushed making them, what the girls called, pinchable but even at age 6, you were able to resist if simply for the fact that you were dumbstruck by the fact that  your best friend and crush was suddenly at your doorstep in the middle of the day and clasping your hand. 

“What?” You asked tugging your hand away but he didn’t let go. He absolutely refused to. 

“Marry me,” he insisted. “I’m proposing,” he added shyly seeing how the confused furrow in your brow did not disappear. “Lena said it was a good idea,” he added quietly.

A round of hoots and hollers exploded behind you including Lena who was laughing her ass off. Even Carol and Lassie who were busy doing their makeup were snickering  and giving you a thumbs up respectively. Your face burned hot and you scowled at all of them which just made them laugh louder. You snapped your attention back to Jason who looked at you with bright earnest blue eyes. Fuck. You crossed your arms trying to look intimidating and failing miserably because of just how goddamned cute he looked. Manipulative bastard. 

“Don’t you need a ring for that, bud?” you challenged. 

“Oh yeah,” He scrambled digging through his various pockets before producing a tootsie pop ring. Your hackles rose. What the hell Lena?

“Look at the size of that rock!” Josaline hollered from behind you. You could see the teasing smile on her face. You wanted to shrink. You wanted to maul them. You also wanted to burst because your crush likes you. You had a tiny, itsy bitsy crush on Jason for a while now. You’ve always declared that it was small but that didn’t stop the girls from teasing you relentlessly and this was just a nail in the coffin. You wanted to scream at Jason but the way he looked at you made your little heart flutter. 

“Fine,” 

He grinned wide. “Great! We can share rent,” he said his earnest smile turning cheeky. You swore some of the girls were choking from laughter. That was the moment you decided to make Jason Todd’s life miserable. 

——————————————————————————————————————————-

As it turns out, traversing the underworld wasn’t that hard. 

Nope. It wasn’t any harder than going around crime alley. At least here, you weren’t too worried about getting shot.

Nope. 

It was just incredibly. Fucking. Depressing. 

The atmosphere was suffocating and the only thing you’ve heard for hours were people listing their regrets when they weren’t too busy sobbing. Given they have every right to be this way. They did die after all. But Christ! You being able to understand it didn’t mean you could stand it. 

Jason owed you big time. 

Jason owed you the largest bowl of ice cream complete with 20 different flavors of your choosing, a mountain of whipped cream, a shovel full of sprinkles, and an ungodly amount of chocolate syrup. 

And a hug. A long ass, bone crushing hug. 

Yeah, you’re definitely demanding a hug. You don’t care if his pansy ass tries to break for it. You were getting the hug. 

Once this was done-

You turned the thought over in your head pointedly ignoring the fat droplets of tears now streaking your face. You weren’t entirely sure whether they were from relief or unrelenting anxiety. If you succeed, your 8 months of hell would have been worth it. 

But what if I fail?

What happens when I fail?

The thought seized your breath, your lungs constricting as if their cage of bones was threatening to collapse in on itself in your effort to shrink away from the possibility. You stopped breathing completely. A bad habit you picked up from your first foster home after social services took you from your home. Apparently, they didn’t think a group of hookers could provide a safe loving environment for a kid. Assholes. Breathing meant relaxing. Relaxing meant letting your guard down. Letting your guard down led to bad things. Jason never commented on your new habit after you two reunited. After you both found yourselves at the mercy of Gotham’s streets. 

“Lover tell me if you can~” You paused but not quite long enough for a response. Not like a few months ago when you’d wait catatonically for Jason to respond with the verse you’d forgotten in his oddly melodious voice. Singing was the one way you’d learned to breathe out after locking up without triggering a panic attack. Sure, it annoyed the hell out of a lot of people but who cares. You liked it. Your voice was decent. Plus, Jason loved it when you sang. Your breaths flowed easier accompanied by a melody and the smile on Jason’s face every time you sang always took your breath away.  

——————————————————————————————————————————-

“ Lover, tell me if you can Who’s gonna buy the wedding bands?~” You hummed the rest of the forgotten stanza under your breath as you wrap the ‘acquired’ blanket around the both of you. Gotham winters were a bitch but you tried your best to keep your spirits up which basically meant teasing Jason to hell and back. Who knew calling him lover would annoy him so much? 

Instead of the intended reaction, Jason simply continued to the next stanza sounding a lot more in tone than you. You huffed partially from amusement partially from frustration. 

“Figures you would know this song,” you teased.

Jason scowled tugging more of the blanket around himself as a lame form of retaliation. You leaned in closer to him and wrapped your arms around him. He huffed not really able to stay mad at you for too long.“It’s from Hadestown. The old woman at the pawnshop always plays it when she’s working,”

“Horse shit, all she ever plays when I’m there is Madame Guillotine,” You wrinkled your nose.”She probably hates me,”

“Gee, I wonder what that’s about,” Jason smirked. 

“You know, she probably has a crush on you,”

“EW! Shut up!”

“Come on we gotta milk it-”

He elbowed you. 

“Fine,” you relented, rubbing your chest and letting your head lean on his. You watched the snowfall basking in what little warmth you shared. 

“Promise me you’ll sing that when-”

“IF”

“When we get married,”

“Fine but ya gotta sing the entire GI Joe theme song plus the Baby Shark Song,”

“BET”

——————————————————————————————————————————-

You stood before large obsidian doors bouncing on the balls of your feet. The doors were carved elegantly with swirling patterns and sprawling carvings of flowers and bones. Dramatic but very pretty. Your stomach churned as the doors lurched open. 

You were going to be sick. 

Before you were a long table piled high with every kind of food you could think of. Likely you would have had to pick up your jaw and mop up a cascade of drool from the floor if not for the last few months. Your stomach threatened to implode if you kept looking. Months of not eating properly did that to you. The first few months were the worst. You were barely able to keep a  bite down without your body convulsing and rejecting it. Sadness had hollowed you out and filled you with something else during those months. 

Now,  you shifted your gaze to focus on the tall man sitting imperiously at the other end of the table on a throne carved out of precious metal. How someone looked imperious while eating was a mystery to you. It might be the fact that he was abnormally large looking to be around 10 ft tall. His frame was broad which contrasted greatly with the regal features of his face which were set in a rather loving configuration as he stared deep into the eyes of the dark-skinned woman as she recounted what sounded like a hilarious encounter with a dryad. The woman was unnaturally pretty with sculpted features and wild curls. She looked right at home underneath the sun which made her presence here ease your fraying nerves. They smiled at each other smitten with each other’s presence which almost made you feel guilty for interrupting their moment of marital bliss. 

You clear your throat as politely as you could drawing their attention and possibly their ire towards you. You took a deep breath, the kind that inflated your entire body, and forced it out through your nostrils as your mouth was busy reconfiguring itself into an easy smile. 

“My Lord Hades. My Lady Persephone,” You greeted bowing your head courteously. Your gestures were less grandiose and theatrical as the ones you used on the rich punks in Gotham which they happily lapped up. No, you made sure every movement, every posture, and every word was quieter, trying your damnedest to radiate sincerity and reverence from every pore in your body. Sure, you didn’t have Jason’s easy charisma and sure, you didn’t have the power Dick had for making everyone fall in love with you instantly but you were damned if  you were going to make a fool of yourself in front of two literal gods and squander your only chance at getting your boy back. Not when you’ve come so far. Not when you’ve done so much. Not when you’ve dirtied your hands this much. 

Hades looked neither pleased nor displeased by your presence. Good enough. The fact that you were still intact might have something to do with the mischief in Persephone’s eyes. She looked extremely amused despite your interruption. You hoped, which you didn’t normally do, that that boded well for you. 

“I am her-”

“We know,” Hades interrupts. 

Your body twitched. Rude. But you schooled your features into something resembling pleasantry. 

“You’re here for the boy,” He adds, waving his hand. Without time for your brain to process. Jason is there battered, bloodied, and bruised. The dazed look in his eyes made him look haunted which made your breath seize. A cocktail of anger and sadness and relief swelled in you as your body twitched forward. All you wanted to do was hold him, to stroke his hair, to sing to him, to take him to Dr.Thompkins to get his injuries sorted out, and possibly watch the old woman thwack him on the head half a dozen times. Hell, you would offer to count. Your stomach churned and you felt dizzy. This is the most alive you’ve felt in months. This is also the most fearful you’ve felt in months. You felt like you were going to fall apart and recongeal into an entirely new person. 

Focus. 

It was hard to do when you saw how tattered his Robin uniform looked but you managed to straighten yourself out enough in time to catch Hades as he watched you appraisingly, searching for raw desperation in your features. You tucked it away in your bones and in the deepest recesses of your chest. He seemed amused and even mildly impressed by your restraint so he dined to push further. 

“What are you willing to trade for him?”

Everything. 

Your mind screamed automatically. The word dangled thickly at the edge of your tongue. 

You would have plucked each and every star out of the sky and fashioned them into a necklace that would adorn Lady Persephone’s neck.

You would have used Poseidon’s ocean to douse the sun. 

You would have used the fires of Tartarus to set the world ablaze. It deserved it for the hand it dealt  Jason. 

You would do anything if it meant having Jason back in your arms. 

You bit your cheek hard forcing yourself to refocus. You shifted your posture making a show of thinking if only to gather yourself. You knew the answer. It might not have been the right one and if you’re being honest, it wasn’t even a good one. You rolled your shoulders trying to mold yourself into a more sure version of yourself.  

“My future,”

The room plunged into silence. 

Jason who had looked like he was not all there widened his eyes and shook his head at you. You simply leveled him a smile full of cocksure and hot air. Sure, your future wasn’t worth much. People have told you as much. But it was a novel offer. It wasn’t every day that a mortal offered their fate to you and gods love nothing more than novelty. 

Both gods remained silent. Hades narrowing his eyes at you and Persephone stared at you with an unreadable expression. The longer the silence wore on the more your confidence waned. The treacherous chorus in your head began to sing of the failure that has yet to happen. 

Persephone let out a trill of delighted laughter and Hades shook his head in amusement, his solemn lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile. Both you and Jason stiffened. 

“My love, just let them go,” Persephone pleaded sweetly cupping Hades’s face gently. It was an intimate gesture that made even you soft. 

“My dear…”

“It was not the boy’s time, my love,”

Damn straight, it wasn’t!

Hades let out an exasperated sigh before looking at you again. “I will grant you both freedom if you pass my trials,”

“Anything!” The word spilled out of you too quickly, too raw. A satisfied smile wrinkled at the corners of Hades’s eyes. Fucker. 

“I will have you do three trials-” He flicked his hand and Jason materialized beside you. “-with the boy’s aid,” Without an ounce of hesitation, you gathered him into your arms with all the bravado and restraint giving way too stupidly unfiltered happiness.  Without meaning to, you let fat droplets of tears streak your face. Jason copped your face giving you a wry smile and wiping away the tears with his thumb. 

“You look like shit,”

“So do you,”

You both laughed. You kissed his palm and took his hand from your face and kissed his knuckle. A flush crept on to Jason’s face but he couldn’t hide that any better than he could hide the loving look in his eyes when he looked into yours. 

The trials were almost insultingly easy especially when you had the world’s best Robin with you. Sure, you were battered and bruised but it was nothing you could not handle. You suspected that Persephone was rooting for you. That or Hades just wanted you out of his hair. Either way, you didn’t care. There was no way you were failing. 

You returned to Hades’ hall, arms full of spoils, and Jason’s hand interlaced with yours. You both try to fight off the hopeful feeling bubbling in your chest but there was no helping it when his hand was warm in yours. You smiled gratefully at Persephone who returned it in kind, looking sincerely happy for the both of you. You made a note to send her an appropriate sacrifice once you were back on the surface. 

Hades inspected your spoils and hummed. Your stomach lurched. Jason squeezed your hand and kissed your nose. Persephone practically squealed at the adorable gesture while Hades just smiled at his wife’s antics. 

“You have succeeded,”

“Thank you-”

“But I have one last trial for you,”

Hades holds up his hand before you could protest. 

“Do you recall the deal I made with Orpheus?”

You nodded almost numbly. Jason gave you a surprised look which you returned with a scowl. 

“Good. I will make the same deal with you. Does that sound fair to you?”

You both nodded frantically. You knew this would be hard especially with your frayed nerves but it was nothing you could not handle.

On the way to the tunnel, you held each other close, soaking up contact while you could. When you reached the tunnel, you hesitantly let go of his hand making sure to remember the feeling of your fingers intertwined together. He pressed kisses to every inch of your face likely feeling guilty over your haggard state. You whispered jokes and half baked promises to appease him in return as you squeezed him harder.  You walked tensely up the tunnel trailed by his ever quieting footsteps. You began to hum every song you could think of including the very annoying ones which earned you a lot of annoyed grunts and critiques from your ghostly companion. You also chattered about everything you could think of. All the latest gossip. All the things you learned during your global crime spree. You may have left out the crime spree but you could deal with the fall out later. Instead, you focused on the happy things. The things you wanted to do with him once you two got out. Once, you brought him back to Gotham. Sure, Bruce was probably going to maul you for all the trouble you’ve caused the JLA but fuck them.  Seriously fuck them. 

After what felt like an eternity, you saw it. You saw light. Bright, crisp, and blinding. You were going to cry. You were almost there. You were almost out. Your body launched into a sprint. Your chest felt like something in it shook loose and your body was lighter than it had ever been. You were almost there. You could almost feel the sun on your skin. 

You ran into the light and -

——————————————————————————————————————————-  

You woke up on the damp earth. 

Everything ached. 

Your veins felt rusty and sluggish. 

Your mind even more so. 

Snow flitted down to the earth in gentle feathery flakes. 

Your senses returned to you one by one. 

The sound of shouting and car horns littered the periphery of your consciousness. 

Your fingers felt cold and numb. 

The familiar smell and taste of Gotham smog overwhelmed your senses. 

That wasn’t right. 

That wasn’t right at all. You were in Mani in southern Peloponnese. You were face to face with one of the Gates of Hades just a few hours ago. 

You shuffled through your coat. You did not have your drachma. You did not have your map.

You snapped your head in every direction looking desperately for any sign of Jason. Not even a single footprint. 

Your stomach dropped as despair took hold of you and clung to every bone in your body. Pulling yourself up unsteadily, you stood taking baby steps towards a thoroughly battered brick wall. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, your phone began dialing a number automatically. 

“You have reached Wayne Manor,” Alfred’s posh voice carries over the phone. 

Your breath stutters. The words claw their way out of your chest.

“Jason- Jason, he-”

Alfred remained silent. Alfred was likely shaking his head in pity. You couldn’t stand that. You could barely stand the feeling of your skin right now. Your resounding failure rippled underneath your skin making you tremble on to your knees. You could do nothing but crumple to the ground in pathetic sobs as the weight of agony and despair weighed over you. 

“Jason. Jason. Jason.”

You whispered apologetically, reverently. The words would not call him back. Those words could never call him back. 

—————————————————————————————————————————–

Piece by piece Jason returned to himself. 

Jason woke up swallowed in darkness. It was deep and unyielding. Even his training with Batman could not alleviate the anxiety that brought. 

The second thing to return was his hearing. It was deathly silent save for the pounding of his own heart and his frantic breathing. 

 Where was he?

The air around him tasted stale and the resolute smell of formaldehyde was inescapable. 

Then the pain lanced through and all his memories came back in a splotchy kaleidoscope of fear, fire, and pain.

  He was dead. 

  He died. 

  He was in Ethiopia. 

  He was trying to save his mom. 

  Oh god. 

  Oh god. 

  Oh god. 

  Where is Bruce? 

  Where is he? 

  Why is it so dark? 

  Jason tried to move his limbs but it was no use. He was boxed in. 

  That’s when the smell of earth hit him. 

  Jason pressed his hands every which way. 

  He was literally boxed in. 

  Was he in a coffin?

  He tried to scream. 

  His mouth was wired shut. 

  Oh god. 

  Oh god.

  Oh god. 

  He was going to die.  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ending was a bit rushed. I might edit it later. Thank you so much for reading. Feel free to roast me in the comments. 

(Note: I tried editing the ending to make it more panicky and claustrophobic. I don’t know if t worked.)

This was inspired by the fact that Jason Todd: Not-So-Outlaw by goawayolivia never answers how Jason came back. 

Here is my answer. It is pure dumbassery.

taglist: 

@birdy-bat-writes (enabler)

@idkmanicantenglish (sweet heart)

@batarella (Because I honestly blame you for this)

@multifandomgirl-us

@foenixphire

[shinglescat]

ooga booga

Previous stories here. Kanarielle’s character page here.

It’s been quite a few months already since the power transit already, and to everyone’s surprise Esmir not only did not mind it at all, she even welcomed the change with her arms wide open. She did protest once, however, at the start of it all, when her grandchildren expressed their demands for her - the old lady surely expected her grandson to take the reign just out of spite, not the fragile granddaughter; she voiced her concern, but they did not listen. Still, she was suspiciously okay with the turn of the events, and Mark guessed it was because of more of the available free time in her schedule for… debauchery and other side projects. Other than that, Esmir’s been insisting on them both showing off at a soiree, just to keep the nobility talking about them, sort of a power display, and Livaen planned everything out from there herself as the new head of the family, as the new Lady Sorano.

It wasn’t in his plans to go alone, yet the circumstances thought differently. Livaen managed to talk him into this, promising an easy evening and a “free-to-go” card after. As soon as he opened his mouth to agree on the occasion, his luck decided to go south - later the same evening Aspen had to leave him due to some “unforeseen events” in a complete urgency. Mark knew better than to ask, as it was near impossible to get anything out of the man, so he was left on his own until he met with an old friend of his again. The luck wasn’t on his side this time either; he had to attend the soiree alone anyways, even though he and his friend arrived together and even agreed on playing out a couple for the public to spare the elf from unwanted attention and unsolicited affection; the girl had to take care of a sudden matter at hand, so he left her in the Void to her own devices and proceeded with the gathering alone.

- Hope it went well, - she greeted him as soon as he showed up, notes of worry in her voice. She was modestly sitting on his bed, in one of the smaller residences of the family, watching him as he got upstairs, walked up to the bed and crashed into the sheets with his face down right beside her. Kana patted him on the back lightly, feeling of guilt making her cheeks turn red for leaving him like this alone, - I’m sorry you had to be there on your own tonight, - she quietly apologized, - Won’t happen again.

- It’s okay, don’t sweat it, - he raised his hand to stop her from saying anything else, mumbling into the bed, eyes closed, - Could’ve figured the luck wasn’t on my side, - he snickered, drained and overwhelmed with the spotlight he had to endure with no way for him to retreat. So much for the promised easy evening.

Kanarielle rolled her eyes.

- Man, if you aren’t a diva, - she reached his head with her hand, her nails scratching the scalp. The elf tensed up a bit, but then relaxed into the feeling, pleasure from the touch tingling at the nape of his neck, - You can complain now, please do begin.

Mark sighed loudly.

