#but when does that happen? it's anyone's guess for this fic until my muse strikes again

[ghostieblr]

Unnoticed, Not Unfounded

He follows the laughter down the hallway, feet quiet, a smile blooming on his face. The coffee in his hand is hot. A monstrosity is what it is, really, too bitter to taste anything like sewage water to him, but it's not for him.

He'll be drenched in world's worst sewage water if that's what it takes for him to be in Derek's life forever. But that's a devotion not yet ready to burst out of his heart, unlike the wheezing, red-faced, voluminous laughter he can hear coming from the library towards the corner-most area of the ground floor.

His presence goes unnoticed for the moment, body hidden beside the slightly ajar door, eyes peeking in. Little Lyle is sitting on his favorite-deemed blue beanbag, and in front of him are a couple of books, all children's, all open to pictures of particularly grumpy looking old men. Beside a very confused, mostly laughing (copying his elders, though this elder is a questionable one) Lyle is Stiles, both hands clutching his stomach, his long body spread half-and-half across his own green beanbag and the marble flooring.

Derek drinks the moment in, breathes in the scent of utter joy. Revels in it. Joy has the sweetest scent, crisp with meaning, and somehow, Stiles' is the crispiest, like a perfectly stolen moment in time. It's only when he thinks Stiles just might die by laughter — still intensely brimming with it, soft giggles breaking through — that he steps inside the library.

Lyle sees him first, all enthusiasm and energy. "Unca Der!"

"My favorite nephew," he says back, matches the tone of the little boy. Barely two and already larger than life. Lyle leaves his beanbag for a sprint across the short distance, jumps up in his arms. It's only his quick reflexes that saves the cup of coffee, diligently put on a nearby shelf, carefully away from the books themselves — Peter likes to keep the books a little bit pushed in, the massive shelf-space large enough to fit two books over that way — and captures the little boy against his body.

"Da only nephew!"

Derek laughs, too. "Yes." It is true. Laura only has one kid, and he might just be the only one for now.

"I've got something to show you!" Stiles' voice is high-pitched now, the hard laughter drowned to softer giggles, and as Derek positions themselves towards him, Lyle taps his chest, makes him look back at him, wide blue eyes as big as Camden's.

"Lilly Liles," he says, pointing at Stiles.

"When isn't Stiles silly?"

"Har har," the sarcasm is lost in the throes of the giggles, and Derek knows Stiles knows it. Still, Derek lets Stiles guide him towards Lyle's previously occupied beanbag. Lyle himself seems ready to bolt, now all done with Liles being lilly, and running around the house is infinitely better than being cuddled up in arms. He squirms, so Derek kisses him on his little forehead and loosens the hold, lets the boy get down and leave the library. Laura's still out with their mom, Pack business that didn't require the Left-Hand or the upcoming Left-Hand, but Camden is home. Derek still keeps an ear out for Lyle, the little troublemaker that he is. Definitely Laura's kid — Camden was never this rowdy as a child.

"I brought you coffee."

As soon as the words are out, the cup is floating towards Stiles' waiting hand. Instead of saying "Thank you," like anyone else, Stiles says, "Your nephew is my favorite Hale now. His humor? Oh my god, Der, you gotta learn comedic timing from him!" He takes one whole sip before continuing, "Like, we were just reading some books, and I wanted to teach him about different type of animals—" Derek pointedly looks at the open kid's books, which are decidedly not about animals at all, and raises his eyebrow. Stiles elects to flap his hands at him and spill a bit of coffee on the floor before using his magic for mopping it up. "All clean. Anyways, yes, I see what you see. Where are the animals, Stiles? All I see are grumpy men here. Arrgh."

"Your me impression has never gotten better. I don't even know why you try."

"Your eyes sparkle when I do." Shit. This shit's the kind of stuff Stiles says without realizing, most times, and every time Derek's heart chooses to jump and twirl around in his heart. "Lyle is literally a comedic genius. We were looking at wolves, and then we were done with that book, so I told Lyle to identify and bring me more. Guess what he brought. Guess guess guess!"

Derek points to one of the books lying about. "Old grumpy men?"

"Old grumpy men! Ask me why Derek. Ask me ask me ask me."

"Sometimes I wonder who is the kid."

"Derek."

"Stiles."

Their eyes meet, like they always do, and it's a challenge. For Stiles, it's a staring contest. For Derek, it's a lesson how not to drown in those honey-sweet amber eyes.

Derek cracks first, because how could he not?

He rolls his eyes theatrically, hoping the intensity of his sigh will bury the thump-thump-thump of his heart. "Why."

Stiles grins. "Good enough, but we need to work on that. Now, as for why, Derek? See, Lyle is a baby, the cutest lil baby I just wanna gobble-up—"

"You're not a chicken, and my nephew is not a piece of grain."

"You just don't know what cutness aggression is, you heathen."

"You're the one threatening cannibalism and I'm the heathen? How many times have you hit your head today?"

"How is Lyle even related to you. You have like, no funny bone in your body, dude."

Derek resists the urge to say, "Don't call me dude." Or even, "I have a funny bone in my body. It's the one which has fallen for my best friend and pack's future emissary, alongwith my heart." Except, you know, he doesn't.

So Stiles continues. "Anyways, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me. Lyle is the cutest baby ever, and I was teaching him about different types of animals, so I thought hey, let's start with wolves! So I got him a couple of wolfie books, with pictures of wolves. Lyle is a very good student, by the way. Took the information like a champ. Even pointed to himself every single I said "Werewolf" and the pictures when I only said "Wolf." Smart kid. Then I told him to bring more books, so he brought the old grumpy men ones, which, I don't even know why those are there? Seems like emotions books to me but fish sticks if I know."

Derek snorts. "Fish sticks?"

"You have no say, Mr. Apple Bottom."

"Kid's soap are the best for your skin, you should try it." Not that Stiles really needs to. His skin is already nice. The nicest. "And I like the scent of apples, sue me."

"Oh, Lyle is gonna. He keeps saying you steal, by the way. Wonder what's that about." Derek shrugs. Kid says a lot of things. Not all of it makes sense. "Steal with an f too. Sorta sounds like feel."