- Nothing to complain, - he took a moment to breathe in and out, to calm down the heart that was beating way too fast in his chest, - It was a ginormous lie. She promised an easy evening, but… I dunno, if that’s an easy evening for her, I’m dreading of the harder ones, - he turned on the spot, his back against the bed sheets, facing the elf girl, - There was a woman… Has to be from Livaen’s retinue. Very insistent and utterly… handsy, kept touching me the whole evening, - Mark groaned, remembering the altmer lady - Niluer, the touch of her fingers still lingering on his skin, her nails on his jaw as she tried to get his attention, - And I’m not mentioning the other ones that were eyeing me like I’m a piece of a fresh delectable meat or something. Felt like they were about to devour me alive.

The girl raised her eyebrow, chuckling.

- Oh boy, are they in for a surprise tomorrow, - she said, whispering, - when I’ll be the only one groping your ass in public… - Kana cheerfully slapped her knees in anticipation, nudging him with her elbow, obviously joking. Mark had none of that; he tried to push her away, grunting disapprovingly at the mental image, - Alright, alright, no groping, - she gently stroked his shoulder, adding in a small voice, - Though you are the piece of a fresh delectable meat, - her hands went up into his hair, fingers combing through it, - Thought no one’s gonna notice you return into the family? You are one helluva promising bachelor, – he whined, attempting once more to shove her off the bed. She slapped his tummy lightly in retaliation, - Oh, and let’s not forget your grandma! Anyone in their right mind would want to bask in her power, - Mark tried to say something, but she covered his mouth with a palm of her hand before he would voice anything, - They gon be fighting for your body parts, heart and hands, all that. BUT!, they are the least of your problems.

- And the big problems? – Mark forcefully removed the hand off his mouth, snorting and rolling his eyes.

This time she casually smacked him on his forehead, clap rather loud than painful, the sound muffled by cushions and furniture.

- You have a huge profit sign on your forehead, - Kana pointed her index finger right in between his brows, pressing it into the skin rather painfully, - that’s what I’m saying; they will use and do anything to get to you. And since Livaen is… you know, I’m not talking about her even here, this seems to summon her out of thin air – this makes you a better target.

- Ugh, don’t lecture me, - he brushed off her warning, knocking the hand away from the face, - Like I don’t know it, there are always the people who would suck a dick or two to get some benefits, - Mark looked at her, then shifted his gaze at the window. He tried to ignore the thought, dismiss it as if it was of no concern, tried to act tough, but his mind still lingered on the concept. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes, set on steering the conversation away from him and the uncomfortable subject, - Was it the same in the Sanctuary? For you?

Kana shifted on the bed inelegantly, her entire spine stiffening up at the mention of the place. She looked nowhere.

-   No, not really, no, - she paused, reminiscing her own family, or rather those she used to call like that, - We’re far from nobility you saw there, though as far as I remember, - she hummed, biting her lip, memories resurfacing again after years of oblivion, - Mandil mentioned Bellaniel being a higher up member of the Falmeri society before the fall of the Snow Prince. We were more like a cult, I think, worshipping our blood and condemning the men, - Kanarielle snickered, - Imagine a club for old and bitter edgy elves – that’s us! It was similar for Ryl tho – Bellani intended on finding a party for her once she’s of age, marry her off to someone of their people, so they would “continue to carry on the legacy”, whatever that means, “of the last Snow Elves”, secluded in their own little world, of course, - something stirred inside her, and she paused, - Fuck, she’s probably married already, gotta have a kid, - her guts twisted unpleasantly, entire insides doing somersaults at once, a wave of nausea going up her throat. She tried to will it go away, but the awful feeling didn’t fade, - It’s been years since I last saw her. We were sixteen when I ran away, Mark, and Rylnir already had suitors courting her by that age, sucking up to Bellani, - the girl gasped for air loudly, as if suffocating, - They probably didn’t think of her anything but a hole in a piece of meat on the legs. We were just children, for fuck’s sake, but our fates were already decided for us.

Mark sat up straight.

- What about you? – he asked carefully, feeling uneasy, anxious of what she’s about to say, the memories likely distressing her.

- Dunno if I had it better, - she shrugged, leaning on his shoulder and hiding her face in the crook of his neck, - Ryl’s to become the next Matriarch once Bellaniel’s dead, and I was set to become the guardian to the realm. Bellani did everything to indoctrinate me, all that inspirational religious bullshit, and it honestly worked – I was bitter at men, at what they had done to us, - Mark hugged her by her shoulders, holding her tight against his side, feeling a faint shiver and a frequent, fast heartbeat, so strong it was reflecting in his own body, almost deafening. She was tense, her entire body stiff, ready to fight, - She played the “you’re the last of your kind” card, and I was dumb enough to fall to that. She poisoned me with hate, - the girl pulled back, looking into the elf’s eyes.

- You hate her too, - he whispered, cringing on the pain in his forearm, as she clung to it like to a lifeline, - No… You are afraid of her.

She sighed, releasing the arm from her grip, settling back on his shoulder. The fury, the anger she felt died out in a blink of an eye, replaced with an empty cold calm.

- I am, - her voice tranquil, - I used to hate her, now I’m just scared. She did everything to turn me into a willing vessel for Meridia, - she straightened her arm, reaching out into the air, green sparks swirling under her palm, - I was to become a purified, think you’re familiar what that means. She always talked about caring of all meri, but was only interested in the survival of her own kind, didn’t give a shit about anyone else. Leo was the last adult ayleid in the realm, and I was the only child of my “untimely deceased” ayleid parents. Isn’t it weird? – she glanced at him, puzzled, -  Guess she found it poetic.

Mark lowered them both onto the bed, still holding her in a hug, gently stroking her arm. Meridia again, huh, with a quest for an army of brain dead glowing vegetables.

- How did you escape?

- No clue, Mark, I swear. I was sitting in my chambers, talking to Mandil, then I blackout and later find myself swimming through a cave with a thing chasing me. Was scared shitless, but managed to get out, ended up at the western shore of Ilinalta, - she rose up above him, pointing at her silver eyes, - You know, I used to have blue eyes, but I guess she or… they tried to punish me for leaving, tried to make me blind. I thought I’m done for, but Jack found me, did some magic, restored my sight, - her voice sounded much more serene than a few minutes before, heartbeat no longer audible, - A few years later Bellani tried to bring me back, affecting me through dreams. Almost succeeded, too, but Jack intervened, pierced her through in one of the nightmares and sundered the connection to the Sanctuary. Hadn’t had them since.

- Shit, Rie, that’s….

- Now that’s the name I hadn’t heard in a while, - she laughed hopelessly, interrupting Mark before he would express his condolences, still towering above him. She looked sad, though the weak smile on her face tried to say something else, - Jack used to call me that, - the girl closed her eyes dreamy, as if she heard him call her again.

- What happened to him? You were so inseparable, - the elf inquired, pulling her back onto the bed.

- Yeah, were, but he grew distant, and I had to leave him, all that bubbly stuff, - she turned on her side, her head resting on Mark’s chest, - I loved him, otherwise I’d leave him sooner. It was hard to let go, but it was for the best. Him growing distant helped to sever the bond.

- Did he love you though? – Mark asked into the air, gently stroking her arm, eyes growing weary, fatigue steadily putting him to sleep.

- Don’t know. I think he was just attached, nothing more, we were never meant to be, - she laughed humorlessly, - He saved me though, and I’m grateful for it, would never make it to the adulthood without him. Would be lying if I said I don’t miss him sometimes too. He was my first real friend anyways, was foolish of me to fall for him, - Kanarielle paused, thinking about something for a moment, - But I have Scott now… Actually, - she rose up, looking at him as another thought crawled into her head, - Do you think there could be something between you and I if the circumstances were different?...

Mark gazed outside, genuinely thinking about her question for a good minute or two. He couldn’t tell if he liked her appearance or not, as it was the foremost to judge a potential partner, he never gave it much thought in this regard, and found himself unable to… check her out, no matter how hard he tried to do so. Then he tried thinking about the other girl he knew, tried to compare them – Braenn was one example, but something in his own head prevented him from doing so. He thought of Meltem – yes, that woman was the best of them all; he thought of Livaen’s Nilufer – the woman was quite alright in the looks department; but then he went back to Kana, then mother, then Visenya, and the block returned. As far as the personality went… he burst into laughter, giving the girl funny looks: they would be like an unconfined wild fire together in the middle of a field of a dead dry grass in winter, self-combusted from a rogue zombie-flame under the ground, with someone dumping the fuel to keep them roaring. He didn’t like her at first, she seemed to be too haughty; he guessed she didn’t like him at first either, must have been something about him as well. As the time went by, he figured her being too proud of herself was a defense mechanism, and as they grew closer he discovered a whole new side to her; it probably was the same with her opinion of him, otherwise they would never make it to good friends able to share some darkest, and dumbest, secrets.

- Honestly? – he looked at her, a single tear dancing in the corner of his eye, making the image blurry. She nodded, - Don’t think so. We’re too much alike, and that’s the recipe for a disaster, - the elf girl smirked, approvingly patting him on his chest.

- True, you were really annoying back in the days, - Mark raised his brow at that, looking playfully offended, - And the fake beard of yours?

- Ugh, - he groaned, smiling, - Remember yourself, you thought you are the all mighty ayleid, and it was in your destiny to make the world bow before you, you wanted to conquer the ruby throne, - the elf gestured wildly with his hands, making the girl pinch the skin on his sides and poke him somewhere under his rib.

- Oh, oh! Remember that huge eyeliner you had? Why did you paint it like that? Also, glad you dropped it, - she finger gunned at him.

- Meltem used to paint it, - he explained, - Helped with… identity at the time. She came up with the idea, really boosted my self-esteem. Can’t do it myself though, hands aren’t as steady, - Mark grunted, - Asked Aspen to help me put it on once Meltem left with Livaen, but he said I’m fine as I am and hid the pencil somewhere, still haven’t found it, - Kanarielle wheezed, giving thumbs up to the absent man for the idea; she was glad he made him ditch that horrendous face paint. They laughed for a little longer, remembering the vices and virtues of each other; it was a good distraction from the talk they had before, yet the thoughts in Mark’s head like cockroaches kept racing and bringing him back to the delicate subject, replacing the cheerful smile with a frown, - Shit, - he rubbed his eyes again, prompting Kana to yank his hand away from his face, - Shit, I didn’t know. You never told me the whole story.

- If that is of any comfort, I had no idea either, - she hugged him across his chest, - That is… until you brought me back yesterday. The Void is so different from what I remember, - Kana made a quiet laugh, - Catherine kept me from going out with you, had to tell this to me; couldn’t join you after the revelation, needed to process this through first, - it made him rise on his elbow, looking at the ayleid with eyes wide open. She knew Catherine? Or did she introduce herself while he was gone? - Don’t be so surprised now, - she rolled her eyes, pushing him back into the bed sheets, - I lived in a daedric realm for more than half of my life, don’t you think I know how to communicate with the entities? - Kanarielle giggled, adding in a low voice, - It must be awkward to have her watching over you all the time, especially during the..., - she hummed, - frisky moments, - red in the elf’s face started showing, making her add, - I missed the girly gossips.

- Oh my god, why, - Mark whined, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands, embarrassed, blood rushing to his head, turning him red, - Why you have to ruin everything.

- Well, that was intentionally awkward, - she grinned at him, pretty happy with her achievement, - Now let’s talk about you instead. How were you?

Mark groaned, still red as a pomegranate, but gladly changing the funny subject nevertheless.

- She prolly told you how I was as well, - he couldn’t help but reply in an annoyed and sarcastic tone, and she smacked him across his forehead for that, - Stop hitting me! – the elf grabbed her forearm before she’d descend another blow upon him, throwing daggers at her with his eyes, - I’d probably be dead as well, alright? Not brain dead like you or Cath, just dead-dead in my case, - he scratched the bridge of his nose, - Father told us, hadn’t I met Aspen, I’d be floating among the pillars with my throat slit open, no biggie, and you’d probably be the first one to find me, - he fell silent for a second, deciding to reroute the conversation one more time, - You have to teach me later how to interact with the whole place. But only basics, nothing in-depth – wanna leave the reigns in Cath’s hands.

- Sure thing, - she replied, readjusting herself on Mark’s chest, putting a hand under her head and enjoying the silence, - Don’t wanna turn into your daddy, do you? – it was Mark’s turn this time to smack her lightly on her back, - Ouch. That hurts, - the girl glanced at him, insulted. She wanted to make a comeback, but the elf already had his eyes closed, breathing quietly, chest calmly rising up and going down, exhaustion finally getting to him. She watched him for a second, musing whether to follow his lead and go to sleep, or to mess with him more, when a sudden thought emerged, - Mark? – she called him, drawing a dozy hum from him, - You ever thought about making it official?

- Official what? – it took a whole long moment for the elf to reply, mind already slipping away into slumber.

- You know… tying the knot, - she elaborated, gesturing vaguely, - getting the arrow to the knee, - Mark snorted, - Marriage, for fuck’s sake, you deep skull dingus, - the elf snickered, shoving the girl off him, turning his back on her, - Seriously, Mark. You need to.., - she couldn’t finish the sentence, as he bent around rather uncomfortably, putting his hand over her mouth.

- Sure, you’re gonna be my flower girl, - he unbent back into his place, tucking his hands under his head, sleep returning to him once more, - Now shut up, - she pinched the skin on his side yet again, mad at him for interrupting her, but the elf didn’t react, - Nah, you’re not getting the maid of honor, that’s gonna be Meltem.

________________________________________________________

- Where is he, you dipshit, - Kanarielle cornered a servant, holding him by his throat, green fumes shimmering in between her fingers, threatening the poor man with a slow and painful death. She’s been stalking him like a predator this whole evening, observing from a distance first to confirm her suspicions, them making a move, - Where is he?! – she repeated, her voice raw, uncharacteristic to her, as she slammed the servant into the wall. The man whined like an injured dog, - I saw him with you, you stupid cunt, what did you give him and where did you take him? – the man kept silence, anxiously shooting glances behind her as if someone were to save him from the enraged ayleid. She slapped him across his face, - Sunnabe, dead or alive, you’re telling me everything either way, - Kanarielle spat, piercing through the skin on the neck of the servant with the shards of ice condensed at the tips of her fingers, turning the them red as the blood leaked out of the wounds. She didn’t want to resort to puppeteering – it was hard, tiresome to hold the connection, she hated to control living beings like this, and most importantly at the moment – she was wearing an expensive evening dress; it was something Mandil taught her in secret from Bellaniel, figured she would need this knowledge should she be in a grave danger. It was different from the common known blood magic; hers was primordial and basic, relying on the blood flowing through the creatures of flesh. One way to use it was to draw blood of a target, allowing her to control it indefinitely; there could be multiple targets at once, up to a full army, with, possibly, no limitations, though she had no opportunity, or will, to test it. The other way was to manipulate a target though the power of her own blood, ideal for covert operations and perfect for remote control. Both had their drawbacks: first was messy, leaving wounds on the victims, having literal strings attached that get severed with a distance; the second required constant concentration, and she couldn’t hold it for a long period of time, draining her of her powers, - Now speak, - the flesh under her hand relaxed, and she removed herself from the body, - From the beginning, - she commanded the servant, smearing his warm blood in between her fingers.

… She made her way down a green cavern, voices becoming louder and louder. It was dank in here, moldy smells in the air; the cave floor was muddy, footprints barely visible in the wet dirt, occasional slide marks too – someone lost their footing and slipped on the slope. Luckily, she didn’t notice any signs of fight or struggle.

The servant, or rather his willing body, proved useful in tracking down the abductors. The people behind the kidnapping were some backwater nobles of the Reach, merchants by trade, criminals by fate, barely known to the world; the business became harder with the more frequent attacks of the foresworn and the vampires, and their town in the middle of nowhere quickly depopulated, turning into a shadow of its former self… Like it was blooming before, Kanarielle snorted. Apparently, they were helped by some families once or twice with soldiers, food and gold, but their inability at keeping it together turned away their former allies, leaving them alone. Fast forward few years later, and the family finally resorted to racketeering, trying their “best” to help their town to survive. They should’ve just left it altogether, there was nothing valuable in the area safe for a small field of crops and an iron mine.

Kana warned him, told him to be careful around the nobility, to trust no one and be on a high alert, but he did not listen. He was careless around people, bothered by something so much he had lowered his guard down; she tried her best to keep him out of harm’s way, but failed, letting him slip from her constant surveillance. Now where was he? Kidnapped, held captive as a tool to regain someone else’s power; he was here somewhere, hopefully not dead or sick. The Soranos didn’t know, not yet, neither did know Meltem about what happened – she kept her discovery secret, preferring to keep it quiet to keep the collateral damage as low as it could be possible. An easy job, infiltrate and rescue, she’s done this a hundred times already with Jack. So far she did good, only once having to knock out a brute at the entrance; entering a combat would be a death sentence for her alone without anyone to back her up.

The servant uncovered their ploy. The merchants turned criminals joined together with a group of highway robbers: the first were to find an unsuspecting target and to gain their trust – they still were nobles despite the shady dealings; the second were to wait outside for the first to render the target unconscious to abduct them to a secluded retreat far into the forests; the nobles then would be free of any suspicions, and later can present the wounded party with their help, saying they… found the culprits through their connections in exchange for a favor and some fame points. And Mark just made their entire bank and more, Kanarielle shook her head disapprovingly, they probably didn’t expect to make it with a hostage of his size.

She climber up a ledge, observing the roaming bandits below: she counted five of them, all minding their own business; they did not seem to notice an intruder yet. Behind – she passed three more, and she had no idea how many of them were ahead. “How much you think we gonna get for he arse?” – she heard one of them asking the other. Kanarielle slowly exhaled, not knowing she had her breath held this whole time, relieved with the question - it meant these bandits were still on the same page with the merchants back at the party. “We’re better off selling him to someone else”, - another voice chimed in, low and worried, “The kid’s a Sorano, his granny won’t leave us alive once we do the deal”. Right, the girl thought, the merchants told them there’s going to be a negotiation, but failed to mention them slaughtering all the bandits to keep them quiet and away from their own affairs. “We have our orders! The boy is to be sold to his family. Our patrons shall cover us”, - another one spoke, flailing around with a rusty mace of his. A dangerous stuff, Kana noted, as she noticed a sick yellow aura radiating from it, the glow floating on the surface of the metal. “You so sure?” – the man from before replied, sarcastic tone of his voice, definitely having experience in this matter, “Our dear “patrons” might as well rescue the kid themselves! You know how they operate, we mustn’t trust them. Gotta sell the boy to someone else, get our gold, save our lives as well while we can…”

Kanarielle didn’t listen to them any longer, dropping down from the ledge, trying not to slip on the wet floor, and proceeded further. She sneaked behind the rocks and furniture, snippets of their conversation getting to her ears, none registering though. Her mind was still at the thoughts expressed by the last guy – little idea he had about how close to the truth he was; their “patrons” were to rescue the elf in a few hours, slaughtering each and every single one of them on sight so they wouldn’t tell the truth to Esmir.

Another bend of the tunnel, and she saw cages and a guard, so carelessly standing with his back wide open to the entrance, watching after the precious prisoner. Without wasting anymore time, she sneaked up on him, delivering a sharp blow with a dagger right under his ribs. His blood rushed to the wound, turning her hand red; the man did not utter a word, but tried to fight her and the feeling, yet the control over his body slipped away eventually, and she took over it herself, his blood like strings attached to her fingers.

- Guard the entrance, - she commanded quietly, blood shimmering in the weak light of the torches, - Do not let anyone in, tell them whatever you must. Do not pick a fight, try to stall them as long as you can, - the man nodded, turning on his heels.

She looked around herself; the elf was lying in front of her behind the bars, seemingly unconscious, thick metal cuffs around his wrists digging into his skin, a tight metal collar around the neck. The keys to the cages were lying flat on the wooden table across the room, covered in a layer of rust, all of the same shape and size, so it probably didn’t matter which one she used to open the locks.

Kanarielle entered the cell, kneeling before him and inspecting the shackles – runes were all over them, glowing lightly with violet, radiating something that made it harder for her to breathe, fatigue getting to her, probably enchanted with silence, draining the prisoner of his magic; they were prepared well, even predicted the possibility of a magic-capable hostage. She tried to open the locks with the keys from the cells, but none worked the key to the binds was probably in someone else’s hands, and she had no time to go back and look for it. The other way to rescue the elf was to disintegrate the metal altogether: the ayleid put her hands around the collar first, watching it start to age, rust flakes falling slowly until there was nothing left, all crumbled to dust, the enchantment gone as well. A wave of power washed over her as the barrier containing the magic was gone, and Mark gasped for air, his consciousness returning to him.

- What the…? – he tried to ask, but his throat was dry like a desert, preventing him from speaking more.

- Don’t talk, - Kana told him, cupping the cuffs with her hands, disintegrating those as well, the metal turning to rust and to dust, - Gonna tell you later. Can you walk? Gotta get out of here, - she got back on her feet, handing him a small flask of water she had stashed in a pocked. The elf finished the entire container in no time.

The kid tried to stand, shaking violently, muscles sore, but standing nonetheless. He was no fighter at the moment, more of a burden, and she had to get him out of here to the safety of his grandmother.

  ________________________________________________________

- Esmir was furious when I dragged your sorry ass to her, - the ayleid laughed lightly, applying a soothing balm to the irritation on the skin from the rusty metal cuffs on his wrists and his neck. There was some swelling here and there, bruises and scratches, but nothing that wouldn’t heal with the time, - Not gonna lie to you, it was scary, - Mark hissed quietly at the girl rubbing on his wounds. He was already sitting at the edge of the bed, ready to take off from the discomfort of the balm she was using, - Shit, sorry, but you gotta take it as it is, I’m no healer, - the elf silently nodded, turning his head to the side, - You know, your grandmother’s a terrifying woman. She was all fury for the first couple minutes, then calmed down, and next she was playing along with the guys who ‘napped you. Esmir, the helpless and innocent old lady, - she snickered. A crackling sound in the distance alerted her; she turned to look into the direction of the sound, but there was nothing. The Void was calm as well, so she paid no further attention to it, resuming the talk, - She sent Orlan after them, then went in herself. Dunno what happened there, but she was… ecstatic on their return, totally soaked in blood.

- Picked the wrong granny to mess with, - Mark laughed, coughing, still exhausted. It’s been a few days already, and he still hadn’t recovered from the incident, magic depleted. Esmir figured the shackles had some strong enchantment bound to them, and it would be for the best to let the kid rest in the Void, to let the place do its job; Kana brought him back here, staying at his side this whole time and tending to the bruises.

She added one last smear of the balm to the swelling on his neck and set the jar aside.

- Damn, you never told me she had a daedra for a lover. Disgusting. And what’s even more disgusting is that it said it’s your… I’m sorry, half-brother? – she had a mixed expression on her face, disgust with repulsion and confusion sprinkled on top.

Mark groaned.

- Don’t ask. Father’s side. Luckily they aren’t related. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were, she can do anything, - he brushed it off as if it was a no biggie. Really, it was a no big deal for the woman, she found interest in everyone and everything that moved and had some semblance of personality to them. Her main lover was her bodyguard and ex-general Orlan, whom she trusted with her life and everything she had. The other was the daedra, Walerian, and she praised him as a versatile worker bee, though Mark wished he didn’t know that; he was the usual resident of her beds, and she loved showing him off in the public. Another one was a woman she mentioned once, an old altmer mage, but he couldn’t remember her name, and an unknown dunmer with violet eyes. Esmir was a married woman though, not even a widow, yet that did not hold her back in her love affairs.

- That is gross. Anyways, - Kanarielle covered her face with the palms of her hands, trying to make her face relax after cringing so hard, - It? He then? said they had a fun time messing with them, - she paused, listening to the sudden footsteps sounds growing louder and louder, as if someone was getting closer, but the Void, Catherine, didn’t alert her to the intruder, so she tried to not mind it, - He went into the details, but I had to cut him short. Really disgusting, thank you very much, and I’d rather not hear about the guts hanging for the ceiling and eventual… you get the idea. Super gross. Apparently they had some fricky time in the pools of blood and right on top of the corpses, - she added quietly, gagging. Esmir did enjoy some blood and gore plays.

Someone walked into the room, their steps echoing against the stone.

- What happened here? – the silver-haired man inquired, looking at the elves on the bed, blood dripping from his hands and a huge serrated sword, leaving a red trail behind. He lowered the weapon with its jagged edges near the entrance, the blade making a clacking sound against the stone.

Mark shushed at Kanarielle, giving her the most intense looks she’s ever seen in her entire life. His face went from asking to threatening to murderous and to pleading, but she had none of it.

- No biggie, - she winked at the elf, - this dumbass got himself kidnapped, - the girl shrugged her shoulders as the dumbass in question hit her lightly into her thigh. Aspen cocked his eyebrow at them, - He oughtta know what kind of idiot you are, stop being pissy, - the elf rolled his eyes, giving the ayleid the middle finger, - I’m wounded! – she exclaimed, - Alright, cue taken, gonna leave you two, - Kana raised her hands into the air, getting up from the bed and leaving the room.

Aspen took off his blood soaked coat at the entrance, disposing of it rather untidily. There was a hint of worry in his otherwise blank face, and it took the elf by surprise when the man approached him.

- You hurt? – his voice uncharacteristically concerned, - Let me see, - he reached his hand out to the elf, trying to catch him by his arm, but the elf pulled away, almost jumping, violently shaking his head.

- You ain’t touching me with those, - he pointed at the coagulated, almost dried out blood on his fingers. Face nonchalant, Aspen grabbed a fistful of clean purple bed sheets and wiped the hands with them, reaching to the elf once again. Mark groaned, giving him his hand at last, - Who’s blood is that?

The man gently touched the swollen bruise, his fingers finding the wet sticky balm Kanarielle applied a few minutes ago; he stroked the entire scar lengthwise, occasionally drawing huffs and puffs from the elf: it’s been less than a week since the incident, but the area under the binds still hurt as if covered in tiny invisible cuts.

- Not mine, - Aspen answered with a low and tired voice, letting go of the hand and switching over to the bruise on the neck, - Should be gone in a week, - the man concluded, pulling the elf’s black haired head closer, giving a quick peck under the jaw and letting go.

Aspen looked drained, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, the elf noted, watching him from below remove messy articles of clothing; he looked like he’s about to crash, and his gear did not want to cooperate with the fatigue. Mark had to stand up; he stopped him with a gesture of his hand, grabbing the apparel himself and pulling down, discarding near the bed – he’ll tidy it up later. The man thanked him faintly, clumsily climbing on the bed, crashing into the sheets with eyes already closed; the elf sat at the edge, looking all over him for a moment: he seemed uninjured, just deadly tired.

- So, when are you returning? – Mark asked after a long pause, having nothing else to ask. Aspen tilted his head at the elf, one eye barely open, sighing in exhaustion before closing it again, - Fine, gonna leave you alone then.

- Stay, - he muttered, catching the elf by his forearm before he would get up. With the residue of strength he had left, Aspen pulled him onto the bed, a tad higher than himself, - I have to get some sleep, - he told him as if explaining an obvious concept to a toddler, throwing his arm around elf’s waist to keep him grounded. The man was tense, muscles stiff and rigid, - Need to get going in a few hours, - his words carried a concealed plea, and if Mark didn’t know him any better, it would go unnoticed.

He nodded, awkwardly climbing higher onto the bed, almost curling around the man, around his head and the torso; his white hair smelled of iron and gunpowder, a hint of ash too as he combed through it, the scent becoming stronger as he planted gentle kisses. Aspen softened into the feeling, brows relaxing, breath steady. Mark smiled gingerly, his hand going lower, caressing man’s temples softly, thumb brushing the high cheekbones; eventually, both drifted to sleep.

  ________________________________________________________

Mark was woken up by a scent of marigolds with faint notes of lemon balm, thyme and sage, all carried with an overwhelmingly sweet and sour aroma of sea buckthorn. He cringed; he loved the tree, it was absolutely unique in its looks of silver needle-like leaves and amber fruit, yet the berries’ taste was disgusting in his book, and it made him want to get away from it as far as he could.

Something touched his neck, warm and oily, thick liquid slowly going down his skin, rerouted by a touch somewhere else. He opened his eyes; instead of seeing Kanarielle with the tingling, itchy balm Esmir’s healer gave them, he found Aspen bent over him with a smelly jar in his hand, amber of color, applying the oil to the bruise on his neck.

- Miss Aquilla brought me the ingredients I asked her, - he noticed the elf wake up. Mark winced, the smell of the berries too strong to bear. The man smiled; he put the jar aside to pet the elf on the head with his clean hand, leaning closer to kiss him on the forehead, - The one you used before caused irritations, had to make something different, - his fingers dipped into the oil again, smearing another portion of it on the other side of the neck, gently rubbing it in until it stopped dripping.

- Thanks, - the elf mumbled, trying to get up; Aspen pulled him up, switching his attention to the bruises on the wrists, - Thought you needed to get going, - Mark said, watching the man rub in the oil into his skin; he’s bound to be smelling funny the whole day. The man nodded.

- I have some time left, - he switched onto the other wrist, - Need to tend to your bruises first, - the jar was finally closed, and Mark exhaled in relieve; surprisingly, the new mixture didn’t sting at all like the fat-based balm before did, and he’ll probably get used to the smell later on, - Mark, why can’t I leave you alone? – Aspen suddenly asked, grabbing him by his hands, taking the elf by surprise. He sounded like a disappointed teacher, - You have to be more careful, - the man explained, drawing a wheezing laugh from him, - I’m being serious, Mark, - he paused, - I don’t want to come back one day and find you missing a limb, - Mark laughed nervously, staring at the weary man; the intense look in his eyes said more than he needed to know, filling the elf with guilt the more he kept staring. He muttered an “I’m sorry” under his breath, shifting his gaze somewhere to his feet, fidgeting with fingers, “I’ll be more careful”, - I know you are worried as well, - Aspen pulled the elf in a hug, feeling him rest his chin on his shoulder, - I will be back soon.

- Yeah, - Mark sighed, hiding his face in the crook of man’s neck, - Haven’t heard anything from you for almost two weeks, and last night you appeared soaked in blood. Can’t mind my own safety when I don’t know if you’re okay or not.

- I’ll be back soon, promise, - he repeated, pulling away, - I have some unfinished business, it won’t take long, - Aspen kissed him on the forehead, getting up from the bed, - Have to get going now, - he told him, collecting his gear lying around on the floor haphazardly, the blood dried out and flaking already, leaving red spots throughout the clothing; Mark rose up after, helping him put the apparel on him.

- You are disgustingly sweet, - Kanarielle took both by surprise, silently entering the room, almost sneaking up on them, - Might as well start selling all that sugar of yours… Here, the last piece of your order, - she came up to them, handing Aspen a leather pouch filled with something, hard edges prominent under the hide. The man thanked her with a nod, palpating the purse and the contents inside; happy with the thing delivered, he kissed the elf goodbye and bowed to the ayleid, - Boy, aren’t you two looking like a couple of mushy puppies, - she commented, watching the man leave them alone and disappear into the portal.

- Kana, - Mark suddenly called her, weirdly excited. Her comment was ignored, - tell me, why can’t I make shortcuts through the Void?

- Shortcuts? – she was taken aback by his question, expecting anything but this. She furrowed her brows, looking for a better answer. Unlike the Void that one could access from anywhere, the Sanctuary had a single door inside and out, connected through a disguised portal to a series of flooded long caverns for a more difficult access inside a mountain range in Skyrim. To travel from within the realm, Bellaniel had built a secret chamber with hundreds of doors, all connecting to the outside world, and she was the only one who had the keys to get in and out, - Well, the Void is closer to a pocket realm: you exit where you enter, - the girl explained, gathering her thoughts together, - It’s like a hub; to exit elsewhere you need to have a door or two with an anchor in the world outside. Something like that.

- Can we make them? – he inquired cautiously, thinking about the prospect, - And are there any security risks?

The elf girl laughed.

- You are bothered by the security? Oh boy, Mark, you can make it so no one gets there, ever. This whole place belongs to you, you are the master key; you give and revoke invitations to the place, it’s as secure as nothing will ever be, - she hugged him by his shoulders, ruffling his hair, - I have no idea how to open or make doors, but… - Kanarielle listened to the breeze, - but I think Catherine is more than happy to help us.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Chapter Two

“Morning, love, how are things going on your end?”

“Things are going swimmingly!” Your throat grinds with having to keep your customer service tone up, but you grit your teeth and keep going. “What time should I expect you tomorrow?”

“Around noon, I think. Just have a couple of errands to run beforehand around town, but it shouldn’t take too long! Do you need me to pick anything up from Tom’s Hardware?”

Oh, sweet lord, yes, anything to stall her. An extra ten minutes might be the difference between your job and your career’s untimely death. You turn around to concentrate, reaching for where you stashed your notebook. “Actually, Marge, could you pick up a couple of paints? I’ll send over the serial numbers via email.”

“Oh, of course, you must be extra busy with your crew gone! I’ll get that done for you. Anything else?”

You try to wrack your brain, but you can’t think of anything more, much to your disappointment. Neither can you come up with any wild goose chases to keep her away for some time. “No, Marge, nothing comes to mind. Oh- wait, wait, I was just wondering what the statue outside is na- uh, titled, so I can start designing something themed.”

“Er, oh, I think it was among the lines of Gala-something. Galactus? No, that’s not right… Oh, dear, my wife would know.”

That’s when you noticed that the bench where you set the statue down is decidedly empty. Your stress levels immediately pop right back up to maximum. After a moment, you realize that your jaw aches as you clench it hard enough to break your teeth. Quickly enough, you come up with a believable lie to get off the phone as soon as possible. “Hey, Marge- delivery guy’s here. I’ve got to handle this.”

“Of course! Talk to you later, dear. I’ll have Esther send you a text message with the statue’s information.”

You’re already running through the hall when you hang up, eyes scanning every crevice that could possibly be a hiding spot for a walking statue, but you can’t find him. He’s not in the common area, nor in the first couple of rooms that your crew had managed to finish furnishing before leaving. You call for him, not sure of his name nor what you might refer to him as, so it’s a weird mash of statue guy, and stone dude, mainly just focusing on “um, hey? Not done with you yet!”

After edging on the precipice of a panic attack, you spot his silhouette upon the top of the staircase. Letting out a loud, pissed grunt, you storm up, hand on the rail to steady your angry rampage, and then you look over to the doorway he appears to be aiming for. Oh, no. No, no, no, not on your watch. You speed your pace, throwing yourself in front of the door before he can do any damage to the precious collection beyond it. Unfortunately, your injured hand makes a somewhat awkward connection with the oak frame, and a dull wave of pain rushes through your nerves.

“You can’t just wander off like that,” you gasp, out of breath from the speed you pushed yourself to.

“A thousand apologies, love,” he says, though you can see the curiosity running around and around his head like a carousel. “Might I inquire as to the contents of the room?”

Your face goes a bit pink, you can feel the heat sparking in your cheeks. “No, no, you may not. Everything in there belongs to the owner, only she and I are allowed in there.”

The statue then places both his hands on the door as well, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the hallway. “What if I asked nicely?”

Is his face inching closer? “I’d say no.”

“What if I asked very nicely?” He pecks you on the mouth, far too quickly for you to register that it was even happening until after the fact. Unfortunately, instead of leaving what ask nicely up for interpretation, he adds, “with my tongue, on my knees.”

Everything feels like it’s going on overdrive because someone you just met is offering sexual favors, and you feel like if you open your mouth at all, anything that comes out is going to be nothing more than a high pitched squeak. Just when you think this situation can’t get any worse, oh, he gets on his knees, as though promising that he's not bluffing, but you are not exactly open to the fact that his hands seem to be wandering to the waistline of your pants. In a panic, you bring your knee up. Not with the intent to hurt him, no, you don’t want any more broken body parts today, you just want to have another layer between him and your clothing.

“No! No, not even if you-” you manage to get ahold of your voice, though struggle greatly with keeping it from screaming, “just no! No, thank you!”

Above all else, he’s confused, with leaves you rather puzzled in return, because did he honest to god expect you to let him eat you out job, much less pressed up against a door that holds, at the very least, a good hundred-million dollars worth of artwork inside? Unless you’re reading the situation wayyyyy off-kilter, which is super unlikely, especially given the fact that he’s been trying to kiss the ever-loving daylights out of you since he first started breathing. With a hard swallow, you push him away, foot on his collarbone. At least he doesn’t offer up any resistance as he stands, brow furrowed.

“Back to the kitchen,” you instruct, pointing down the hall and then placing a hand over your eyes. A puff of anger escapes your lungs, and then you do your best to get your shit together in the two seconds you allow yourself. “Now.”

He obeys, thankfully, because you don’t know what you would end up doing otherwise. Once his back is turned, you pat your pockets and silently chastise yourself for not carrying your keys around, because you’re not going to put it past him to come snooping around once your attention is elsewhere. Oh, god, your work, how are you supposed to get anything done when you’re most likely going to have to babysit the statue? You assume it’s going to be like keeping an eye on a toddler; turn away for two minutes, and the castle will burn down. You can’t imagine digging yourself out of that grave. Remember to lock the door, you think hard, hoping you’ll have a chance to do it later.

“Alright,” you try to think once you’re back at the table, clawing at something, anything that could make a semblance of sense on this hellish day. “Okay. Cool. The owner of the property is coming over tomorrow.”

The statue rests his chin on his hand, his elbow on the table, mouth out in a soft, sullen pout.

“Now, just to recap, the person who owns your fine ass is coming down to pay me a visit to make sure everything is going well. Do you think that things are going well right now?” You don’t give him a chance to answer. “Things aren’t going well, and I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.”

“Do you think my ass is truly that divine?” He perks up, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

”Focus,” you grind out, afraid that you’re going to snap the pen you’re holding clean in half. The first step to saving money is not to break any of your things, no matter how fucking stressed you are. “I need you to go out in the back while she’s here and pretend to still be frozen.”

“But won’t, er, Marge, was it?”

“Ms. Hopkins, for you. Only friends get to call her Marge.”