"Must be something Laura's teaching him."

"Could be. Now! Back to my thing. Stop interrupting me, Der, that's not nice." Stiles claps his hands and takes a swig out of the still floating cup of coffee. "Lyle brings all these, and I'm like, these aren't wolves. And he's like, no, they're werewolves. So I go nuh-uh, Lyle, these are just men." Here, the laughter comes back, and who knows why Derek knows Stiles to this extent, but he knows the incoming joke. Knows it before Stiles even tries finally explain it to him, but he waits, still listens with an air of shock. "He says... this is so funny... he says the grumpy men are Unca Der and he's a werewolf so these men are therefore also wolves! Obviously not in these exact words but..."

And there he goes again, laughing like the maniac Derek has always loved. Derek laughs, too, but only because Stiles' joy is infectious, and he's greedy to soak it all in.

Maybe one day he'll tell Stiles. One day he'll risk the current safety net for something better — a chance, to be Stiles', in more than just friendship. But for today, Stiles laughs at Derek's expense, and Derek laughs alongwith him.

[dweetwise]

yes hello, i’m back on my riconti bullshit again, this time with a cute prompt fill from @dailyau by @hcpelesshcney about fire alarms and sharing a blanket ❤️

i’m also trying something new with splitting a fic into chapters!

ship: felix x ace warnings: briefly mentioned internalized homophobia word count: 3700

[next]

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 1)

It's surprising just how scattered the human brain becomes during a crisis.

When Felix was woken from his restless sleep in the hotel bed by a blaring fire alarm, he'd bolted out of the bed and scrambled out into the hallway without second thought. He'd probably even left the door to his room wide open, with his wallet, passport, phone and laptop all neatly arranged on the desk for anyone to walk by and steal.

And now he's standing in the parking lot in the chilly late summer night, dressed in nothing but his pajama pants and a t-shirt. His socks were drenched as soon as he stepped outside, running straight into a puddle while hurrying to get away from the potential fire.

At least he's not alone in the stressful predicament. There's plenty of other people around, looking just as lost and dazed as him, having been forced to evacuate the hotel in the middle of the night. Most have been sensible enough to bring their jackets and shoes, a couple of kids even huddling beneath a hotel duvet.

And since there's no sign of a fire or even any smoke, Felix feels like an idiot for not having the foresight to bring something to warm him up.

The firefighters have just arrived at the scene and are preparing to search the building for the source of the alarm. Felix tries not to shiver even more as he relents to the fact that they're still going to be stuck out there for quite some time.

The crowd in the parking lot is loud, families and partners gossiping amongst themselves, some people even arguing with the staff members about ruining their vacation. Felix wishes they'd just shut up, more than happy to forget this ever happened if he'd just get to curl back under the warm covers of his bed instead of freezing out here.

This trip just kept getting worse. Not only had he been forced to come on only a day's notice, taking over Lauren's business trip across the Atlantic when she'd unexpectedly caught a cold. He’d also had to take a shitty flight route with two extra stops, and his last flight had been no less than six hours late.

When he’d finally arrived at the hotel and started trying to sleep off the massive jet lag after barely getting any sleep on the plane, he'd been rudely awakened by an emergency. And now, to add insult to injury, he’s gone from the threat of burning to death to freezing to death.

“Hey,” a voice says from right beside him, making Felix jolt in surprise over being distracted from his internal pity party.

He sees a man standing next to him, wrapped in a hotel-issued blanket, looking up at him with curious brown eyes and a pleasant smile.

Felix racks his brain for if he knows this man or not, but draws up a blank, the tiredness and cold making his thoughts feel sluggish. The man is shorter than Felix and looks a little older, if the laugh lines and grey hair are anything to go by.

“You look cold,” the man says. “Wanna share my blanket?”

As the man lifts the fabric just the slightest bit in invitation, mortification hits Felix. Not only is his shivering noticeable enough to warrant someone taking pity on him, he's being offered physical contact from a stranger.

Isn't it a weird thing to offer, especially to another man? Does he somehow know that Felix is gay? Is he making fun of him? Or is it just an American thing? Wouldn't it be weirder for Felix not to accept, since the man has noticed how much he’s freezing?

“Alright,” the man says when Felix isn't replying, lowering the bedding in surrender. “My bad, I just thought—"”

“Yes,” Felix says, interrupting him.

“Uh…” the man says, understandably confused by Felix's social awkwardness.

“Yes, I want to sh-share,” Felix says, another full-body shiver wracking his body.

“Oh! Sure,” the man grins happily, and then he's suddenly very close, shoulder bumping against Felix's chest, and a corner of the blanket is thrown haphazardously over Felix's shoulder.

“T-thank you,” Felix stammers, both from the nerves and the cold, grabbing the soft cotton fabric and pulling it tighter against himself.

And causing the stranger to stumble even closer from the momentum.

“Sure, don't mention it,” the man grins, like he's not now pressed against a stranger's side from shoulder to hip.

Embarrassed as Felix feels, both the blanket and the person attached to it are warm. Felix has to stop himself from sighing blissfully as the other's body heat starts to warm him up, slowly working away at the chill in his bones.

“Well, since we're gonna be stuck here for a while,” the man muses. “My name's Ace.”

“F-F-Felix,” Felix manages through clattering teeth.

“I'd shake your hand, but I think we're past that stage already,” Ace jokes, and then offers a pleased grin as Felix huffs out a surprised laugh through his nose. “In any case, it’s nice to meet you, Felix,” the man looks up at him and smiles, and Felix's poor, gay heart skips a beat.

Yeah, this is definitely preferable to freezing to death.

“I wonder how long they'll take to find the cause this time,” Ace starts conversationally, while pulling out his phone from the nest of blankets. He sets to what looks like writing a text to someone, not seeming the least bit bothered by their predicament.

“You don't seem very nervous,” Felix observes.

“Not my first rodeo,” Ace looks up and grins. “Probably someone just smoked inside and tripped the alarm. Happens a lot in hotels.”

“D-d-do you travel? A lot?” Felix asks, partly do distract himself from the cold while he gets his body heat up, partly to divert Ace’s attention from his phone.