He hesitates for a moment. ““Surely... Ms. Hopkins won’t be upset at a miracle sent by the gods themselves? Not unless she wishes punishment like that which she has never experienced before.” He settles back on the bench, arms open as though offering an embrace. “I have been birthed from the ground by chisel and a steady hand, then given life through the power of love by-”

“I’m going to cut you off there.” You hold a finger up, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Not to give you a crisis of faith or anything, but that’s not going to be good enough. I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you if scientists start getting involved, you’re going to like, end up in a lab somewhere, and you’ll never see the light of day again. So when Marge gets here, you’re going to go back to that pedestal, and you’re going to stand still. Do you understand?”

“What’s a scientist? Is it like a philosopher?”

You’re fucking doomed. “Forget that, I need you to promise me that you’re going to stay put while Marge is here.”

He lets out a loud sigh, rolling his stone eyes so that you can fully see just how badly you’re inconveniencing him. “I suppose I might, though being able to stretch after such a long time has been such a blessing. Are you really going to make me go back to being still?”

“For like an hour? Yes, yes, I am.”

“But I’m so stiff,” he’s acting like you just asked him to shoot himself in the leg, “and my joints ache so very much.”

“You’ll hurt more if you don’t do as I say.” It’s an entirely empty threat since you’re pretty sure the only thing that might cut through him is an industrial chainsaw, something that’s not exactly on hand at the moment.

“Is that a promise?” He says, voice suddenly sultry and full of allure.

You need a moment to step away from the situation before you try strangling him, if that would even do any damage. Does he even breathe? Maybe you should check on that before anything else. Clear your head out, settle your thoughts, reset everything back to zero. This is fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Even though it physically pains you to say it, you offer up one last plea. “Please.”

That seems to move him, if only slightly. “If it is truly that important to you, then I shall.”

A shudder of relief runs through your body.

”However,” he stands to his full height, leaning over until his face is remarkably close to yours, “I should think that I should perhaps stretch, to fully prepare for such a task. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You skillfully dodge his mouth, turning around and letting out a frustrated breath. “Then do some yoga. I’ve got a job to do, you’ll remember, one that involves things like work and time.”

“Shall I help?”

”No!” It might have come out a little too harsh, but you are not letting him get his rocky hands all over your paints and equipment. “I just need you to be in my line of vision at all times, okay? Can you do that?”

“Can’t take your eyes off me for one moment?” He asks, which is entirely true but definitely not within the context of the tone he uses.

You know what? Agreeing at this point is probably better for both your sanity and his cooperation. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your head, you say, deadpan, “you’re absolutely correct, I can’t seem to be able to ;ook away from that fine ass of yours. Please come with me upstairs so I can start working without your presence for a second longer than I must.”

He doesn’t appear to detect the sarcasm dripping from your words and instead looks rather flattered. “I suppose I must indulge you, then. Very well, show me the way to your place of work.”

You don’t bother to mention that the entire castle is your place of work, and instead lead him back to the library. None of the shelves are in place, and the books themselves are safely in storage while you and every other crew can trample on through without worrying about accidentally destroying something old enough to be their great-grandparent. Everything seems good to go, so you start to begin, stirring up the thick paint in the cans to make sure everything’s even, and then begin. You have almost an hour of uninterrupted work before the statue begins to start fiddling with some things that he should not be touching at all.

“Question,” you say, beginning on another wall, “can you sleep or anything?” Or do you need to be watched 24/7, no rest for the wicked amiright.

“I suppose we’ll find out.” He lays on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, clearly bored out of his mind.

“Could you maybe put on some clothes?” His nakedness hasn’t bothered you yet, but with all his attempts to take off your clothes, maybe some change is in order.

He turns his head in your direction and looks at you like you just suggested that he should maybe take a leisurely stroll into the sun. “And deprive you of such a beautiful view? Darling, my love, I should think not.”

“Okay, okay, no clothes.” You resist the urge to let out a huff. “I’m so sorry to even think of such a thing.”

“All is forgiven.” He says, so very gently, looking back up at the electric chandelier.

Again, there’s the desire to let out a scream that could be heard from across the nearest ocean, but you do no such thing. Instead, you throw yourself headfirst into your work, hoping that at the very least, your ridiculous amount of progress might allow Marge to overlook some… other things. You forget what time it is until you realize that it is suddenly so difficult to see your work, and that’s when you look out the window to find nothing but black and stars. The sun must have set long ago, without you even noticing, which means that it’s time for you to eat something before you faint from a sugar crash.

“Do you feel hungry?” You ask him, looking at your phone for the first time in hours. There’s a text from Esther, Marge’s wife, waiting for you to view.

“I don’t know.”

“Wonderful,” you respond, “but I do. I’ll order some pizza, then, and I guess you can eat some if you feel hungry at all. Any preferred toppings?”

“Preferred what?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ll just order something, then.”

And so you do, making sure the statue is sitting at the table with an old Rubix cube you found in one of the many boxes stashed in the storage room. Thankfully, he seems absolutely enamored by it, so you take the time to phone in a local pizza delivery place. Perhaps you get one too many things than you’d manage to eat, just in case the statue might end up needing to eat like any other person, though having leftovers isn’t exactly the worst outcome if he doesn’t.

While you wait for your food to be delivered, you take the liberty of reading over the document that Marge’s wife sent. Blah, blah, blah, temple excavation, blah, blah, oldest intact statue from the Hellenistic period, blah, blah, something about Aphrodite, and then… “Galateos.”

That catches his attention like a gunshot. He stares at you, mouth open and closing as he tries to come up with something to say in response. Finally, voice strangled, he says, “that sounds familiar.”

“Thought it might,” you say, a lie, really, because you don’t really know what he might find familiar and what he would see as entirely knew. “Esther texted me some info about where you came from. It says that the plaque you were given called you ‘Galateos.’”

He sits up just a tad bit taller, jaw clenched, eyes looking over the wooden table like it might offer some clues to what the word means. Finally, voice uncharacteristically dry, he says, “that must be my name.”

The way he says it, though, is unsure, almost scared, really. So you try offering a way out. “Is there something else you want to be called?”

He thinks about it, you can see the way his forehead crinkles and his eyes grow distant. But after barely a second of thought, he shakes his head. “No. Galateos is fine.”

“Alright, then, Galateos,” you try the name out. It’s long, and stiff, much like the way he had been complaining about his limbs a mere hours before. “Can I call you Gala? Or Teos? Or literally anything but?”

“You can call me ‘dearest,’ or ‘most beloved,’” he says, entirely serious.

“Galateos it is, then.” You look over the photograph of a pamphlet Marge must have ordered to advertise the statue, Esther even gave sent another picture of it open, revealing the block of text describing where they found him. “Do you remember being a statue at all? Or are you suddenly like…. Awake and stuff?”

He looks a tad bit troubled, looking down at his hands like he can’t quite place what their purpose is. After a moment of silence, he says, “I don’t know how to describe it. Darkness, forever. And then suddenly light. I didn’t care about the darkness while I was frozen because I couldn’t care about anything, anything at all. There were periods of warm and periods of cold, but neither of them were particularly bothersome.”

“You feel heat and cold?” You ask, already preparing an experiment in your head to check.

“I think so.”

“One way to find out.” You go through the cabinets until you find a large stainless steel bowl, then fill it to the brim with ice, and place it in front of him. “Stick your hand inside and leave it there for as long as you can.”

He looks at the ice like it’s something entirely unfamiliar and new, looking over at you like you might magically have the answer to a question he didn’t ask. Then, carefully, slowly, he slides his hand in the ice, frowning as he tries to verbalize what he feels. “What is this?”

“Ice.” When his expression remains blank, so you try to clarify. “When water gets cold, it freezes.”

His eyes widen, his mouth opening in a soft o. “This is water?”

“Frozen water, yeah,” you try to get back on topic, even though you find it odd that he knows what water is, but not ice. “Do you feel anything?”

“Cold,” he says, pulling his hand out. “It feels cold.”

You reach over and grab his hand in your own, running your thumb over his palm, finding the stone there as cold as one would expect to be after submerged in a pile of ice. “But you can feel it? Does it hurt?”

“It feels,” he thinks, brow furrowed, eyes decidedly glued on where your fingers touch, “pinching, but also not. As though I’m being poked by needles.”

That sounds cold to you, remembering the way your skin prickles when met with chilly air. So he can feel temperature changes, but can’t be deterred by one of your mean hooks, which you suppose is an interesting discovery. You might posit that it also doesn’t make the slightest lick of sense, but then again, a slab of lovingly carved stone is walking and talking, so you guess you can’t really be the judge of what is weird and what isn’t at the moment.

He slyly places his other hand over yours, wholly focused on tracing the path of your fingers while you… kind of just let it happen. If it was anyone else, you might have yanked your hand out of their grip, but you just sort of sit there and allow him to observe the curves and scars of your hand. While he does so, he’s quiet, not so much as whispering a single word that would cause you to leave, and is instead seems satisfied with the silence that settles over the kitchen. You can’t say that you’re uncomfortable with the way he touches you, his gestures so very gentle even though he’s a fucking rock.

“You’re an artist,” he says finally, his voice soft and sweet.

He’s only seen you working the brunt of the job, not the finer details that you pride yourself with. “How do you know?”

“The hands never lie.”

“And how would you know that?” You ask, a tad bit teasingly.

His eyes grow distant, feverish, as though he’s desperately trying to grasp something that’s just out of his reach. “I- I don’t rem-”

Someone’s at the kitchen’s back door, as instructed, knocking loudly and announcing that they’re the pizza guy. You’re very familiar with all the delivery people by now, and so you recognize the carrot-like hair of one of the pizza place’s employees, though you can’t recall his name. There’s cash in your back pocket, you always try to tip generously and under the table, and after exchanging a couple of words of pleasantries, you shut the door and go back to the table, pizza in hand. By this point, you’re practically frothing at the mouth for food, so statue be damned, you tear into the pizza like an animal once you’re sitting down.

Galateos watches with interest, observing the way you’re able to pull at the crust and place the triangular-shaped piece on a napkin that you decided to use as a plate because… you don’t have the energy to do dishes. As you eat, and subsequently feel a tad bit tired, you realize that there is going to be an issue with the fact that, problem one; you don’t know if you should leave him alone if he doesn’t sleep and problem two; there’s literally only one room that’s fully furnished and can house a person. You have been staying there, on your own, since going to some other hotel at night seems unnecessary, because this place is a hotel. Silently, you try to weigh the pros and cons of sharing a bed with him, and the only thing you seem to come back to is that you'd be able to keep an eye on him throughout the night.

He takes a couple of bites of the pizza, though scrunches up his nose with each one, seemingly unable to gather much of an appetite. Though he actually swallows the food, instead of spitting it right out like you might have expected, so that’s something, you guess. After you clean up, you sit with another mug of steaming hot tea, trying to relax yourself enough for sleep. He has a cup, too, though he stares at the liquid, and doesn’t really seem interested in drinking it.

You try to browse through the photos of the pamphlet again, trying to find something that might help you figure out just what the actual, literal fuck is going on. There isn’t really anything that might be considered out of the ordinary, there’s a transcript of the writing found at the base of the statue, back when he was standing still on the pedestal.

Μόνο ένας που μπορεί να αγαπήσει θα δώσει πνοή ζωής σε αυτό το σπλάχνο της γης

Όταν τα άστρα θα έχουν κινηθεί από τις θέσεις τους

Τότε ο γιος της Γεας θα αφυπνιστεί

Να γεννηθεί στην εποχή του μετάλλου και του κεραυνού

Όταν ο γλύπτης θα κείτεται νεκρός για τρείς χιλιάδες εύπρωκτα, εύπρωκτα χρόνια

There isn’t a translation available, which strikes you as odd. Maybe it hasn’t been translated yet? The pamphlet is a draft, after all. Maybe Marge has someone working on it right at this very moment and just hasn’t had the time to fully go over it yet. But… you look back up to the statue, who is bobbing his teabag up and down, watching the color of the water change. “Do you read Greek?”

“I don’t-”

“Just take a look,” you interrupt, holding your phone out in front of his face.

His eyes squint, pouring over the words on your phone, and it looks like he might actually be understanding what it says. That is, until, he sits back and offers you a shrug, mouth twitching. “I can’t.”

You let out a frustrated breath, but whatever. You knew it was a long shot, anyway. “Guess I’ll just have to wait until the official translator does their thing.”

Author’s Note:

A very special thanks to the wonderful @two-plus-two-is-four, my source for a lovely Greek translation of the inscription. I appreciate it so very much.

[fftwister]

Byleth/Dimitri C-S Support

I went to bed after posting the Byleth/Claude support chain, so I don’t know if other supports are online or not. However, a few folks requested Dimitri and Byleth’s support chain, so here it is for clarity’s sake. Major spoilers below regarding what Dimitri’s deal is (+general BL route and Byleth spoilers). Be wary, this too gets really fucking long.

Dimitri: Perfect timing, Professor. If you don't mind, I have a favor I'd like to ask of you. Byleth: What's the favor? Dimitri: It's in regard to sword training. Not for myself, but... Well... To be honest, I've been teaching swordsmanship to the orphans at the monastery for a while now. Dialogue Tree:

A: How unexpected. B: How did that come to be? Dimitri: (A) I must agree. Frankly, I'm not great with children. (B): Some of them saw me sparring with the knights one day. They started pestering me to teach them. They were so earnest... I couldn't help but oblige. There's much I wish to show them, but due to my own studies and training, I'm afraid my time is rather limited. Which brings me to my favor. Your swordsmanship is unmatched. I hate to ask this of you, but...Would you consider lending me a hand? Dialogue Tree:

A: You can count on me. B: You leave me no choice. Dimitri: Thank you, truly. I am in your debt. And I always repay my debts, I'll have you know. All of these children lost their families and homes to war or illness. This may sound a bit arrogant, but...I feel it's my responsibility to help them. I lost my parents without warning too. In that way, we're the same. In Duscur, I lost my father, stepmother, and closest friends. I didn't have many allies at the castle after that. In truth, I had only Dedue for companionship. Dialogue Tree:

A: Have you no other family? B: Is there no one else you can trust? Dimitri: I'm afraid not. My birth mother fell ill and died shortly after I was born. And my uncle...suffice to say we don't get along. I once had people I could confide in. Family, friends, instructors, even the royal soldiers. But they were all taken away from me four years ago. Ah, but there were those outside the castle walls\nI was close to. Such as Rodrigue! Byleth: Rodrigue? Dimitri: Heh, pardon my rudeness. I meant Lord Rodrigue. He is my father's old companion, and the father\nof Felix. On the occasions he would visit the capital, he'd take me out hunting or on long horse rides. While Dedue is like a brother to me, Rodrigue is more like a second father. It might sound ridiculous, but...he's the kind of man I hope to become one day. Someone who helps others... Someone who can reach out and save a lost soul. Oh... Please accept my apologies for boring you with my life story. In any case, don't forget your promise, Professor. I'm counting on you.

B Support

Dimitri: Thank you for your help the other day, Professor. Please, allow me to express my gratitude by taking you to dinner. Dialogue Tree:

A: It was nothing. B: I would be delighted. Dimitri (A): Nonsense. Your guidance was magnificent. Just what I'd expect from a professor at this esteemed academy. (B): Fantastic. Please think about what you'd like to eat. After all, such magnificent guidance must work up quite an appetite. I've studied swordsmanship for some time, but your mercenary skills are something else entirely. Speaking of which, there's...another question I must ask you. Were you reconciled with the reality of battle from your first foray? With...the killing part, I mean. Dialogue Tree:

A: I hadn't the luxury of questioning it. B: No. It's never easy. Dimitri: I see. Byleth: And you? Dimitri: No... I do not carry that burden well. I doubt that will change, no matter how many years come and go. The first time I led on the battlefield, I was sent to quell a rebellion in the west. It was not a difficult fight. The enemy was not well-trained and their morale was low. A swing of the lance, and your opponent falls. A flash of your blade, and a path opens up. That's the sort of battle it was. Easy...right? Dialogue Tree:

A: You did what you had to do. B: What caused the rebellion? Dimitri (A): That's one way to look at it. (B): The noble family from that area sought to seize the throne after my father's untimely death. The leader of the rebel army was defeated and the rebellion quelled. This was at the height of the post-war period. I recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair. I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter...mother, lover... I'll never know. He was a soldier. An enemy. Someone we had cut down without hesitation. But in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us. Of course, we cannot stand idly by and allow anyone to commit senseless acts of violence. Yet in dispensing what we call justice, we take the lives of cherished family members. Beloved friends. Killing is part of the job, but even so... There are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions. Dialogue Tree:

A: It's normal to feel that way. B: I've felt the same way. Dimitri (A): Is it? Perhaps you're right. I pray that you are. (B): That you feel the same way is more comforting than you could know. Professor? May I speak freely? When we first met, I thought of you as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing your enemies. I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won't allow it. But after speaking with you and getting to know you better, I can see you're not like that. Now I know, with all my heart, that I can trust you. Thank you for that.

A Support

Dimitri: ... Dialogue Tree:

A: What are you doing? B: Still training? Dimitri (A): Sleep evades me, so I thought I'd get in some extra training. I was just about to finish. (B): Indeed. But I was thinking about ending it here. Perhaps it is the gloomy weather, but I am feeling the sting of wounds that should have healed long ago... Byleth: What wounds? Dimitri: The injury I got when that girl stabbed me after the battle at Gronder. Her eyes were filled with revenge...just as mine once were. Byleth: Who was she? Dimitri: I don't know... But I have a guess. ... Ah, I suppose I haven't told you about that yet. Byleth: What are you talking about? Dimitri: I was attacked inside the monastery the other day. It caused quite the uproar. The ones who attacked me...were some of the youths we taught swordsmanship to, once upon a time. Dialogue Tree:

A: Are you OK? B: Why did they do it? Dimitri (A): Of course. I could capture the lot of them with my eyes closed. (B): It seems they were raised by a group of thieves who we put down five years ago. I heard Lady Rhea took custody of them, claiming that the children were innocent. I have taken so many lives...and with each one, I face hatred. During the last five years especially. My life was not so different from that of a wild beast... And that young girl's brother... At some point, I must have... That is why I thought it only natural that someone would retaliate someday. Because I hated, because I stole, and...because I killed. But with those children, it's different... We drew our blades with the best of intentions, only to hurt them in the end. I suppose this is yet another thing we will just have to live with. Dialogue Tree:

A: It's part of the job. B: I feel the same way. Dimitri: Yes... As one who chose to fight, it is my responsibility to confront this anguish and the true nature of war... Until the day my life comes to an end. Dialogue Tree:

A: It is mine as well. B: We can confront it together. Dimitri (A): Perhaps... (B): Thank you... You know, Professor... There is something that I only recently realized. I never knew it could be so...comforting to have someone standing by my side...

S Support

Dimitri: Come now, my friend. You must stop staying up so late. Tomorrow is yet another early morning. Then again, I know that matters little. You cannot sleep, can you? Neither can I, of course. I... I want you to know I am sorry for making you do so much when your battle wounds aren't even completely healed yet. Dialogue Tree:

A: And what of yours? B: It's awful. Dimitri (A): Do not worry about me... My shoulder has healed nicely. I still have some numbness in my hand, but it should not hinder me too much. (B): Well, I am truly sorry. I only ask that you do not overexert yourself. But I am afraid our burdens will only grow in number. I hope you are prepared for that. ... It is a lovely night... Is it not? How many years has it been since I was kept awake by hopes for the future, rather than by nightmares of the past... Byleth: Nightmares? Dimitri: I have had the same nightmare for nine long years. A nightmare in which I am constantly tormented by those who have died... They ask me why I have not avenged them...Why I got to live, yet they had to die... No matter how many corpses I piled up for them, in the end, their voices only grew louder. Voices loathing me, calling out to me...Their inescapable death cries ringing in my ears...clinging to my soul... Even now, I can always hear them. I am certain I will be hearing them until the day I die. But I will not cover my ears. I will go on living...and their voices will serve as a warning. As a king...and as a wretch who claimed countless lives...I will build a Kingdom where the people can live in peace. I am sure she would laugh and call such talk foolish... But I wish to change this world in my own way. Well, Your Grace, things will be busy from now on. Our first order of business is tomorrow's coronation. Once a professor and student... Now an archbishop and a king. How very far we have come. Dialogue Tree:

A: We're still the same. B: Only our titles have changed. Dimitri: That is true. To me, you will always be the one who guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved... Dialogue Tree:

A: Yes...my beloved. B: Dimitri... Dimitri: Listen... There is something I wish to give you before the coronation. Give me your hand. Byleth: ... Dimitri: Please... I beg of you. Say something! If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me.If so, I will face the truth and walk away. Dialogue Tree(? There’s a lot of responses here, I don’t know who says what)

A: That's not it at all... B: What is this? C: I love you, Dimitri. Marry me. D: You beat me to it... Dimitri: ... Yes, I see. Right. In that case, let us exchange them, shall we? Your hands... Now that I hold them within my own, I see how small and fragile they are. These hands that have saved me countless times...Thank you, my beloved. Your kind, warm hands... May they cling to my own forevermore...

*Note

Checking through the zip file, Dimitri doesn’t have a final bit of dialogue with Byleth like Claude does in his ending, as the next text file after the S support is his dialogue for a moment after the ballroom dance, and the following files being Claude’s supports. It’s possible the dialogue might be in the ZIP, but I don’t know for sure.

[fates-theysband]

Chronophobia

Rating: T

Ship: Aeren Chapman/Tim Stoker (vaguely alluded to; this is more of a narrative oc profile)

Warnings: mentions of decapitation and vivisection, vaguely described gore, blood, head trauma, canon-typical thanatophobia triggers, more than canon-typical swearing (not in that order)

i literally am not capable of just writing a fic, it all has to be vaguely epistolary bs like “craigslist missed connection” and “basically a script for an episode of tma”. Jon’s dialogue is in bold, to make up for the fact that there’s not a single dialogue tag in this whole mess

--

"Statement of Avery Chapman, regarding the bizarre events preceding the death of their twin sibling Aeren Chapman. Statement taken direct from subject, twenty-third June two thousand and sixteen. Statement begins."

"Look, this isn't going to cast me in a great light to start off with, but I lied to get in the door. I mean, can you blame me? If I had let me in, and I’d heard the truth, I would've been like, 'We don't have time for pranksters, come back when you have an actual statement to give.' Because, I mean, come on. What I'm about to tell you sounds like bullshit. The truth is, I'm not Avery Chapman, and my statement has nothing to do with any events from before Aeren died. So, let me give you a more accurate version of what you just said."

"Statement of Aeren Chapman, regarding the bizarre events following their own untimely death. There, now it's on the record. Let's get into it.”

"My entire life, I could hear a ticking clock. Not literally. But I was always thinking about the time. How long would it take to do this? How much time until that? Will I be able to do everything I want or need before time runs out? Nobody really understood, of course. From the day I was old enough to even communicate that kind of feeling, all I ever heard was, 'Don't worry, you're young! You have all the time in the world!' And it was the same, right up until the end. I mean, guess that's not really fair to my folks. They tried to get me help, usually in the form of allergy meds that kind of had anti-anxiety properties in low lighting if you were really trying to see 'em. I've never been a cheap drunk and since my grandpappy on my mom’s side was, every psych I went to see was too scared of the Ghost of Addictions Past to give me anything that worked. So instead, I lived with the clock. And I got really good at pretending it wasn't there. Sometimes I could even enjoy the moment."

"That changed when I got older, of course. I'm from the US, if you couldn't tell from the...everything about me, and you probably can at least guess how it is over there. Go, go, go, until you drop dead if necessary, to appease the almighty money line. And unlike with school, with work you don't exactly get summers off. So that ticking clock came back full force. I remember, one time, my roommates and I were going to get carry-out and watch a movie, and I had work in the morning. One of my roommates, Jace, went out to pick up the food, and I guess he got stuck in traffic or something, because he didn't get back for an hour and all I could think was 'that's one less hour I have to actually relax before I have to get up and go back to work tomorrow', and I was on edge the entire rest of the night. Couldn't enjoy the movie, was short with Jace and Holly every time they tried to make conversation...just being a real irritable asshole."

"That was pretty close to when it happened, actually. Maybe a few weeks or so. I guess that would explain a lot. It doesn't matter what happened to me the night I died. All you really need to know is that it was violent, gruesome, and traumatic. For some reason, it didn't even register to me that I was dying until I realized I could hear the ticking, for real this time. With every single step it got louder and louder, matching pace with my feet staggering down the pavement as my body was basically falling apart below me, until I finally rounded a corner and collapsed. And then the ticking stopped, and I looked up."

"I could see a skeleton sitting in front of me, but...not the way a corpse would be sitting. Not the way I was sitting. They were sitting criss-cross applesauce, and for how old and dusty the bones looked I was shocked to see that they were dressed pretty young for, you know, a skeleton. Big skirt, peace sign shirt, hippie headband, that kind of thing. Could've died in the seventies, could have died last year. I didn't get to really figure that out before they motioned to the things laid out in front of them. Game tokens. Not an exhaustive amount of them, but I could see a chess piece, a die, and a deck of cards. All bone, because apparently every single psychopomp’s a corny bastard. I tried to decline. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I was sick of the clock and I couldn't see an upside to going back to it. They laughed at me. Not out loud, but they made the motions. Then they urged me to pick a token again. Asshole."

"By the way, turns out Death knows Yahtzee. I wouldn't say I expected to win. I wasn't even sure I hoped to win. All I wanted was an end to the not knowing. I figured something out that night, Archivist. It’s not death humans are afraid of, it’s uncertainty. If we knew for sure exactly what happened after we died, I don’t think anyone would be afraid to die.”

“Guess this goes without saying, but I won. Didn’t even cheat, just got a few really good rolls. I didn’t really know what to expect; I figured my insides would knit themselves back together and I’d rejoin the world of the living instead of playing Yahtzee with a hippie skeleton in a dark alley on a street that was normally a hell of a lot busier. That I’d go back to the miserable job and the crappy apartment and the ticking clock. But that isn’t what happened. If it was I would’ve taken this whole experience to my permanent grave. I mean, someone’s insides got knitted back together that night. But they weren’t mine. I watched the flesh fall off my bones as the skeleton in the long skirt became more and more alive, until a flesh-and-blood girl who couldn’t have been older than me stood up and left the alley. I think she said something to me as she was leaving. I want to say it was ‘forgive me’, but I’m thinking it was ‘better you than me’. For some reason I wasn’t scared or sad or anything but relieved. It sounds fucked up, I know, but have you ever lived a life where you had nothing to look forward to? At least with this I could see a way out.”

“I won’t bore you describing the interim. You look like a smart guy, you’re probably familiar with what the Grim Reaper does. What matters is how I got all the meat back. And why I’m wearing this massive coat and knit cap in June.” “You see, most people in the few years I did this were partial to the chance games, or low-skill board games. Roulette was a big one. So was blackjack. Someone got smart and tried Candyland once. But only one person ever picked chess.”

“He was maybe mid-thirties. Wasn’t really sure what had happened to him but he was covered in blood and terrified. I’d say ‘scared to death’ but that seems gauche. I don’t understand chess beyond the basic object of the game and what the different pieces can do, but even I could tell this guy was either terrible at chess or not in the right mental place to be making strategic decisions in a game for his life. Or both. Both is always an option."

“I could have wiped the floor with him, even with my lack of skill. He pretty much put his king in check by himself, all I did was avoid his clumsy attempts to capture my pieces. Here’s where you probably think I’m about to say ‘this is where I got sloppy’ or some shit like that. No. I knew exactly what I was doing and I meant to do it.” 

“I’d say it was agonizingly long, but really, any amount of time is agonizingly long when the action is ‘playing chess in complete silence under a bridge somewhere in London’. But after the most frustrating game of my life, my clueless savior checkmated me. I told him I was sorry as I left. I don't know if he heard me over the screaming."

"Just like that, it was over. Quick trip to a library told me it had been about three years since I won the most important game of Yahtzee ever, and that same quick trip found me an extended family member in the area who didn't ask too many questions. Weird, really. Always thought my dad was an only child. But that's beside the point. Since becoming flesh again a few months ago, I haven't heard the ticking clock, metaphorically or literally. I suffered the agony of death and the indignity of reaping, and came out the same as I've ever been.”

“Or so I thought. Here’s the thing: whatever chose me that night didn’t like that ending for me. The dying are supposed to try to cheat Death. It’s in their nature. If they win by successfully cheating, more power to them. But Death is impartial. Death isn’t supposed to cheat. And Death certainly isn’t supposed to get clever and throw the game. Which brings me to the main reason I'm here, I guess. Give me a moment."

[There is a sound of a heavy coat hitting the floor]

"I normally don't wear tank tops, but in this case it's kind of important that I show as much as I can. Check this out."

[There is a sound of something unzipping]

"They unzip into shorts. Best sixteen pounds I ever spent. Would've just worn shorts, but with how big this coat is I would've looked like a flasher. And now, off with the hat. Don't freak out."

"Good god, what happened to you!?"

"I literally JUST said not to freak out, dude. Impressive you managed to keep it together up until the bleeding head wound though. A lesser man might have said that when he saw the sutures."

"None of this stuff actually happened to me, of course. Not in the sense that I was ever actually physically vivisected or beheaded or whacked in the head hard enough to crack my skull. These just happen to me. I wake up with them, for the most part. And...well, I'll spare you the gruesome stuff, but they're not stitched up neatly when I get them. Thank god Cousin Jesse's a passable seamstress, because hospitals tend to lose their shit when you bring in a patient who's still up walking around with several fatal wounds and no detectable pulse. Not something I want to deal with twice."

"So that's the whole story, I guess. I broke the rules, and now I'm suffering the consequences. The wounds go away, after a while. At first I thought it was mercy, but now I know it's because if some of them didn't disappear there eventually wouldn't be enough left of me to keep punishing. And, I'm not exactly an expert, but I think I'm supposed to suffer the damage from every single gruesome, unimaginably painful death that's ever happened to a human being before I'll be free. That's a lot of deaths. Good thing I have all the time in the world, I guess."

"Statement ends."

“Awesome. Is that all you need from me?”

“I believe so.”

“Great. Let me just get all my coverups back on...”

“Don’t forget your...trouser legs.”

“Of course not.”

[There is a sound of something zipping.]

“Uh, if I don’t see him on my way out, can you tell that hot guy with the undercut who showed me the way to your office that I’m sorry I ran into him? I turned the corner too fast and damn near hip-checked the poor guy into a wall. Not a great first impression.”

“I suppose so.”

“Thanks a bunch. I’d ask you to give him my number, too, buuuut right now I only have a home phone. Oh well. Later, skater.”

[Click.]

[western-writer]

The Most Loyal Traitor: Part 2

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive speech, swearing, violence 

A/N y’all wanted a part two to this so here ya go! Hope it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Find part one on my blog.

Summary: the Resistance wants you back.

Your eyes scan the paper again and again and again. The words written on it are there, but you can’t bring yourself to believe what it says. 

“C’mon, you don’t really believe this bullshit, do you?” Jacob barks beside you. “They don’t want you back, they’re embarrassed that their transgression came to light. Now they’re tryna make up for it!”

When you don’t respond, Jacob storms over and rips the paper from your hand. “You’re not actually thinkin’ about meetin’ them, are you?”

You snap out of your haze and snap your head up to look at him. “Are you afraid that they’ll steal me away?”

Jacob doesn’t respond as he crumples up the paper and throws it away. “You’re not goin’. Understand?” 

“I wanna know what they have to say, Jake.”

“No,” he shuts you down. “Absolutely not. This could be a trap. They could kill you and use you against me or the others. No way.” 

You take a step back. “I need to hear what they have to say, Jake. What if you came with me?” 

“The note says to come alone.” 

You laugh a bit. “When have I ever followed orders? Just come with me. I doubt Mary May will be alone.”

You walk over to him carefully and place your hands on his face. “Jake, they won’t steal me away, okay? I just wanna hear what lame ass excuse or story they come up with. That’s all.” 

Jacob leans down and kisses you with hunger. You smile a bit and pull back. “You needy, needy, man.”

He chuckles a bit, bending down to pick you up. “Only for you, baby.”

Arriving in Fall's End is a weird feeling for you. You hadn't been back to the town in a long time and you really had no desire to return, even when John offered to let you help him take the town back. You declined the offer and ultimately, they ended up bailing on the plan to take the town again.

"Stay here," you tell Jacob when he parks the car.

"What? Hell, no. You are not goin' inside that bar alone."

"Too bad," you tell him. "If you walk inside with me, who knows what will happen."

Jacob gives you a hard look and you lean over to kiss his cheek. "Can you please just trust me?"

"It's them I don't trust," he grumbles. "What if they decide to cut off more of your fingers?" He grabs the your left and holds it yo to show you, as if you havent seen your severed finger. Your eyes fixate on the still bandaged pinky and gently pull your hand away from him.

"I'll be okay," you reassure him, putting your hand on his shoulder.

Jacob looks away from you. You sigh and step put of the truck. Surprisingly, he does as your requested and stays in the truck. Before you go into the bar, though, you turn to talk to him through the open passenger window.

"Hey," you say, making Jacob look at you. "If any thing happens, and I mean anything, I'll yell, okay? Then you can come save the day." You give him a small smile and he rolls his eyes, but you see the smile he's trying to suppress. Without another word, you enter the bar you used to love so much.

The Spread Eagle used to be your escape. It's where you'd go after a particularly rough day and Mary May would serve you drinks for no charge. She'd let you sleep off your intoxication upstairs and would leave water and painkillers for you to take the next morning. You'd stumble down the stairs and Pastor Jermone would place a comforting hand on your shoulder and the process would begin again.

How you didn't realize it before baffles you.

Now, as you under the bar, all you can think about is the pain and sorrow. You look at the floor next to the door and still see the blood stain you clothing left when Mary May had shoved you down.

"You fucking let them die!" she screamed at you. Your body, still covered in the blood of your friends, hit the ground as she pushed you.

"No, I didn't!" you pleaded. "I tried to warn them! They didn't listen! Mary, please, you've gotta believe me!"

"Part of being a good leader is having control over your group. Obviously, I never should have trusted you."

Those words hurt you deeply. After all the good you've done, you're being criminalized.

"Get out," Mary May said. "Get out and never come back. If you ever set foot in this bar again, I'll kill you myself."

You clambered to your feet clumsily and leave quickly. You stood on the porch, unsure of what to do, so you did the only thing you could think of. You went the home of Nick and Kim Rye. You were sure they would help you, but Nick greeted you with a gun to your head and a threat to blow a hole through your skull. Mary May must have put the word out right after you left, and here was your friend turning his back on you.

You had a suspicion that you were screwed, and the following days only confirmed that. Even people you had know for years decided to side with the Resistance. Even Sharky, who you were sure would take you in, turned you away.

You look up as you close the door behind you. Many eyes land on you and suddenly you feel uncomfortable. Mary May, Pastor Jerome, Nick, Kim, Jess, and Eli stand in front of you.

Mary May makes her way from behind the bar. "I didn't think you'd actually show!" she says loudly. It looks as if she's going to hug you and you put your left hand up, stopping her. "Right, right... Too soon?"

"Are you kidding?" you growl at her. Mary May taked a few steps back and putting her hands up.

You stay close to the exit and cross your arms, sighing. "Why'd you call me here?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Nick says. "It's for an apology."

"And to say we want you back," Kim adds.

"The Resistance is crumbling," Eli tells you, stepping forward. "Ever since you joined..." he hesitates. "them... we've been strugglin' to keep our heads above water."

"Yeah?" you question condescendingly. "And who's fault is that?"

"Look," Eli says in a tone that reminds you of when you'd be reprimanded by one of your parents when you were younger. "I get that you feel an obligation to them now, but we need you."

"Oh, you need me!? And where the hell were you when I needed you!?"

Eli stays silent, unable to come up with am answer.

"I came to you. To all of you." You look around. "None of you would even give me food. I was nearly starving by the time I came to you, Eli. Remember that?"

Eli stays quiet.

"You sent me away. Just like the rest of you. And now you want me to just 'come back' like you guys didn't abandon me? Like you weren't fully prepared to leave me to die?"

The group tenses as you hear the door behind you open. You turn your head slightly.

"I told you to stay in the truck."

"Since when have I ever followed orders?" Jacob responds. "You were takin' too long." He puts an arm around your shoulder and you assume it's some sort of power move. You know Jacob is possessive, he's shown it around his soldiers many times, yet you can help but feel like this is different.

"Jake, c'mon," you shrug his arm off you.

"Get out of my bar," Mary May orders.

"Sure," Jacob says. "As soon as (Y/n)'s ready to leave."

Jess lets out a growl and steps forward, standing too close to you. "That all it takes?" she hisses. "Just some good dick and you'd abandon us? Let us die?" She sticks an accusatory finger in your chest and you grab her wrist with your left hand.

"Last I checked, it was you guys that abandoned me and left me to die," you hiss right back at her. "Did you forget that you assisted your precious deputy in cuttin' my finger off?"

Jess looks down and rips her wrist out of your grip. You glare at her briefly.

"Did you really expect me to come crawling back?" you question them. "Me comin' here wasn't me tellin' you that I wanna come back. Honestly, I don't give a shit what happens anymore. I'm over it. My place is with him," you point to Jacob. "and if any of you try to ruin that," you look right at Mary May. "I'll kill you myself." You eyes scan the crowd one more time. "I'm warnin' you. This will be a battle you won't win. You will join us, or you'll die. C'mon Jake, let's go."

"How are you so sure!?" Pastor Jerome calls after you. You stop mid stride and turn to face him. "Because I'm seeing how the Resistance is crumbling. It's only a matter of time until all of you are gone." With that, you follow Jake back to the truck and you two go home. Once home, he's all over you, seemingly relieved that they failed to convince to rejoin them, even know you barely left them a chance to convince you.

In the end, you were right. Eden's Gate continued to gain more and more followers and soon, you saw some familiar faces at the sermons. The ones that realized they would lose ultimately joined Eden's Gate and those that refused met an untimely death.

Nick and Kim were the first to join out of all of your previous friends, joining not long after Rook gave up on the Resistance and joined as well. After John stole Nick's plane back and tore it apart, they knew this was the only way. They had not only themselves to look after, but also their unborn daughter. Over time, you gradually became close to them again and you became one of Carmina's godmothers.