“You could say that,” Ace says. “What about you? Here on business?”

“Yes,” Felix says, with no small amount of annoyance over being reminded he still has work tomorrow. “Thankfully my meeting isn't until the afternoon.”

“Glad you can get your beauty sleep,” Ace says.

“And hopefully get rid of the jet lag,” Felix comments with a tired sigh.

Ace hums in acknowledgement before going back to his phone message. Felix tries not to take it personally; he knows he's not that interesting to talk to.

Ace is so warm, and it's a little awkward being pressed this close, but embarrassingly enough, Felix finds himself drifting even closer. Ace smells like whiskey and cheap cologne, but somehow, it's oddly comforting. He'd probably been drinking last night—well, technically tonight. Thankfully, he doesn't seem drunk, as Felix doubts he would have had the patience to deal with alcohol-induced rambling.

“Whiskey man, I see,” Felix comments. When Ace looks up from his phone in surprise, Felix realize how weird it is for him to admit to smelling the man.

“I reek that bad, huh?” Ace grins, taking the comment in stride.

“I didn't mean—” Felix flounders to explain.

Damnit, he should just give up on trying to make conversation.

“Wow, lighten up,” Ace says and elbows him playfully under the blanket, adding even more physical contact to their already borderline inappropriate situation.

Felix tries to ignore the fluttering in his gut when he feels Ace's hairy forearm brush against his own. This is more physical contact than he's gotten from another man… probably ever.

“Yeah, I had a few drinks earlier. I'm more of a wine man, but…” Ace seems to ponder. “Sometimes, you've got to try new things.”

Like huddling under a blanket with an attractive stranger, Felix considers.

Suddenly, he almost regrets the blanket blocking his view from seeing more of the man. His body feels firm against Felix's, and his shoulders look defined, though that could just be an illusion from the thick fabric covering them.

“What’s your poison?” Ace asks, following Felix's awkward silence.

“I don't drink much,” Felix lies, like he hasn’t been going through his father’s old liquor collection at an alarming rate for the past year or so. “Uhm… whiskey, I guess. And bourbon.”

He could really, really go for either one right now. Not only would the drinks warm him up, they'd also make him act like an actual human being instead of the stiff robot impression he's currently doing.

“Huh,” Ace comments.

“What?” Felix asks, trying not to get defensive.

“Nothing! I would have pegged you as a beer guy, is all,” Ace muses. “Maybe that's just the accent, though.”

“Sorry,” Felix apologizes. Now hyperaware of his bad pronunciation and extremely German accent, he tries to bury his face deeper into the blanket in embarrassment.

“Naw, hey, come on,” Ace turns toward him as much as the cramped space allows him to. “Your English is amazing! The accent only adds charm.”

Felix looks at Ace's encouraging smile and tries not to think too much about their thighs now pressing together. Ace is clearly waiting for him to say something, but all Felix can focus on is his warm body and striking features.

“Where are you from?” Felix asks instead, trying to place the hint of an accent he thinks he hears.

“Huh. Good catch,” Ace smiles, seeming surprised. “Guess!”

Felix flushes and looks at Ace's eagerly grinning face. It's nighttime, but Ace's skin seems darker than his own, and his features look Mediterranean, reminding Felix of countless business trips to Spain. But the accent…

“Italy?” Felix suggests, and Ace's smile somehow widens even further.

“Close!” Ace says. “Argentina.”

“Ehm…” Felix furrows his brow in confusion, thinking that surely, being a whole continent and world sea off doesn't exactly count as "close".

“My family hails from Italy, and it's my native language,” Ace explains. “So it was a really good guess!”

“Thank you…?” Felix says awkwardly.

“I'd ask what you were doing when the alarm went off, but…” Ace pauses, glancing up at his disheveled hair. “From your outfit choice and the bedhead, I'd put 50 bucks on 'sleeping'."

“You'd be correct,” Felix murmurs, self-consciously poking his hand out from under the blanket to run through his tousled hair. “I'm not very interesting.”

“I think I'll be the judge of that," Ace grins. “If, uh… you don't mind chatting to pass the time?”

“Not at all,” Felix says, hoping he doesn't sound too eager, happy Ace deems him interesting enough to talk to instead of whoever he was texting earlier.

They spend some twenty minutes chatting about mostly insignificant things. But as much as Felix usually hates small talk, he now welcomes it, because Ace is asking him interesting questions instead of just talking about the weather. He appears to genuinely care about Felix's story, and Felix might end up sharing a little too much, from the work stress and business trip he didn't even want to come to, all the way to his relationship that ended a few weeks ago.

Ace seems friendly and pleasant, taking Felix's awkward pauses and nervousness in stride, filling in the silences with stories of his own. Felix hears a lot about the different places he's traveled to, along with some hotel horror stories that make him feel much better about the current fire alarm situation. He manages a few laughs, some merely polite, but some genuinely amused at Ace's over-the-top storytelling.

Eventually, Ace's phone beeps again and he excuses himself and engrosses himself momentarily in the screen, and this time, Felix welcomes the brief break in socializing.

He realizes just how nice this is. It feels like a stroke of luck that only a few short weeks after ending his relationship with his ex-girlfriend and coming out in the process, he'd meet a handsome stranger this eager to cuddle up to him.

Not cuddle up—share a blanket, Felix mentally berates himself.

He glances at Ace out of the corner of his eye, seeing his side profile illuminated by the dim glow from the phone screen. Felix never really considered what his type would be, apart from the all-encompassing "men" that he'd only recently come to accept about himself. But taking in Ace's defined features and the smile that seems to be a permanent part of his face, he's starting to get an idea.

Quickly looking away before Ace catches him staring, Felix suddenly feels almost too warm. He shouldn't get ahead of himself; even though It feels like Ace is being a little too friendly, he hasn't actually made a move, seeming happy just with chatting to kill time.

Felix briefly toys with the idea of placing his hand on Ace's hip in a loose embrace, just to test the waters. He'd never be that brave, but if he was, he'd at least know for sure, even if it would probably end in Ace being disgusted and kicking him out of the blanket cocoon.

But… maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d smile even wider and return the gesture, just as eager as Felix to get even closer. Felix would wrap his arms around him, and they'd stand there cuddling and sharing even more body heat, maybe even kissing—

Shit. This is exactly what his therapist said he shouldn't do, the term "excessive daydreaming" flashing in his mind.

“Sorry,” Ace is saying, turning back to face him and pocketing the phone, completely oblivious to Felix's internal dilemma. “Where were we?”

“I, uh,” Felix stammers.

Was just thinking about kissing you.

“Did I tell you about the time a bunch of college kids decided to set off fireworks in the hotel room next to mine?” Ace offers, saving Felix from floundering for a topic.

“What—why would they…?” Felix asks.

“Well, I'd just gotten back from this extravagant New Years party—” Ace excitedly starts telling yet another story, and Felix keenly starts listening in.

Ace seems to be completely in his element, getting lost in talking about just how fancy the party was, followed by a dramatic retelling of some very incredulously sounding explosions that turned out to be fireworks. Felix keeps listening raptly, not entirely sure about the accuracy of the story, but enjoying seeing the other so happy. The blanket occasionally shifts as Ace tries to gesture with his hands to add to the narration, only to remember that he can't, looking sheepish every time.

Felix has never met someone with such effortless charisma. Ace's voice is rich and pleasant, and Felix briefly zones out while he imagines it talking him to sleep.

It's stupid, and he knows it. He's only known the man for half an hour, and even "knowing" him is pushing it. Felix is only in the country for two more days, and he’s very aware that pursuing anything would be pointless.

But he also knows that given the chance, he wouldn't say no to seeing Ace again. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, the narrowly averted emergency, or simply being far away from home and realizing nobody would ever find out. Either way, he’s feeling more adventurous than usual, the adrenaline in his veins and butterflies in his gut keeping his tired body on high alert.

Too bad he's deathly afraid of rejection and would never dare to ask if the other is interested.

Suddenly, there's the screech of a PA system, and Ace stops mid-sentence, both of them turning to look at a firefighter speaking into a megaphone.

“The fire has been extinguished and the building is now safe. Please return to your rooms,” the fireman announces.

The horde of people immediately start flocking towards the hotel entrance at the same time, creating an annoyed crowd of freezing, grumpy people and managing to clog the entryway immediately.

“I wonder what the cause was,” Felix ponders out loud, not making an effort to move toward the commotion and get stuck between the shoving, complaining people.

“Who cares? We get to not freeze our asses off anymore!” Ace exclaims gleefully.

And Felix realizes they no longer have a reason to stay huddled up together. Reluctantly slipping away from under the blanket, he feels a disappointed pang in his chest over how happy Ace sounds to get rid of him.

“Thank you for lending your blanket,” Felix says, handing his side of the fabric back over to Ace and trying not to shiver as the cold of the night hits his warm skin.

“My pleasure! Thanks for keeping me warm!” Ace quips cheerfully, wrapping the item tighter around himself.

“Ehm… you as well,” Felix says, looking away so Ace doesn't see his face heating up.

“Come on, let's get you inside!” Ace prompts, and then he leans into Felix and shoves him lightly with a blanket-clad shoulder.

It's clearly in an intent to encourage Felix to move, but it still makes newfound hope blossom in his chest. They’re no longer forced to tolerate each other if they don't want to freeze, but Ace still seems far from repulsed by him.

“Right,” Felix says, starting the short trek to the hotel entrance that has thankfully cleared up from people.

“So…” Ace drawls, easily falling into step next to him. “Can I have your number?”

Felix glances at him and blinks in confusion. Is… is Ace asking him out? Or just being polite? Is he going to ask to be added on Facebook too, like all the weird colleagues Felix has met on business trips once and then never heard from again?

“For...?” Felix manages to ask when they arrive at the entrance, reaching for the door and holding it open for the man.

“Just wondering if you wanted to grab some drinks while you're still in town,” Ace says when he slips past Felix into the building. “I wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” Ace adds, looking him up and down with a smile that is definitely not just friendly.

Heat rises up Felix's neck from more than just the warm air of the hotel lobby. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one sensing the tension between them.

“Maybe,” Felix says, trying and probably failing to not seem way too enthusiastic.

“Oh?” Ace says, quirking an eyebrow. And then he's shrugging off the blanket, revealing a rolled-up, button-up shirt and—

Fuck. Broad shoulders and a lean build, that sure as hell doesn't make Felix's predicament any easier.

Felix definitely stares longer than appropriate while they continue walking to the elevator, Ace thankfully too busy with bunching up the blanket to notice his ogling.

“What…" Felix starts, making Ace look at him, cocking his head. "Uhm. What's with the sudden interest?”

“I mean,” Ace says, shooting him pointed look. “I was interested ever since I saw you there, shivering in your ridiculously tight T-shirt,” he winks.

Felix realizes that the shirt probably leaves a lot less to the imagination than the suits and blazers he always wears. He lifts a hand to his arm in a self-conscious manner, making an attempt to cover himself.

“But I didn't wanna freak you out,” Ace adds, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Would have been pretty awkward if you said no, considering you were kinda stuck with me for a bit.”

That's… oddly sweet, and very much appreciated. Felix would probably have imploded on himself from embarrassment if Ace would have been this forward from the start.

“Thank you,” Felix says.

“No worries,” Ace grins, pushing the button to order the elevator. “So? Are you freaked out?”

Felix considers the question for a moment, only arriving at variations of "no", "I'm leaving in two days" and "help you're really hot but I've never been with a guy and don't know what to do".

“I think the word is…” Felix pauses in thought, trying to ignore his brain screaming insecurities at him. “'Intrigued'.”

Proud of managing to be smooth for once in his life, the ding of the elevator arriving is almost lost on Felix, because he's so focused on Ace's now downright lecherous grin.

But he obediently steps into the elevator, not wanting to keep the few hotel customers still lingering behind them.

“What's you floor, gorgeous?” Ace asks with a flirtatious smile, after pressing the number four.

Wow. How the hell did Felix ever manage to think he was just being friendly?

“Three,” Felix says.

“Looks like you're under me,” Ace flirts while pushing the button for him, making Felix choke on his own spit from the suggestive comment, embarrassed yet curious.