Next to join was Hurk and Sharky. With their last chance having switched sides, they knew this would be a losing battle and hey, maybe they'd be able to regain your friendship. Like with Nick and Kim, you were able to rebuild the relationship with them as well.

Jess joined only because she realized she was no longer a help to the Resistance. They were losing at pace faster than she could fight. The two of you, once close, haven't quite reached that level of friendship again.

And, unfortunately, not everyone was willing to comply with Eden's Gate and were killed. Mary May and Pastor Jerome were killed when Eden's Gate reconquered Fall's End and Jacob eventually wiped out those still apart of the Whitetail Militia. This ended the lives of Eli, Tammy, Wheaty, and more. Adelaide died trying to protect her marina. Without the help of the Deputy, she never stood a chance.

Tracey tried to resist, but Faith managed to convince her join them and the sheriff soon followed. Vergil didn't survive and neither did Burke.

Staci Pratt was quick to officially join, especially after realizing that there was no winning this war. And as much as Hudson hated it, she joined too, if only to be there for her coworkers.

You and Jacob's relationship is stronger than ever and his siblings accept you as their own.

The Project at Eden's Gate has taken over the entire county and the Resistance has been completely eradicated.

You wish more people joined, but ultimately, the choice was theirs and you are completely content with you life now. For the first time, you feel as if you have a real family.

Taglist: 

@they-are-not-just-stories

[ofmorninglory]

Space Pirates (idk like Treasure Planet maybe?) + Stony or Clintasha

An expansion piece!!! To this post right here --> that’s Halbarry Space Pirates AU and honestly one of the Best AUs, no questions asked, that the lovely @magicalzatanna​ and I came up with when Crossover AU hell first started. Am I also adding that Barry and Clint are twin brothers? Why yes, I certainly am, and there is absolutely nothing anyone can do to stop me! This is basically Star Trek meets Something Like Treasure Planet: 

(I wanted desperately to put this under read more but it won’t LET ME so I’ll tag this as “long post” and hope you guys don’t hate me too much)

Clintasha 

Does Clint absolutely hate his brother for getting him into this? He does, he most certainly would love to suffocate Barry while he was sleeping. Unlike his twin brother, Clint Allen would very much love to have his feet down on Earth. Space was unpredictable, unknown, and it gave Clint the heebie jeebies to actually think about all the things that were out there, floating in space, waiting to pounce on human idiocy. Nevertheless, he was Barry’s twin brother and they had never been more than a couple of days apart. Clint loved Barry more than anything (and how could he not? How could he not adore his twin brother, who was kind and solid ground, who taught everyone around them ASL so they could talk to Clint when he wasn’t feeling like wearing his hearing aids) and the thought of letting him go off-world without him? It was unconceiveable. Sure, he hates space, but he hates the thought of his brother out there all alone even more. (Their mother is gone, their father is in jail--Clint only has Barry and he doesn’t even want to let go) 

It’s a miracle that he gets into the Academy, given his hearing issues, but he figures it has something to do with being buddies with Tony Stark (who also designed all of his hearing aids, no charge or favors owned; “only the best of the best for one of my best” Stark had said back then) and how many recommendation letters administration got from other students (all of Barry’s friends, of course) commending him on his skills (near-perfect aim, spoke 3 languages fluently, skills in combat, great strategist and tactitian, also good with tech when it came down to it). He’s afraid that they might separate him and Barry, but Bruce Wayne is Captain, and chooses him and Barry in their respective departments (he’s Safety & Security while Barry’s Reasearch & Development) for the USS Justicia. Clint actually gets along pretty well with everyone in the ship, specially with the people in Barry’s Lab who all learned basic ASL language for him. He absolutely hates space with a burning passion (and he’ll continue to hate it no matter how many fucking times Barry and Tony get excited over aliens and other equally distressful scenarios), but at least he’s with his brother and that’s about enough for him.

But then there’s a fucking pirate space ship and Clint’s life goes to hell. He thought he had something going on, he really did, but space really is unpredictable. He tried telling this to Barry and Iris about five-hundred-and-forty-six times in the past, but no one ever listens to him. 

Cue in Natasha Romanoff (Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman, she doesn’t really know anymore) who was given a second chance at life by the Captain and the Commandos (”It’s my ship!” Hal screams everytime “We are not the Commandos!” “I’m the Captain,” Steve says back, calmly, “And we are.”) Before being found by the Highball, a hideous name if she ever heard one (she’s told Hal as much), Natasha was an asset for a well-known Space Trafficking Ring. She had been picked up as a child, and then whipped into shape by Madame B, under Thaal Sinestro’s orders. Since then, she’d been doing their bidding, hollow and more than a little lost. When Sinestro came back as a Yellow Lantern after being kicked out of the Green Lantern Corps, she was sent to eliminate Hal, of course, but the power of the ring stopped her from doing it. Hal extended her an olive branch, and asked her if this really was what she wanted to be doing. Natasha fled, at first, but the more she hid from Sinestro and Madame B, the more she thought maybe Hal had a point. She finds him, his ship and his crew, and asks to join them. She had to learn to adjust to being part of a team, and she still sometimes feels odd and out of place, but Steve and Sam help her through it. Bucky tries, sure, because he understands, but he’s never been really good. The Highball is as good as any home, she thinks, and she’s warming up to the people around her little by little. 

When the Highball crashes into the USS Justicia (and Tony and Hal bond over rumoured Treasure Planet that they may have been looking for since the ship was space-borne), Clint and Natasha are forced to co-exist, just like everyone else in the ship. Reparations for the USS Justicia are slow with little to no materials to actually do it, and if Clint hated space before he outright despises it now. He takes an instant interest in Natasha, because there’s something there that Clint can’t explain himself but he wants to know. Natasha is elusive and will go to great lengths to avoid him, but he’s sneaky and very good at finding her on every single hide-out in the ship. She hates him a little bit for it, but actually respects him. She starts warming up to the idea of him little by little (and it has nothing to do with how blue his eyes are, shut up, Sam) and they become kind-of-sort-of friends. They talk about combat, martial arts, his great marksmanship, the 800 languages she knows (“They’re 10, Clint.” “I CAN BARELY SAY MY NAME IN ENGLISH, TASHA”), and how their lives turned out like this. Clint probably finds Nat mid nightmare, mid panic attack, mid-I’m-still-in-the-Red-Room spiral down that seems never ending, and he’s the only one who’ll hold her and whisper sweet words into her hair, until she’s fallen back asleep in his arms. Natasha jumps in front of danger every single time Clint is in any bad situation that’s about to get worse. They suddenly start merging into a couple and no one really knows what the fuck is going on, those are facts. Barry’s just happy his brother’s got this out of space, which he seems to hate so much. 

Stony

Tony Stark is head of the R&D department and second in command in the USS Justicia. He and Bruce W had never gotten along much (not like he and Bruce B, who’s a sweetheart and owns Tony’s entire heart) but they’re effective enough together that the Federation thought it was a good idea to give them their own goddamn ship. Tony doesn’t complain. Much. There’s not much waiting for him on Earth (his father disowned him, Stark Industries fell to Obadiah Stane after his parent’s untimely death) and Bruce W is a good Captain that keeps their crew in top-shape. He’s not leading any of them into battle, like so many other Captains did nowadays, and Tony revels in the quiet existance that is flying through space in a glorified saucer. He likes his team (picked Barry himself, deeply interested in his thesis) and they discover heart-stopping, amazingly cool stuff every. Single. Day. Tony couldn’t be happier, he really couldn’t. (Some days Bruce W will go to a Federation Post somewhere for meetings and Tony will get to be Captain, that’s the only instance of all of this that made it better.)

Captain Steve Rogers, or former Captain at least, used to be the captain to an important Federation vessel, the USS Valkyrie, that doesn’t exist anymore (unless you count the heap of scrap that was left of it after it was decomissioned). He was never one to follow rules, and while the Federation had given him his dream to see the stars (something he never would have dreamed of in a million years as a sickly kid, who could never even get out of bed some days), there were still some rules and regulations he simply couldn’t agree on. After getting his rank revoked and his crew relocated (except Bucky, of course, who was with him to the end of the line; he couldn’t blame the others, either, they had families to feed) Steve and Bucky are back on Earth, feeling miserable and forlorn. That is, until the Highball docks in San Francisco (illegally, might I add) and Hal Jordan, in all his glory, offers them a spot in his crew of misfits, and the rest is pretty much history. They travel space, they help people the way they always wanted, they kick-ass, take names--Steve would have never thought, at the beginning of his career, that this is where years of training at the Academy would take him. He finds he doesn’t care very much. 

Until the day the Highball hits the fucking USS Justicia. Steve wants to pull out all of his hair because of course it had to be a fucking Federation vessel. Harold steps up as the calm, collected, reasonable adult that he never is, and get everyone on board. Steve thinks “hey, it can’t get much worse!” and then Tony-fucking-Stark walks through the door and he wants to die. 

Steve’s been crushing on Tony since the younger man stepped into the Academy, all those years ago, except he was never really good at expressing his feelings, and no matter how much Bucky tried to get him to ask Stark on a date, all Steve managed, every single time, was get Tony angrier at him and their relationship becoming even rockier. Tony immediately recognizes him and it’s like they’re younger now, back at the Academy, and being enemies (even when Steve wanted anything but that). Tensions are high at the Highball (hah!) and Steve, bless his heart, just wants to fix the USS Justicia as fast as is possible.

Except, you know, Clint and Natasha find a goddamn map to Treasure Planet (Steve never believed it to be a thing) and Hal and Tony can’t stop vibrating in their places, shooting off at the mouth, overexcitedly, about how many things could be in this planet!! Somehow, they all get roped into searching for this planet, and Steve really, really just wants to rest. Somewhere along the way, Tony stops being all fire and brimstone, and in turn, Steve tries to be less of an awkward idiot around him (Barry helps a lot, he really does) and the two form an unlikely friendship. Since Steve is still Captain of the Highball (Hal appointed him; there was a SIGNED CONTRACT in between; Hal could own the ship all he wanted, but he still was Captain) he feels responsible for everyone inside his ship, and the adventure they’re about to undertake is, perhaps, one of the most dangerous. Steve just hopes they’ll make it through it. 

[atravellerstale-meg]

For the prompts, some fahc freewood impromptu wedding vows please? Either way have a wonderful day!

Hey nonny!! I enjoyed writing this so much, and I hope you enjoy it too!

Gavin stepped out of the car, pausing a moment to dust himself off and make sure he had everything before looking up. He could see several of the others rushing about, Michael rigging up some fireworks and Trevor and Alfredo setting up chairs that seemed likely to blow off the mountain given even a gentle breeze, and eventually his eyes landed on Ryan, everything else falling away.

He was stood next to Jeremy and both of them were watching the others, Jeremy with an air of amusement and Ryan one of nervousness. His eyes met Gavin’s, and that frown was replaced with a crooked smile. He looked stunning in his perfectly tailored suit jacket, the little flower in his buttonhole the same red as the kilt he wore and the roses Gavin was carrying.

But Gavin’s eyes were soon drawn to the sling on his right arm. A mission gone wrong just a few days ago, a mission where he himself had been far too close to death, knife only a hair’s width from his throat before Ryan had leapt in. And in the aftermath, the two of them still caught up in the rush of adrenaline and fear, Ryan had pulled out a ring.

Pulling his mind back to the present he tried to return Ryan’s smile, but it must have shown some hint of his thoughts as Ryan’s faltered. Before either of them could do anything the others were swarming around them, pulling them to stand in their positions and neatening them up, muttering little words of encouragement.

Gavin only really tuned in to what was happening when Michael stepped up and took the ring and the crumpled piece of paper from his hands. “I think I’m meant to keep a hold of this,” he said, lifting the former up. “Just for now.”

“Of course,” Gavin said, keeping his voice soft.

“Nervous, boi?”

He let out a long breath, throwing a glance towards Ryan, before saying, “I… no. Not really.”

Michael nodded before pulling him into a half-hug, careful not to crush the flowers between them. “You’re going to be fine, boi.”

He smiled and returned the hug. “Thanks.”

Michael pulled back with a sharp nod and Gavin turned, letting his gaze trail over the horizon for a moment. They were up on top of Mount Chilliad, just as the sun was beginning to set, and the city below looked almost beautiful like this.

As he met Ryan’s gaze again he was struck by how the sun caught his features and brought out the blue in his eyes, eyes which softened as they took in his own face. For a moment, all was still.

Then Geoff stepped up between them, eyes skimming over the both of them and then the audience, who were sat on their rickety chairs in their mix-and-match formal wear. After a moment he lifted the book he was holding, the cover clearly showing a dragon, and held it open before him as he prepared to speak.

“Dearly beloved.” He paused to mutter, “God, it feels weird to call you assholes that,” before quickly continuing, “We are gathered here today to bear witness to the union of Gavin David Free and James Ryan Haywood, two people we hold very dear in our hearts. And though this is neither a legally nor a religiously recognised wedding, since, y’know, we’re rotten criminals who are probably already damned to hell, I think I speak for all of us when I say it is nevertheless a joyous occasion.”

“Geoff, are you tearing up already?” Jack asked from her seat.

“Shut up. Now then, neither of you asked me to prepare any readings and I didn’t really have much time to find anything anyway, so all I’m going to say is that I’m happy for you.” He looked up, meeting Gavin’s gaze. “Gavin, I love you like a son and I am so proud of the person you’ve become.” As Gavin tried to keep his smile from shaking, Geoff turned to Ryan and said, “And Ryan, you may be one creepy dude, but beneath that you’ve got a good heart and I’m glad you became a part of our crew. I wish you both luck on your new adventure together.”

Geoff cleared his throat, letting his gaze drop back down to the book, and Gavin tried to steady himself. He noticed a shimmer in Ryan’s eyes and felt himself relax. He wasn’t alone in this.

“Now,” Geoff said a moment later, “according to all the soap operas I watched to prepare for this moment, I’m supposed to ask if anyone has any objections to the wedding?” Gavin expected one of the others to speak up as a joke, but to his surprise there was only silence. Geoff nodded and continued, “In that case, Ryan. Do you take this man to be your unlawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish until your untimely end?”

Gavin winced at the words, eyes falling to the sling again, but Ryan’s voice was calm as he said, “I do.”

“And Gavin,” he blinked and forced his gaze back to Geoff’s, “do you take Ryan to be your unlawfully wedded husband, and to love and cherish him as long as you both shall live?”

The words came easily. “I do.”

“Then it’s time for the vows. Ryan, you can go first. Try not to flub.”

Ryan chuckled, drawing Gavin’s attention to him once more. The sun had set further now, casting bright colours and deeper shadows over him. He met Gavin’s gaze, smile replaced with something soft and awed, before slowly and carefully saying, “Gavin. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said? You are a fascinating, entertaining, and lovely individual. In the past few years I have fallen in love with you in many different ways. We have a long path ahead and it may not be easy, but I swear to stand by your side wherever it leads. For now, let this moment be our sunrise. Our new beginning.”

Gavin was struck silent by his words. He knew it was his turn to speak, but the words he’d been preparing since the proposal, the words he’d tried to memorise, reading and rereading even during the journey up the mountain, had deserted him. All he could think about was just how much he adored the man before him, but he couldn’t even find the words to express that.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to try and concentrate, and though he still couldn’t find the vows he’d written he at least felt more able to speak now.

“Ryan… from the moment I first met you, I was enraptured. As time went on and I learned more about you, those feelings only deepened, but so did my fear. I’ve never exactly been the best at admitting my feelings. But here and now, I don’t feel afraid. It’s become so easy to tell you that I love you. And I’m so thankful for- for everything. Most of all…” He let his eyes open again. Though they caught on the sling, he made sure to hold Ryan’s gaze, taking in everything about him as he said, “I’m thankful that you’re here, with me, right now. I look forward to what our future holds, my love.”

Ryan’s smile was trembling. Gavin tried to smile back, but there was a lump rising in his throat and he couldn’t be sure how it looked.

“Now,” Geoff said, a definite shake in his voice, “uh, who has the rings?”

Gavin turned towards Michael, using the opportunity to press his hands to his face and take deep breaths. Michael was beaming at him, tears openly streaming down his cheeks, and as he pressed the ring into Gavin’s hand he muttered, “Fucking beautiful, boi.”

“Thanks.”

He cleared his throat and turned back, hoping his face wasn’t too red. Ryan turned back a moment later, running a thumb under his eyes.

For a moment they waited, then when Geoff didn’t say anything further they both reached out, fingers bumping together. A giggle burst out of Gavin and he heard Ryan chuckle again, the sound soothing him.

They soon managed to coordinate themselves, Ryan first slipping a simple gold band onto Gavin’s finger.

“This belonged to my grandmother,” he said quietly. “She would have loved you.”

Gavin took a moment to admire it, spinning it around his finger as he tried to think of what to say. Eventually he just gave Ryan his ring, which was decorated with twinkling sapphires.

“It reminded me of your eyes.”

A faint blush dusted Ryan’s cheeks before his eyes cut to Geoff. “Can I kiss him yet?”

He heard Geoff laugh and say, “By the power vested in me by this crew, I pronounce you husband and husband! You may now-”

Ryan’s lips collided with his, distracting him from whatever else Geoff was saying, and he couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face as he threw his arms around Ryan’s neck. He heard the others laughing, a few people crying, and a moment later there were fireworks going off overhead. Gavin pulled away, opening his eyes to find the sun had set. He joined the others in their celebrations with a wide smile, never straying far from his new husband’s side.

[ayearofpike]

Remember Me 2: The Return

Pocket Books, 1994 210 pages, 16 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-87265-6 LOC: unknown (catalog down as I wrote this) OCLC: 30986560 Released September 1, 1994 (per B&N)

Shari Cooper, having passed into the light after her untimely death, is learning to be one with the universe and accept it with love and grace. It makes her a perfect candidate to return to the realm of the living — only she’s not going to have such an easy, pampered life. Rather, she’ll have to take on the life and struggles of a downtrodden minority who has given up, and work to improve the lot of everyone in her circle.

So here’s the one that Pike said he should have refused, that the publisher talked him into a sequel but in retrospect it damaged the story. But ... I don’t hate it? I know, that last entry was super vitriolic and angry about sequels and Pike’s slide into essentially irrelevance. Still, I was surprised that this book is not totally horrible — save one major racial problem that we’ll get to.

One thing that definitely annoys me about this book: the new die-cut covers. When I picked this one up at the store, I thought it was the awesomest thing: extra-spooky typeface that shows the art THROUGH it rather than just a generic script along the margins? But then I got the next one and stuck it on the bookshelf by this one, and the back cover caught the fingers of the E and PFFFTT. It took them a couple years to catch on and just print it, which, while a kludge, is preferable to the six or however many torn ones I have.

But narrative-construction-wise (as opposed to physical-construction-wise) the book actually holds up. Pike alternates between the first-person consciousness of Shari and the third-person observation of Jean Rodrigues, a poor and unmotivated but hot Latina living in the projects in Los Angeles. It’s not really a spoiler to say that Shari ends up taking over Jean’s body, and the realization marks a nice in-time shift in descriptive perspective as she suddenly understands that “she” is “I.”

So how the hell am I going to summarize this, considering the construction and flipping between astral plane and physical realm is what makes this book work? I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, and read it if you want. I’m going to punch through the world beyond the light first and then come back to Jean, even though it’s her who opens the novel.

We know Shari’s dead, and we know she planned to go into the light at the close of events of the last novel. Our first encounter with her here has her talking with a more-enlightened being, who acts as a teacher and a guide to help Shari understand that the love she gave and the services she rendered are the more important elements of her life, beyond the expensive house and the indulgent parents and the fucking Ferrari. As she starts to get it, he suggests that she should become a Wanderer — a soul that takes over a living body rather than being reborn from the beginning and works to make things better. She’s interested, but she also wants to talk to Peter before she goes back.

Yeah, remember Peter? Well, I never said his name in the first summary —  the spirit guide who loved her in life. He was able to get through too. He overcame his fear that he wasn’t good enough, and now he’s on the eternal plane with Shari. They construct the prom that they never went to, but just before they can get it on in the hotel room afterwards Peter lets his body get ripped open by the alien xenomorph that he decides to turn into as a joke. I have to admit it’s funny, but it highlights what Peter might still be afraid of: love, intimacy, getting too close, not being good enough still. So instead of boning, they explore the stars, and there’s some metaphysical shit about a black hole and how everything is interconnected that makes Shari realize she’s ready to be alive again and start making a difference.

Of course Peter wants to go too, but the fact that he killed himself is going to be an obstacle. These fears that he can’t quite release, and the circumstances of his death, mean that he’ll be resurrected into a body that is less than whole. Peter’s willing to take the hit, and the teacher accepts because he senses Peter’s love is pure. Also, the teacher lets them know that they’ll need some kind of a shock to the system in order to remember what they know about the cosmos, but even if they don’t they’ll still know they have some kind of higher purpose.

So now I’ve gotta jump all the way back to the beginning and talk about Jean. We get more male-gazey description of this hot brown mamacita, but I wasn’t quite as grossed out this time because her looks are the only thing Jean likes about herself. She’s down on her prospects, down on school, down on her family and what her life might turn into — because she’s pregnant with her boyfriend’s kid at 18. And tonight is his birthday party, and she’s going to tell him.

The birthday boy is Lenny Mandez, a gang dropout who finished high school at 20 and is trying to get clean but still has too many connections. He lives in a ramshackle house on a hill surrounded by oil wells, dirty but good enough to get wasted at. And I don’t really like the fact that the first time we have a whole cast of Latinxs they’re gang-bangers and dopeheads and dropouts — but the picture is real. I had plenty of friends and coworkers as a young food service employee in the Southwest who felt like this was their ceiling, this was all they could get, this was all they should aspire to. Which is part of why this story starts to piss me off later, but we’ll get to that.

So Jean tells Lenny about the baby, he’s less than thrilled, but then there’s a meeting. Kind of parallel to what happened in the first book, only with fewer people. It seems that a friend just got gunned down in a drive-by, and his girl wants revenge. She and Lenny are planning everything out, Jean’s best friend (who is a lesbian but again, don’t be squicked out, kids in 1994, because she totally doesn’t hit on Jean or anything!) doesn’t want to get involved, and Jean really doesn’t want them to pursue this. Why do they drive themselves down, Jean asks? Why can’t they aspire to anything better? Nobody’s hearing it, so she goes out on the balcony (because, sure, there’s a balcony in a two-bedroom house in the projects) to pray for help and understanding.

And the thing collapses out from under her.

She wakes up in the hospital three days later, with a concussion and several broken bones. Her mom is there and just breaks down out of happiness, because there was no sign that she would ever wake up until just a little bit before she did. She had a miscarriage too, which ... is sort of glossed over and forgotten quickly. But Lenny was on the balcony too, and he broke his back, severed the spinal cord and will probably never walk again, and now he just wants to die.

See, maybe I gave away too much too soon by breaking the story down the way I did.

But anyway, Jean suddenly feels less selfish and more giving, and she wants to help. She starts volunteering in the hospital as soon as she’s well enough, and has crazy ideas for stories about aliens and monsters and things. (Because evidently the best way to give your family and community a leg up is to become a horror and sci-fi writer. Getting less and less sly as we go along, Pike.) One of her patients (who is dying of leukemia, because everything old is new again) actually inspires her first short story, a tale of a successful writer whose muse wants in on the action and starts blackmailing her, which includes this frustrating little nugget.

But Jean isn’t satisfied just being her new self. Something is drawing her away from the hood and out to the rich developments. She takes a bus to Huntington Beach and walks with no goal in mind until she finds a bloodstain on the concrete by a condo. The property manager assumes she’s a friend of the poor girl who fell to her death the previous year and helps her find the family house, which of course she goes straight to and finds Shari’s brother moving out. She gets him to let her help in exchange for a ride home, and after reading the short story at the grave of her patient she feels compelled to go see him right away.

He lets her in and they immediately start talking about the dead sister. They’re both unnerved, but they keep going because something compels them. In fact, the brother reveals that he has a file on his computer that he’s never shared with anyone — a story written while he was sleepwalking that tells about his sister’s death and the events around it. Jean starts reading it, but she doesn’t have to finish because of course she wrote it. She is Shari. Shari is her. Shari has taken over Jean’s body in light of her prayer for help.

And this right here is where I get pissed. Like, Pike has constructed the realistically untenable situation of undereducated Latinxs in America. He’s written it with ... well, if not tenderness and understanding, then at least care and consideration. And he’s got a protagonist who wants to help her family and her community rise up and get out of the problematic cycle. BUT THEN. As soon as Jean Rodrigues realizes she’s Shari Cooper, the whole fuckin’ community goes out the window and Shari takes over and wants to try to reconstruct her old life. I mean, yeah, she gives some lip service to where she came from, but right away she’s like, yeah, let’s see my birth mom, let’s get my old best friend in here, let’s find the detective who cracked the case. 

More than that: we’re getting a white savior story. Yes, this was many years before we understood the problems endemic to this trope, but still, that’s what it is. It requires the soul of a white girl going into the body of a Latina for her to want to start improving herself and her situation. It didn’t bother me then, because hey actual brown people in YA lit, take what I can get. But now? It bugs the fuckin’ shit out of me.

But Shari/Jean does actually still care about Lenny. Knowing she’s Shari, she’s surprised by the depth of feeling she has for him. (I mean, we’re not, because I gave away the reveal already.) What’s more, she still wants him to live a meaningful life beyond vengeance. Word is he’s gotten out of the hospital and out of rehab, and is mobile in a wheelchair, and is tracking down a gun. Shari/Jean knows what that means, and she goes to collect him and get him out of the projects to meet her new/old brother. 

Lenny is surprisingly amenable to going with her — but only because it’s Jean that he’s going after the whole time, and now he’ll have ample opportunity to kill her away from where people know her and will suspect. See, he knows that he used protection every time they had sex, so he knows he can’t be the father of the (now-non) baby, and so she must have cheated on him. In fact, he figured it was his best friend, based on their prior relationship, and so he got the dude into the rival turf so that he’d be a target. And now he’s going to end Jean, who doesn’t love him and never did, and save a bullet for himself.

Lenny doesn’t see the parallels to the end of Peter’s life, because he never reads. (He says so himself.) But Shari/Jean does. She does her best to try to talk him out of his actions, but still ends up hanging from another goddamn balcony as he shoots at her fingers. It’s only as she’s slipping away, millimeters from death, that Peter wakes up and realizes who he is.

It’s too late to grab her hand, and Shari/Jean falls. Lucky for her, there’s a pool under this balcony, and she lands in the deep end. (Her best friend makes a joke out of it, actually, which did get a chuckle from me.) And then, just as everybody knows who they are and where they’re from and what they’re supposed to do: we get another goddamn “to be continued.”

I really don’t like ongoing sagas. Not sure what it is, but I have increasingly lost patience with them as I get older. (I think this is part of why I had such an angry reaction to The Last Vampire.) So the idea that I have to wait for another book to get the rest of the story bugs me, even though a) I have it on the shelf and don’t technically have to wait and b) this resurrection story hangs together OK. As I recall, the “white savior” and “forgetting where you come from” elements are even worse in the third book — as in, I’ll stop calling her Jean or even Shari/Jean, because she’s just Shari. Still, this one wasn’t as painful as I expected it to be, especially reading it for the first time in, I don’t know, 20 years after so many Pike Facebook posts regretting it.

[nevillelongsbottom]

doorframes: an “it” au there’s a small town in rural america that sits in the middle of wandering dry green bushes, with yawning old houses snatched straight from the 1980s; rolf’s been here for months, already, in the middle of some photography project that marries nicely with his gap year, and he’s just finished developing some particularly interesting black and white prints when he hears the rumble of the only bus that serves town.

“charlie,” he breathes, setting down a landscape of the sign that serves town, taken sprawled out on the roof of his subaru; he grabs his boots, tying the laces using an easy-tie method that takes him just seconds, and dashes for the door, flinging it open. 

his eyes light up with surprise: he’d only been expecting charlie, just as much a globetrotter as he is, but standing behind him, awkwardly clinging white-knuckled to his suitcase, is neville; it’s been a long time since rolf last saw neville, far too long, and he looks different - he’s not quite as happily chubby, a little thinner, more drawn, english pale; but travelling is always a weary thing, and so rolf leaves it by, placing his arms up around neville and squeezing him. “hey,” he says warmly, “it’s been a while.”

“yeah,” neville says into rolf’s shoulder; it smells the way that rolf does, sharp and tangy but earthy, like he’s been rolling around in mud somewhere (and god knows, he probably has). “i wanted to see you, and since charlie was coming, well...” 

“i’m glad you’re here,” rolf nods, leading neville through the door and into his house - well, it’s more of a shack, really: he took up an old abandoned house and only converted a few of the rooms into living spaces, leaving rooms full of sprawling ivy and branches and wildcats scattering across the floor. “i’m so sorry, neville; i’m sure charlie will recognise this mess, but i’m aware this looks slightly like i’m living in squalor...”

“you are living in squalor,” charlie reminds him with a beaming smile, laughing and elbowing rolf. “travelling entails squalor, unless you’re rich and or glamping.” 

“i don’t get glamping,” rolf complains, “it really defeats the purpose of camping in the first place; it’s meant to be a raw, beaten, outdoor experience without the usual luxuries...” he goes on for longer than neville listens; he’s not so bothered by the mess and inhabitable rooms, but he feels far away from the world that charlie and rolf live in: he feels like he’s been jerked unknowingly from his body, and is watching from above. it reminds him of puberty; it’s so close he still remembers the feeling, but he’s not sure why it’s back, returning in a crashing wave.

“neville,” charlie says, starting neville as he places a hand on the younger’s arm. “you okay?” 

“uh-huh,” neville says. “sorry. i was miles away,” and he leans into charlie, feeling the rise and fall of his chest; charlie breathes like he means it, deep from his stomach. neville doesn’t think he’ll ever do anything as well as charlie just breathes, and he bunches his hand in the cotton of charlie’s shirt. “it was a long flight.”

“yeah, it was.” charlie musses neville’s hair affectionately. “rolf, baby, is there a takeaway round here? we could get some food and get neville somewhere to sleep.” 

“pizza place round the corner,” rolf nods, grabbing his wallet out of his jacket pocket; it’s barely even a jacket, a thin sports jacket that’s more for aesthetic than anything else. “i've got a darkroom through that door over there, nev, so can you stay out of it?” neville nods. “thanks. we’ll be back in a bit.”

“okay,” neville says, and he watches them leave hand-in-hand, masking his smile; he loves them both and finds them sweet as sugar. 

when the door shuts, he decides to have a cursory look-round: it’s a two-floor house, but there are stairs missing and they creak with nobody stepping on them, and so neville avoids the dusty spiral; he runs his hands along the walls - there’s peeling wallpapers in the inhospitable rooms, but rolf has ripped them off in the four rooms he occupies and painted them a friendly golden yellow instead: but he’s rolf, and so hasn’t done it particularly brilliantly, with spots missed and some painted messily, signs of humanity - though without rolf, it’s strange and empty. 

neville settles himself on the mattress in rolf’s bedroom; there’s another one stacked up against the wall, for him and charlie. it’s a little small, but neville doesn’t mind, and he curls up on rolf’s mattress with a soft sigh, stomach growling.

he starts as he hears a clattering from the kitchen; he shoots up from the bed and edges through, feeling his chest constrict as he walks, hand on the wall like a lifeline, brushing the paint. “hello?” he calls weakly. “rolf? charlie?”

silence. the stairs groan dying breaths.

he keeps on walking, each footfall agonising, the result only of stupid bravery - fuck, he’d never walk if he wasn’t such an idiot, but he pushes forward, trying to ignore the feeling of whispering around him, the feeling of eyes piercing right through them, or looking right into him. it’s probably a cat, or something, he reckons with himself. his heart is hammering so hard it hurts; he wants charlie back. 

“hey, neville, wanna play?” 

oh, fuck. 

draco malfoy is sneering at him in the doorway to an empty room; but he’s not draco, he’s contorted, twisted in the way that neville always sees him in his mind’s eye - tall and lanky with black eyes, an other mother version of him, leering, his teeth there and then razor sharp and then gone in untimely flickers that chill neville through to the bone, that loosen his bladder and slam him against the wall. he wants to scream. he doesn’t. he wants to scream. he wants to scream, he is terrified, his trouser leg is wet with his own piss and-

“you’re so pathetic, longbottom. what a fucking loser, piss poor and so fucking fat; like a cow!” the draco-creature crows in a voice that sounds like gravel and screeching and children crying, and neville flattens himself to the wall, his face losing its colour; he thinks he might leave his body, paralysed, rigid. fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s so scared, watching as draco’s head spins and rotates, growing redder and redder and his smile widening with blood that drips from either end, glaswegian, as draco’s face smears itself with white paint, encroaching on neville finally as a clown, so tall and huge he feels tiny in comparison as it leans in. “piss pants longbottom! piss pants longbottom! age eighteen and you can’t even control yourself! you’re a weak boy, aren’t you? are you scared? are you scared?” 

yes, neville is scared; because he’s taken a plane halfway across the globe and he’s never alone, clowns over his shoulder at every avenue, and no matter where he goes, it’s there, waiting: and with a final burst of energy, he sprints outside with a bellowing scream, the clown hot on his heels as it smashes through rolf’s sitting room, dispelling itself as neville flings himself through the front door and tumbles down the steps of the porch, slamming into the concrete ground with some force, his nose bursting with sticky red blood. 

“go on and pee yourself again,” the voice cackles right in neville’s ear and he just screams, flinging himself into a ball, arms pulled tight over his head and face, muscles pulled taut, his mind only producing one sentence over and over like a frantically broken record:

i am afraid

he almost doesn’t notice when charlie and rolf arrive, dropping the pizzas to the ground to wrap arms around him and stroke through his hair. “neville,” charlie says softly, “neville, i’m right here, okay, love?”

“what happened?” rolf demands - but not harshly, with desperation, thrown, confused. “are you okay? oh, god, nev...” 

neville slowly withdraws his head from his arms, the lower half of his face beginning to crack with drying blood; rolf’s eyes widen, and charlie looks at him with the kind of sympathy neville doesn’t need: it’s the sympathy of someone who believes he’s going slowly insane, and though charlie loves him through it anyway, he just wants someone to believe. 

“is it happening again?” charlie asks, his fingers grazing the back of neville’s hair. 

“everywhere,” neville whispers, “it’s everywhere.” 

it takes a fair amount of coaxing to return him to rolf’s house; he’s wrapped with a blanket and placed on the spare mattress after taking a bath to wash the urine from his legs. rolf tidies his room, and takes a moment of silence in his darkroom, running a hand through his hair and sighing softly, perplexed. 

he glances through his developed photographs, pausing for a moment; he doesn’t recognise one in the center of the pile, one of his own house just post his own moving in because it’s surprisingly neat on the inside, and the outside of the house still littered with removed furniture; but on the inside of the house is a figure that he doesn’t recognise, and upon closer inspection, he spies red on the person’s face, hidden in the shadow of the doorway. 

he tucks the photograph away, and, with a slight shudder, returns through to neville; when neville looks up, he understands the expression, and they join their hands slowly, fingers winding together. 

“yeah?” neville implores.

“yeah,” rolf replies, and sits down slowly. 

[thepsychicclam]

Hi love! What would you say the top ten sterek fics you've ever read are?

This was REALLY HARD. Mainly bc it’s hard to choose only 10. Because I’m leaving off some great fics (which is why there are more than 10 on here :3)! And some I get mixed up bc I read them so long ago and near each other. (You can always browse my fave fic list here) But I’ve narrowed it to this list. These are the fics that really left impressions on me. They’re all amazing and deserve to be read and loved!!! So…have a TOP 27 FAVE STEREK FICS list :DDDD

1. Cry Havoc by ladyblahblah

In Beacon Hills, the two-year war that’s been raging between werewolves and hunters has begun spilling over onto the civilian population. Meanwhile, in Boston, when the tattoo on Stiles Stilinski’s back is damaged on a late-night hunt he begins to have dreams that lead him across the country, drawn by an inexplicable conviction that he’s needed there. When he discovers that Derek Hale began the war after his mate was killed, Stiles finds himself being offered a strange deal: figure out how to bring the alpha’s mate back, and peace talks can begin.

2. Where the Inevitable Isn’t by Survivah

Stiles has a magical thingamajig that’s supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn’t in the same universe anymore.

“A part of Stiles had been thinking that he’d come home, and just go, ‘hey, Derek, are we mates and you just haven’t said anything about it?’ and Derek would reply, 'now you mention it, we are indeed! Now come to my bedchamber, where we will have super hot sex and then cuddle after!’”

3. Pack Up; Don’t Stray by the_deep_magic

AU – Werewolves are an enslaved underclass, collared and tagged by human masters. Detective Stilinski’s on duty the night they bring in an untagged stray.

4. Our Memories Are Numbered by rufflefeather

Stiles’ Jeep grinds to a halt, he sees someone running through the rain, he’s not expecting it to be Derek. He’s not expecting a Derek without any memories either, or an Alpha pack that’s coming for all of them. He probably should’ve, because lately nothing goes the way he expects.

5. Ad Astra Per Tentaculum by morganoconner

Space contains a multitude of different species, and Derek has seen and helped a lot of them in his time taking down branches of the slave-trade organization. But this is the first time he’s seen an Aloshrivnik. It’s not the tentacles that draw him in; it’s the goddamn eyes that stare at him without backing down.

“Stiles,” it says to him. “My name is Stiles.”

6. Part of My Melody by hayesgeneration

Derek is a professional classical musician who has found himself lost without a muse, without goal and without even a hint of spark. He’s almost settled nearly contently (if not slightly unwillingly) on having to live his life as a recluse, when his sister finally grows tired of his antics, giving him a Christmas ultimatum.

7. Littlest Alpha by triedunture

Derek and Stiles have taken out the Alpha Pack and pretty much saved the world. Okay, the town. Okay, their remaining friends. But the Alphas left something behind: a baby. And this baby is an Alpha too. Derek is determined to take care of the abandoned child, and Stiles is stuck going along for the ride.

But Stiles doesn’t expect the ride to include seeing another side of Derek, or to find another way to say “family.”