And then Ace clears his throat and averts his eyes as a woman and her daughter walk into the elevator with them.

They stand awkwardly next to each other as the elevator doors slide close. Felix’s thoughts are a mess of excitement, nervousness and embarrassment, not sure what to do in this situation.

He discreetly glances at Ace—

And the other catches him looking.

Felix's heart skips a beat as Ace's lips spread into a lazy grin, eyes shimmering with unspoken promise.

He wonders what it would be like to wipe that grin off the smug man's face. Felix imagines pushing Ace up against the elevator wall, picturing how the other’s eyes would go wide, maybe he'd even gasp, taken off guard at Felix's sudden boldness. Maybe he wouldn't have time to say anything, because Felix would capture his lips in a passionate kiss, and Ace would groan and drop the blanket to tangle his hands in Felix's hair—

DING!

Felix is rudely snapped out of his daydream by the elevator arriving on his floor. He realizes he's been spacing out while staring at Ace's face, and the smirk is gone from the man's lips, but his eyes are somehow even more intense.

“Good night,” Felix offers stiffly, forcing himself to break the eye contact before he gets lost in his own head again.

He takes a step out of the elevator, mentally scolding himself when he notices his racing heart and heavy breathing, getting himself worked up over a dumb fantasy.

Tomorrow, he promises himself when the elevator doors start sliding shut behind him. Tomorrow, he’d go out with Ace and could maybe, hopefully psyche himself up enough to make a move. He'd just text the man in the morning—

Except they never exchanged numbers.

Shit!

[peanutbutterworm]

i love you

here we go!! here is my moreid secret santa fic! 

click here to read it on AO3

warnings: none, light angst at one point but it is mostly tooth rotting fluff

word count: 4196

summary: Penelope begs and begs Hotch until he finally lets her have a BAU secret santa party. There is a small problem for Dr. Spencer Reid however when he is set the task of giving a gift to his best friend and crush, Derek Morgan.

“Hotch please?” Penelope drew out the last vowel of the word, as if it would make him say yes.

“I told you, Garcia, it’s out of my hands for now. It sounds like a great idea, really, but I don’t think that Strauss nor the director would approve of it.���

“It doesn’t have to be a work thing! Just, as friends, as a family.”

“And I already told you, Garcia, as long as we’re using company time it is a ‘work thing’.”

“God why does everyone have to be so boring. It’s a bonding thing!” Penelope checked the date on her phone. “It’s November 29th, if we’re not allowed to do this I’m going on strike.”

“Mhm,” Hotch was already moving on to something else, and Penelope left in a huff. She ran into Spencer on the way back to her office.

“Hey Penelope,”

“Hi, Spencer.” She said curtly, storming past him.

“Woah, what’s going on today?” Spencer said, stopping her by grabbing her arm. Penelope sighed, realizing she wasn’t being her cheery self and someone was bound to notice, may as well be him.

“Walk with me, boy genius.” Penelope explained her current predicament on the way to her office, huffing and using her hands to talk the entire way.

“And I don’t get why Strauss won’t allow it! It’s a great team bonding activity, and we would have so much fun!” She finished explaining.

“Garcia, we have fun without ‘team bonding activities’, I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Because, I’m tired of being ignored. I just want one of my suggestions to go through and I’m starting to think Strauss doesn’t like me.”

“I’m pretty sure Strauss doesn’t like any of us,” Spencer said, sipping his coffee from a company mug.

“Yeah I know,” Penelope put her head into her hands and sighed. “Why are they so against us having fun?”

“They think it ‘interferes with the job’” Spencer said, quoting a seminar they were forced to go to.

“Yeah, bullshit.” Penelope half scoffed into her hands, half laughed. “How is it going with Derek?” She asked, smirking up at Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but turn a little red whenever she asked about him. He had told Penelope about his crush on her best friend in September, and even though it had been going on for much longer Spencer was reminded every day why he didn’t tell her sooner. However Spencer never missed a chance to talk to her about it. Even though Penelope was a huge gossip, she would never tell Derek something this important without asking Spencer for permission first. And anyways, it was nice to get stuff off his chest.

“Nothing has really happened, just still lying awake at night thinking about him instead of doing something productive with my chronic insomnia.”

“How can you be productive with chronic insomnia anyways?”

“I don’t know… do things?” Spencer giggled and then paused, recalling something. “Wait, I do recall, I saw him at the grocery store.”

“No way, you two shop at the same place?”

“Unfortunately. I was too awkward to say anything anyways, and I looked like a mess too.”

“I’m sure he didn’t care. This is the man that saw me almost die and I need not remind you that he has seen you in the hospital. Multiple times.”

“I try not to remember.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No.”

“You are so boring,”

“It was late, Garcia. I don’t think I had the patience to deal with anyone, including him, and if you were to ask him I’m pretty sure he would say that feeling’s mutual by how he looked.” Spencer sighed. “He was so pretty though. Like sleepy pretty, not the way we see him at work.”

Penelope was just sitting there, sighing.

“What!” Spencer said, playing with a piece of dirt that was caught between his nails.

“Nothing. You are just so, so fucked.”

“I know!” Spencer dropped it and threw his hands to his face. “He’s just so… AH! I feel like a teenage girl.”

“Considering your looks, you might not be far off.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding, but really, you need to tell him. It’s gotta happen eventually.”

“No, I don’t want to ruin our friendship for my own feelings, it’s selfish.”

“Have you ever considered he might feel the same way?” Penelope asked, and Spencer just stared back at her. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“I just haven’t thought about it, of course it’s a probability but the chance that he likes me back is just so low. Did you know the chance of your crush liking you back is-” Spencer was cut off when Derek walked into the room, right into the middle of a conversation he had no idea was about him.

“Thank you for saving me from that,” Penelope said.

“Hotch needs you both at the round table,” was all Derek said, smirking at both of them.

“We’ll be there soon.” Spencer said, staring as Derek left the room. “Do you think he heard any of that?”

“You talk too fast and I wasn’t really keeping up very well, but no, I don’t think he knows it was about him at the very least.”

“Thank god.” Spencer sighed. “Come on, I don’t want to be yelled at by Hotch again.”

“Guess whatttttt!” Penelope said, with everyone mingling around their desks on a chilly December morning, having not been called in on a case yet for the day.  

“Did someone die?” Emily asked, taking a headcount of everyone there, all BAU team members accounted for.

“What? No, oh my god Em. Unrelated to death, we get to have a secret santa!” She exclaimed, and everyone's faces lit up with smiles.

“Strauss thinks it would be good for us to bond over the holidays,” Hotch said, cracking a small smile.

“Yeah yeah, anyways write your names on these,” Penelope all handed them a torn piece of paper, “and put it in the magic hat.” She held out a small colorful beret she sometimes wore to work and mixed up all the names that were placed in it. “Now who wants to go first?” She asked, looking around the room eagerly.

“Can I go, Pen?” JJ asked, walking up to the hat.

“Why of course my dear,” Penelope said, dropping into a bow but making sure none of the names spilled out.

This went on for ten minutes until everyone had someone picked out. Penelope then took the last name out of the hat for herself before snugly fitting the hat back onto her head.

Spencer looked at the slip of paper he had gotten, and in all caps was the name Derek . He reminded himself that there was a 1 in 7 chance. A one in SEVEN chance. Maybe the universe just hated him, he mused to himself, trying to keep a poker face while slipping the paper into his pocket. He would tell Penelope about this later, because even though they were supposed to keep it a secret, she would want to know about this.

Derek did the same as everyone and glanced at his small slip of paper but did a double take when he saw the name scrawled on the parchment. Spencer Reid, was all it said in black ink. Great, of course he got his best friend, whom of which he was inconveniently in love with at the moment. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral, as there was a team full of profilers watching and if he even showed the slightest amount of emotion right now, it might give away who he had drawn.

“Now as per the rules of our lovely unit chief, no gifts above $20, and no telling who you got, as it would ruin the game. We will exchange gifts on the 24th and our lovely Rossi has agreed to let us use his home for the gift exchange.” Penelope described the rules, gesturing over to Rossi.

“Not home, mansion” He corrected, smiling.

A few days later, after agonizing over whether or not he should tell Penelope about his crush on Spencer, Derek texts Penelope. Everyone is asleep on the jet home except for Spencer and him. Spencer is reading a book at a million miles an hour, and Derek is on his phone. However every few seconds in between texts he would look up at the doctor, who always looked so peaceful and serene while reading.

New iMessage from: Garcia

You’re kidding me.

Derek smiled at his phone and typed,

No, I’m not. And I got him for secret santa too. I am so fucked, aren’t I?

He finished typing and set his phone on his lap, glancing at Spencer again while waiting for a response. Well, he thought, less of a glance, more of a stare. He zoned out looking at the younger man, memorizing the way his hands ran over the page. Suddenly the doctor looked up, and they looked in the eyes for a moment before they both quickly looked away. He felt a buzz on his chest and feeling grateful to have an excuse to look at something other than him, continued his conversation with Penelope.

Garcia: First of all you weren’t supposed to tell me the secret santa thing, second of all,  I can feel you staring at him from here. You are so in love it makes me sick.

Penelope rummaged around her office in Quantico, cleaning up before the team arrived and they all got to go home. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and took it out, Morgan again.

Derek: I know, but I had to tell somebody because I’m going crazy over it. I don’t know what to get him. He deserves something better than some random book.

Garcia: My sweet, I promise you he will love anything you get him.

Derek: You sure?

Garcia: I am sure.

Garcia: And if you don’t go to sleep right now Derek Morgan I will strangle you when you get back.

Derek: Fine fine, we’ll be back in an hour. You should get some rest too, go home.

Garcia: Like hell I’m leaving before you all get back here safely. I’ll wait.

They landed in Quantico about an hour later, and as promised, Derek was asleep for about 30 minutes when the jet landed and jolted everyone awake. They all walked back into the building together, tired as all hell even though most of them got sleep on the plane.

“Hey, kid,” Derek said, walking with Spencer to his desk. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Nope,” Spencer said, packing up his things, avoiding looking Derek in the eye.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, and Spencer froze in his tracks. There were a million things he could’ve said at that moment, but he just continued packing his things after a muttered ‘yea,’. “You know you can talk to me, right?” Derek asked, but Spencer just started thinking about how no, actually he could not talk to him because talking to him about the particular thing he was feeling at the moment would ruin their friendship and Spencer didn’t know if he could take any heartbreak at the moment considering he was tired and about to break down into tears.

“Please, just go to your office, Morgan. I don’t want to talk.” Was all he said, and as Derek walked away a single tear slipped down Spencer’s cheek, which he aggressively rubbed away. The rest of the team was either too busy wrapping up or too tired to notice the distress Spencer was in at the moment.

Derek walked to his office, trying not to burst into tears. When he closed his door he immediately started crying, though. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He hated seeing Spencer in danger, which is exactly where every case put him. And he was always so cold to him, like working with him now was a pain, a formality that must be gone through with. The glance on the plane was a spark of hope before, that maybe Spencer felt the same way, but it was put out by the way he acted earlier. He didn’t know anymore.

He knocked on Penelope’s door, hoping that the technical analyst hadn’t gone home yet. And she hadn't; she was sitting in her chair, knitting when Derek came in. She jumped up, giving him a kiss on the cheek when he arrived.

“God I am so happy to see that you are safe and well and a million other good things.”

“Actually, safe and well might be the only two good things I feel at the moment, Pen.”

“Alright, talk to me. What happened.” She said, moving her way over to sit down with Derek, rubbing his back.

“I don’t know. There was a moment, on the plane, while I was texting you that I thought maybe, maybe he felt the same way but when we got back he was so cold. It was like he was trying to distance himself from me in every way.”

“Ok, well you’re the profiler. Tell me exactly what he said.”

“Babygirl I don’t remember-”

“I think you do.” Penelope said, crossing her arms at him.

“I do. He said, ‘Please, just go to your office, Morgan. I don’t want to talk.’ He sounded sad, and he said please, which means he was probably expecting me to stay.” Derek had a moment of realization before putting his head in his hands. “I should’ve stayed, oh my god I should have-”

“Hey, hey there is nothing you can do now. Deep breaths. And you’re right. Those sound like the words of someone who is trying to push you away for their own good. And I’ve heard them before,” She said, punching Derek softly in the shoulder. “I don’t think he wants you to leave, Der. I think he just needs some time to figure out himself, first.”