8. Holding Your Own Weight by zjofierose

Stiles Stilinski is the best trapeze artist west of the Mississippi, but that doesn’t do him much good without a catcher. Enter one quiet roughneck who calls himself Derek and knows maybe a little too much about circus arts for someone who was hired to schlep tents. But Derek has his secrets, and so does the new girl, Allison. Who’s being hunted and who’s being haunted, and will Stiles ever be able to convince Derek to help him fly again?

9. And You Say You’re Alone by taelynhawker

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter’s untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

10. DILF by twentysomething

“Today is Scott’s first day of kindergarten and Derek is terrified.”

Okay - so here are some other favorites that I COULDN’T LEAVE OFF because they’re also my faves I just have more than 10???

11. Make us laugh (or nothing will) by rohkeutta

When Derek Hale left Beacon Hills at 18 to become a kickboxing champion, he thought he would never return. But here he is, seven years later: trying to salvage something from the ruins of his life, eighteen months after the house fire that killed his parents and left him limping and without a future. Enter Stiles, a college dropout Derek might or might not have been friends with in high school, and the unexpected interest he manifests towards the love of Derek’s life. 

12. Caged Humanity by ember

The other factors sounded like complete bullshit. Like about Companions having certain dispositions for submission, and a personality built around wanting to please. Fuck that, Stiles was a strong independent man who didn’t need no wolf. Submitting was straight up taught in classes. Don’t talk back, try to reason not argue, never run away when your Mate was in heat. Mate? More like owner. There was a reason Companions were called pets. God Stiles hated it all, the hypocrisy. It was an honor? More like a life sentence.

An AU where werewolves are given humans as pets called Companions, and a very begrudging Stiles is taken in by Derek Hale, much to both their displeasure. And then pleasure. Very, very sexual pleasure.

13. Ain’t Nothing So Good  as the Cake and Eating it by sofonisba_found

Derek thinks he’s doing alright in life, with his family at his side and a job he loves. Despite his family’s concerns he remains adamant that he doesn’t need a mate, afraid to take the risk of letting anyone close enough to try to hurt his family again. That is until he realizes that his true mate has been right under his nose for years, and that now through his inaction he may lose him.

14. The Boy and the Beast by dsudis

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

15. The Moon’s Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific

Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.

He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.

Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.

He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.

And then he leaves.

16. Sell Your Body to the Night by dsudis

“No,” he repeated impatiently. “I’m not a cop. I’m someone who wants to exchange my money for your sexual services. I was told you were in that line of work.”

“I, uh, yeah, sorry,” Stiles said. He glanced around again and then up–the full moon was almost directly overhead. Just one of those nights, maybe. “Yeah, I am. I do that.”

17. Constantly on the Cusp by alisvolatpropiis

Stiles is gay, out and proud, and a Beacon Hills deputy. Derek is a firefighter and war veteran who thinks he’s straight; or, Derek and Stiles have lots of semi-public hatesex on the road to Love.

18. Now as Ever (All That Is and Has Been) by venis_envy

Stiles can’t remember what happened to rearrange the time-space continuum, or how he ended up being pulled into the past. All he knows is that he’s there now, in 2003 Beacon Hills, with a teenage werewolf and a possibly-crazy veterinarian as his only allies.

19. Important Things by suzvoy

Stiles learns that even with werewolves, giant lizards and psychopathic hunters on the loose, life can still find other ways to screw with you. Case in point: everyone keeps assuming he and Derek are a couple. What the hell?

20. According to Plans by eldee

Five times Stiles and Derek pretend to be boyfriends, and the one time they didn’t have to pretend at all. (Or: in which Stiles’ plan for senior year is completely ruined by a supernatural creature stalking him.)

21. The Road to Self-Actualization is Littered with F-Bombs by blue_fjords

It’s Stiles’s final Spring Break of his college career, and he’s got plans to do a whole lot of nothing. But Derek has other plans for him, and before he knows it, Stiles is joining Derek to go undercover at a couples’ retreat in a bid to catch a ring of thieves. It’s the world’s most perfect plan! Nothing could possibly go wrong!

22. In This Twilight How Dare You Speak of Grace by secondstar

Zombies. Stiles always knew the world would end this way.

23. Time to Begin by triedunture

Stiles learns some heavy-duty magic, and Derek convinces him to send him back in time to fix all the mistakes he’s made. But Derek ends up making things worse, and Stiles has to think creatively to save him. And everyone else, including their younger selves.

24. Losers by stilinskisparkles

Where Derek is new to college, eager to spend his time learning, and Stiles is everything he didn’t want in a room mate. He’s loud, he’s into sports, and he keeps trying to make Derek do things.

Or, the one where Derek falls for a jock, Erica will cut you if you disturb her studying, and Jackson is a closeted romantic who pretends to hate everything.

25. That Unfortunate Situation by 74days

Derek Hale, 3rd Duke of that name has an unfortunate run in with the young Baron of Stiles - accusing the young man of being a fortune hunter. Regency Romance meets Sterek.

26. Reach Out by weathervaanes

Or, In Which Stiles Falls in Love Twice…With the Same Person

-0-

Stiles sees the flyer on his very last day at Beacon Hills High School. It’s hanging, unassuming, in the hall near the front entrance along with bulletins and other flyers, advertisements, posters for free student concerts, but the fact that the word “sex” is written in a font two times larger than the rest of the page catches his attention.

It’s an advice hotline for a whole range of things, from teenage angst to how to deal with your parents telling you you’re adopted and a whole mess in the middle. Stiles thinks it’s funny, though, that they offer advice on sexuality and sex education. It makes sense on the one hand, since high school sex ed does jack shit for actual learning, but anyone who really wants to know stuff has an infinite source of knowledge right on their phone—the internet.

So it starts off as a joke.

27. Between Men and Lions by standinginanicedress

“I thought we could be friends,” Derek offers, to which Stiles gets an odd smile on his face.

“Friends,” he repeats, an odd inflection.

“Yes, friends.”

Stiles laughs, just barely. It’s more of an exhalation of breath than it is genuine mirth or anything else, and then he smiles. “I’m pretty good at friends,” he says with a tilt to his head, and Derek clears his throat and has to look away.

[allthereclists]

mark for later ao3

i could live by the light in your eyes by wagamiller (Alex Knightley/Emma Woodhouse)

Kissing him feels like the exclamation point on every conversation they’ve ever had.

Any Way I Do by MissJeeves (Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov)

Tony discovers Clint and Natasha got married, reacts typically.

At least I don't like this idiot by Theravenqueen (Simon Lewis/Jace Lightwood)

Simon didn’t even need to look at his phone to know who was calling. “Fuck off Jace, I’m trying to sleep.”

Simon could almost hear the eyeroll coming from the other end of the line, and by the end of the conversation the smirk that was surely on Jace’s face.

Who the fuck plays Jenga at a bar

We understand each other by spockside (Pepper Potts/Tony Stark)

Some of the team don't think Tony treats Pepper very well. They don't get why Pepper puts up with him, until she's trapped in a building with some dangerous people and Tony takes action.

i could never count all the ways by shafferthefirst (Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons)

Jemma thinks Fitz is the best lab partner in the world. Fitz begs to differ.

Ten Maybes and a Prayer by SilviaKundera (Rory Gilmore/Logan Huntzberger)

"Because maybe, a little, you kind of want to save her."

At the Beginning With You by flyicarus (Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus)

In which Chirrut and Baze are young Guardians on Jedha, and when Jedi come to the Temple of the Kyber and take notice of Chirrut, Baze has to both confront and admit her feelings, with surprising results.

i am hopelessly a lover by emmaofmisthaven (Benvolio Montague/Rosaline)

For a moment, she pictures herself pulling him to her by his shirt, begging him to stay safe at her side. The thought disappears at soon as it appears, leaving her frowning and confused.

Achilles/Patroclus

Recognition by captainskellington 8,456

Patroclus didn’t need to ask who “he” was, he knew full well. He’d been living for this day for eight years now, some twisted cocktail of hope and dread seeping through his body every time he thought of it, which was often. He was back. He was back.

as the poets say by jinkandtherebels

I am missing half of my soul.

with my childhood's faith by Cordelia

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Sing Your Hymns Like Angels In Defeat by leonidaslion

And Lucifer Fell for a second time with the burning brilliance of a star. The Flare shone in his wake, and darkness fell upon the land ...

The Psychology of Genetic Sexual Attraction by sonofabiscuit77 48,529 

“…50% of of reunions between siblings, or parents and offspring, separated at birth result in obsessive emotions...”

This story begins in 2001 in a garage in Palo Alto when 18-year old Stanford student, Sam Sharma plucks up the courage to ask car mechanic, Dean Cooper, out for a cup of coffee. Their attraction is instantaneous and overwhelming, and the relationship that develops seems perfect. Except nothing is really perfect, and this particular love story started a long time before Sam and Dean even met.

Harry Hart/Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin

The Green by Ataraxetta

There's a very long moment of profound silence, and then Eggsy punches Harry right in his smug fucking face.

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Choice by Omni

(Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

Now The Walls Line The Bullet Holes by HenryMercury

Derek’s looking at him with an uncomfortable sort of reverence—keeping his distance, keeping silent—and that’s the final straw. Stiles has been holding it together pretty well, he thinks, what with Peter’s bite and almost dying and suddenly gaining new psychic powers—but he has no idea how he’s supposed to come to grips with a world in which Derek Hale is afraid of Stiles Stilinski.

Teenage Dream by matildajones

After an accident, Stiles wakes up to what can only be a dream. He has money, he has fame, he has award winning actor Derek Hale as his husband. It quickly seems more and more like a nightmare because Stiles doesn't remember getting any of it - and it's hard to accept the reality that Derek can still love him.

Play Crack the Sky by WeAreTheCyclones

Excerpt from “Hale Pulls the Plug on the Future of Rock,” Rolling Stone, Issue 1203 – Oct. 2014 “Fans and music industry vets alike are left reeling in the wake of bassist Derek Hale’s sudden departure from Smokes for Harris. At a time when the foursome from Beacon Hills, California seems to be on the cusp of rock superstardom after just one double platinum record, Smokes has everything to lose.”

Best in Show by thegirlgrey

Derek adopts a cat. Or a cat adopts Derek. It all depends on who’s telling the story really.

Murder, He Wrote by mklutz

And that was how Stiles accidentally became a New York Times bestselling author.

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death.

The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was.

So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

Read My Mind by sunnydalewerewolf

the one in which Derek is a mind-reading werewolf, and Stiles likes to spend his morning commute fantasizing about the ridiculously attractive guy sitting across from him.

And You Say You're Alone by taelynhawker

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

Can't Take the Heat? by Ilovesocks_24

Or the one where Stiles is a new sous chef at Full Moon Steakhouse and Derek is the Gordon Ramsay of all head chefs. So of course they fall in love.

and home will feel like home again by eversincewefellapart

Derek had slipped the ring onto Stiles’ finger five years ago, when Stiles was still asleep, and had then watched the boy snore softly and peaceful, knowing that as soon as he’d wake he’d scrub his eyes, notice the ring and be anything but peaceful for days to come. It was possibly a bit stuck-up of Derek to think Stiles would accept, no doubt, but he had, in the end, snot-nosed and flushed-faced, warm hands buried in Derek’s hair, kissing him over and over, between his frantic, confused words.

You Can Hear It In the Silence by Mimiminaj

Stiles focused on Derek’s face long enough to see a flicker of regret flash across it. Good. Serves him right for throwing him against a brick wall.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

I've Got This Friend by pollitt

This, Derek realizes, is his life.

Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski

A Place to Belong by blacktofade

Stiles doesn’t know what to expect after they complete the ritual, after his father’s checked over at the hospital and released a few hours later, after Stiles is back at home, sitting on the end of his bed with a heaviness in his chest that’s never been there before.

Only Fools Rush In by daunt, rosewindow

“Pros to taking Stiles to the Werewolf Wedding: One, I’m non-supernatural, but I know about supernatural things. Two, I own a suit. Three, I look good in said suit."

Scott and Stiles attend a werewolf gathering and think they can totally play at being boyfriends, no problem. But Scott already has a bit of a crush on his best friend, and lets his protectiveness get the better of him, putting them in a tough situation.

A Phenomenon When You Came Along by Loz

Stiles and Scott embark on a road trip together. This isn't a metaphor (except for how it is.)

Love You So Hard by tryslora

Stiles is gonna be the best fake boyfriend ever, and Scott's not sure he'll survive the experience.

Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Thaw by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)

Emma's still having a problem balancing "being the Savior" and "enjoying the moments." Good thing she picked a partner who'll let her find her footing.

a one time thing (and other untruths) by weezly14 

"She supposes the reason she tells him is the same reason she kept his phone number after all those weeks." Pregnancy has a way of throwing a wrench in one's plans.

Someone Like You by seastarved

But what happens after the end of the story? What happens when the heroes lose and the villains win and nobody at all is happy? Perhaps you write a new ending. Perhaps the story goes on.

i'm having a hard time (i'm making you do the hard time too) by Sylv 

[Princess Emma is widely known for being beautiful and intelligent and remarkably good at getting what she wants. When a young lieutenant visits the castle, she decides she wants him.]

a breakfast for kings by captainkillianhjones 

eating in the same diner every morning and the waitress ALWAYS mixes up our orders so why don't we just sit at the same table to save her the trouble

I Almost Do by ihearttvsnark

Emma and Henry say goodbye to their friends and family and escape Storybrooke as Regina's magic defeats Pan's curse and sends everyone back to the Enchanted Forest. Or at least that was what was supposed to happen, but when Emma wakes up the next morning, she discovers that something went very wrong with the plan.

Every Day I Write The Book by msgenevieve

"I’m in the book now." To say that a lot has happened tonight is something of an understatement, but Emma is determined to make it all fit together on the same page. (Post-322. The title is stolen from the amazing Elvis Costello and one of the best songs ever written.)

Five Times Emma Kisses Killian and One Time She Does Something Else by jncar

Emma and Killian share a series of romantic moments in the midst of the struggle to defeat the witch. Season 3B speculation with a bunch of making out.

I've got her (and she's got me) by emmaofmisthaven

If there are ‘abort mission’ signs above her head, Neal choses to ignore them. The fool. “You can’t trust him. He’s a… a pirate.” “Yeah, well, he’s my pirate, so…”

Lovestoned by jaegermighty

"I have never seen so many naked people in my life," Emma says.

Off Limits by headoverhook 

She had always been like a little sister to him. Until the day she came back from college and everything changed. Best friend's sibling AU.

Shawn Hunter/Cory Matthews/Topanga Lawrence

it's been waiting for you by grim_lupine

After that Christmas that made him realize he wasn’t just affecting himself by running away for months and years at a time, Shawn isn’t really surprised when they all end up back in bed together months later. He wasn’t expecting it, wouldn’t let himself hope for it, but it feels as easy as it’s ever been to follow Cory and Topanga where they lead, wherever they’ll have him.

It’s been years since they last did this, and even that time had been years after he’d told himself it was the last time, the natural end to things, and found that it was easier to make that resolution than it was to follow it.

it's just home by screamlet

it's family time by screamlet

Three Years and Counting by rillalicious

Topanga knew a long time before Cory and Shawn figured it out.

All you know (all you need to know) by lakester

Cory was always going to marry Topanga Lawrence. Cory was always going to know Shawn Hunter. Cory was always going to love them both.

Jane Foster/Darcy Lewis/Thor

Selfie by engmaresh 

hey mom, Darcy writes one day in a Facebook private message. That’s the only way to guarantee her mom will see it. i’m dating my boss and a norse god. love, me.

Her mom's reply? Pics or it didn’t happen. :)

Until by gala_apples 

Darcy’s not stupid. She’s fallen for straight women before, and it’s never worked. She knows her crush on her sorta-boss, sorta-friend isn’t going to go anywhere. Until it does.

Jane refuses to be the media’s stereotype of a bisexual woman. She loves women, and she loves men, but she’s never cheated. She doesn’t need both at the same time. Until she does.

Thor can’t be the perfect prince. In Asgard stable relationships are full relationships, those of three or more. He can fight for his land, but he can’t have a family. Until he does.

All I want for Christmas is You by lunaemoth 

Christmas morning in London: croissants, kisses and promised gifts. Darcy can't complain.

A Little Spark kindles a great fire by lunaemoth

Darcy has been patiently waiting to be invited in Thor and Jane relationship.

Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa

I'll Be Seeing You by Eienvine

Someday he'll get past this phase where everything reminds him of her, he's sure; he just doesn't know when. What he does know is that it clearly takes more than four weeks to get over Peggy Carter.

Nice Guys Finish Strong by charleybradburies

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

Answering the Call by charleybradburies

If there's one thing about Jack Thompson that will never change, it's that he enjoys meddling in business that isn't really his. And if there's one thing about Daniel Sousa that will never change, it's that he's only a phone call away.

Christmas Present by Paeonia

Peggy and Daniel's first Christmas/holiday season together, when they're still very new and awkward in their relationship. In addition, maybe have the fic explore another milestone (first I love you? first time meeting parents/family/friends?). I generally prefer fluff, and would at the very least like a happy ending.

Balancing Act by Yalu

"You know," she said as lightly as she could, "I don't think I'll be able to get home tonight."

An Undercover Affair by keysburg

“But this deep cover mission will still be difficult. You know I don’t have a problem using people’s expectations against them. I’ve done it to you, even. However, it is one thing to do that briefly, and it is another to live a life that’s more or less the antithesis of everything I am. I am an agent, not a homemaker. And it is hard to see this as anything but the SSR telling me to learn my place."

Ethan Chandler/Vanessa Ives

I’m a tree that grows hearts; one for each that you take by diggingthegrave

Last episode Vanessa told Ethan she hasn't liked trees since the cut-wife's death and I think after having chopped down the specific offending tree that Ethan should decide to change her mind about that with some forest loving, maybe the morning after their heated kiss...kind of a what happened in the woods before the walk down the road?

And Would Be Lov'd Fain by Nokomis

He’d expected the rope, and now that he’s alive, exhilaratingly alive and free and breathing in the salty air on the wrong side of the Atlantic, all that Ethan can think of is Vanessa.

Wants and Needs by scorpionmother

She wakes in the night and knows only one person who can fulfil her wants and needs.

worse sights than this by rhllors

Vanessa, however, rises from her own ashes.

Mike Wheeler/Eleven

Friends Don't Lie, Don't Say Goodbye by The_Heart_of_an_Angel

After Eleven seemingly disappears forever when she defeated the Demogorgon, Mike is left heartbroken and to wonder what exactly happened to her. After Hopper leaves her food, she comes back and is reunited with Mike.

This is home by caarlgriimes

Eleven ended up is the upside down but was saved by Hopper. This story will chronicle the lives of our favourite adventurers after the season final.

Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar

Post-Midnight Guests by BurningUpASunJustToSayHello

Lucifer isn't exactly sure how he got to the Detective's house but, he does know that his back is killing him.

reformation by Cloudnine101

You know, there is a special circle of Hell reserved for nosy children," Lucifer says.

Trixie stares at him. "Is that why you're looking in mummy's underwear drawer?"

WIP

Say Anything...Except That by cortexikid (Peter Parker/Wade Wilson)