“Do you think he likes me?”

“I can’t say for sure,” (She definitely could) “But I’d say he does.”

“About the secret santa,”

“Hun, I don’t care that you told me.”

“No, not that. What should I get him?”

“I already told you. He would love a ‘random book’” She did air quotes around what Derek had said over text earlier. “But you should make it special, write a note inside or something.”

“You know what…” Derek started, getting an idea. “I think I will.”

“Great, glad I could be of help. Now if you will excuse me, I have to be back here in 6 hours now, and I would like to go home for at least 4 of those.

“Well don’t let me get in the way.” Derek said, smiling at her and backing out of the office.

Spencer spent the rest of that night overthinking, trying to sleep but only falling unconscious for 3 hours before his blaring alarm woke him up. Did I push him away? He thought to himself, lying awake.

Spencer texted Penelope on his way into work, and even though he wasn’t much of a texting person, he didn’t have the time to make a call right now. All his text said was: I really messed up this time, Garcia. She replied as he was walking into the office, What did you do? Although Penelope, of course, had some inkling of what the young doctor was talking about. They had a few minutes before work officially started for the day, and Hotch hadn’t given them a case yet so he strode directly to Penelope’s office, not bothering to set down anything.

Spencer knocked on the door before coming in, and closed the door before sitting down.

“Alright, so spill.” She said, crossing her legs. Her office was becoming less and less of a technical analysis space and more of a therapist’s couch.

“I pushed him away. I was tired and angry and I pushed him away.”

“Slow down, slow down. I’m sure he didn’t take it that way, all of you were feeling that way last night.”

“No but he seemed angry with me too and I-”

“I can promise you. He probably was angry at first and regretted it, and now he’s thinking the same thing you are. Make an effort today to reach out to him, you’ll be surprised.”

“You sound like JJ reading my horoscope.”

“Maybe I can just see into the future.”

“Yeah right, and anyways that isn’t the end of it. I know I’m not supposed to tell you but I got Derek for the secret santa thing.” Spencer sighed into this coffee that was pressed against his lips, and after taking a sip, said, “I’m starting to really hate you for putting this together, because I have no idea what to give him.”

“Maybe get him something he likes,”

“Yeah, but what does he even like? Music?” Spencer asked, setting his coffee cup on the table beside him. “But I don’t even know what or who he listens to. All I know is he likes music and I feel like I don’t know anything about him right now.”

“Football. He likes football.” Garcia said, also trying to think of things her best friend would enjoy as a present.

“Ok that’s a start, what about football is there…”

“No, no scratch that. Do you know how to make a mix of music on a CD?”

“Garcia, you know I can barely work a printer.”

“I’ll help you. I made his playlist that he listens to on the jet so I know what he likes. All you have to do is give it to him.”

“Wow, thanks Penelope. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t. Say anything that is, just go catch a serial killer and I’ll have it ready by the end of the day.”

As promised, at the end of the day Spencer walked into Penelope’s office and she had a CD ready for him. It was a relatively short case, a local one that had the team home before 8pm. Everyone was in a good mood, but decided to go home early while they had the rare chance.

“Ok here it is, loverboy. Just so you know you can write on it with Sharpie and it won’t mess up the disc.” She winked and handed it to him, Spencer blushing and turning around to make sure no one was at the door.

“Thank you, Penelope. Really.”

“It’s nothing. Thank me when you finally confess your love to that himbo.”

“What’s a-”

“You know what, I’m not explaining that to you. Go home, try and go to sleep early tonight.” She said, pushing him out the door with his new CD. As the door closed in his face, Spencer started to say,

“Have a nice-” But it closed before he could say “-night.” He sighed and walked down the hall, carrying his CD and bag with him towards the elevator. He didn’t expect to see anyone else, but lo and behold Derek Morgan walking towards the elevator at the same time.

“Hey, Reid.” He said, stepping into the elevator with him.

“Hey,” Spencer replied, glancing everywhere but into Derek’s eyes. They were about level, height-wise, and this made it harder for Spencer to avoid his gaze, so he just stared down at the ground.

“Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I just want to know why.” Spencer’s face heated up in shame, and he looked to Derek.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so cold lately. I’ve been having a hard time, but Garcia helped me realize I shouldn’t be shutting people like you who care about me out.”

“Garcia helped you realize-” Derek paused, thinking. “How long have you two been talking?” He asked, curious.

“Pretty much every day since September.”

“Ok ok, I see.” Spencer didn’t question the way Derek asked how long he’d been talking to Garcia, and switched the topic of conversation.

“Four days and counting until the Secret Santa party.” He said, glancing back at Derek.

“Yeah, you excited?”

“Mostly excited to see who mine is.” Spencer said, staring at the elevator doors, which had just opened. “Have a good night,” He said, walking out the doors of the building, rushing towards his car.

“Yeah, you too.” He said, but Derek knew that Spencer was long gone by now. Derek left the building and walked towards his car, starting it and leaving the parking lot as quick as he got here this morning.

The day of the Secret Santa party, Hotch had one case for them. When they got to the round table, everyone was pretty disappointed, because cases often meant that they came back late and in a bad mood. But it turned out that this one was just an hours drive away, and even quicker on the jet, so everyone hopped in, hoping that this wouldn’t take long.

The case only ended up lasting the day, as the killer was sloppy and left behind an extensive trial. The BAU team boarded the jet wondering why they were even called in to help in the first place.

“Hey, at least this means you all can still come over tonight.” Rossi said positively.

“Yeah, everyone’s coming, right?” JJ said, scanning the plane, but no one spoke up. Just nods of heads to confirm that they were all going.

They all took their seperate cars to Rossi’s, with Emily riding with JJ because she left her car at her apartment and took the subway.  

When Spencer got there, the house was lit up. Rossi and Hotch had been the first ones to arrive, and shortly after Spencer the rest came filing in the door, joking and laughing with everyone. Spencer caught sight of everyone holding their gifts, wondering which bag or wrapped box was for him. Penelope was the last to come in, taking off her shoes at the door like everyone else and smiling at him with a wrapped present.

“Not for you,” She said, seeing the look on his face “That comes later.”

They all ate good food and talked and drank wine that night, and everything seemed perfect for that moment in time.

“Ok, ok. It is time for the event that we all came here for to take place!” Penelope said, a little wine drunk, standing up and grabbing her present. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, everyone stand up and go find whoever you were assigned. That’s it, good luck.”

They all rose from their seats to go find their assigned person. Spencer just silently waited. He knew he had Morgan, but he wanted to receive his present first and then find Derek because he was a little more… personal, and he didn’t want anyone getting in the way. Just then Derek made his way to him . No, no way is this happening, he thought, terrified and excited at the same time.

“Spencer Reid,” He said, handing the doctor a poorly wrapped present “I believe this is for you.”

“Oh my god,” Reid said, eyes darting between the present and Morgan.

“What?” Derek asked, visibly confused.

“Here. You were who I was assigned.” Spencer said bluntly, shoving the small present towards him.

“What are the odds,” Derek said, and then added as Spencer opened his mouth “please do not actually tell me the odds,” and they both laughed, unwrapping their gifts to each other. Spencer, since he got his gift first, unwrapped it faster and found a book.

“Derek, I love this,” It was a book he had never read before, and from the many books Spencer Reid had read, there weren’t a lot of those left. “Thank you.” He said, looking at him. He thumbed through the pages as the scent of the new book filled the air around them.

“Look at the inside cover.” Derek said, with a hint of shakiness in his voice.

“Only if you look at the CD.” Derek was holding the case in his hands, not taking the disc out itself yet. He was going to listen to it on the car ride home, he had told himself.

“Ok,” Derek wondered what was written on the CD. Probably just a funny playlist name or some fun fact about music, he thought dismissively. At the same time he pulled the disc gently from it’s casing, Spencer opened the cover to the book. In Spencer’s scrawled handwriting, Derek made out the words ‘I love you.’ written in black sharpie on the disc. As Spencer opened the book, he found Derek’s bold lettering on the cover page, saying ‘I love you.’

At the same time, they both looked at each other and came to a realization that this was not platonic. This wasn’t the way friends said they loved each other. And they both realized that the other felt the same way that they had been feeling for months.

“I love you too,” They both said at the same time, both letting out a laugh and realizing what happened.

“My place after this?” Derek asked under his breath.

“Most definitely.” Spencer replied, leaving Derek with a kiss on the cheek to go talk to Penelope.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

What Colour is Gold?

Jercy Fic

This is a fic based on this headcanon. I’m obsessed with Dark!Jercy and since i have a couple Dark Percy fics and one fic of both going Dark i figured its time for Jason to get a taste. I hope you guys enjoy. This was so much of fun to write

Masterlist

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

when they told me blood smelt like

iron

i grabbed my mother's favourite pan

and sniffed till I got dizzy off the smell

when they told me crying tasted like

salt

i gulped down a glass of ocean water

and watched as tears fell

when they told me silk felt like

polished glass

i dove into the ocean

and scraped shards against shell

i wonder what gold looks like?

maybe it's time to tell

"Dude take my left I'm going for the thing behind us" Percy Jackson yelled, pounding towards the hydra.

"I got you" Jason Grace said, pulling up next to his friend.

"Gods these things get uglier everytime I deal with them" Percy grimaced

"Ugh agreed and those damn empousai are worse than Drew with all the stupid cackling" Jason huffed

"Yea I fought those a while back, they really are the evil cheerleaders of the underworld" His friend grinned sordidly

"I feel like there's a story there but we don't have time right now so add it to the list of stuff you have to tell me when this shit show is over"

Percy laughed before swinging his sword down on one of the slithering snapping heads of the hydra.

"Jay, light it up!"

The blue-eyed boy grinned and pulled lightning from clear skies directly onto the stump of monster neck.

"Damn that never gets old" Percy smirked and then he was back to swinging.

Together the two made a barbecue meal of the hydra and when it crumbled to dust, screeching towards darkness, they laughed.

"Now to get rid of our cheersqaud," Green eyes rolled in annoyance.

"Honestly Percy Jackson how do we end up meeting in such delicious circumstances?"

"Hi Kelli glad to see you look as whole as ever, figured you'd be in the trash since Bob swept you up?"

Jason snickered at the sweetness dripping from his friend's voice.

"An acquaintance Perce?"

"Just some housekeeping jobs gone wrong."

Kelli hissed and with two lethal movements stood in front of the two demigods.

"Your blood is going to be as salty as the ocean Percy Jackson and I cannot wait to drink it.'

"Well that's just dramatic" And with that he swung Riptide around.

It clanged resoundingly against Kelli's bronze leg.

Jason was about to stab from behind when another evil cheerleader popped up next to him. He scrambled back raising his sword. The empousa cackled and shuffled towards him, hair flickering with flames.

He attempted to create a storm, snapping her with lightning.

"Your little tricks do not work on me son of Jupiter." She crowed, pulling her mouth into a fanged grin.

"Guess we'll have to do this the hard way then" He shrugged, striking his sword against the ground.

He snuck a glance at Percy to make sure everything was okay. Rookie mistake. The empousa used that moment to charge.

"Jason!" Percy yelled

He whirled back around to see the evil cheerleader flying towards him. Jason twisted his sword and flung it towards the shrieking monster. With a vile squelch it found its mark and before she could touch the ground she was ash.

He sighed in relief and turned to thank his friend. Percy was lying on the floor, a hand clutching his abdomen.

Bile climbed up Jason's throat as he rushed forward.

"Percy oh my gods what happened? Fuck shit Percy!" He screamed

"Kelli," Percy gasped, eyes rolling back, "Kelli managed to gut me before I killed her."

Jason sobbed as he felt warm red blood soaking through Percy's shirt.

"What must I do? Tell me how to help you?"

"Ambrosia," The demigod rasped, trying to reach his jeans' pockets.

"Right right okay, just stay with me, you aren't allowed to close your eyes you have to stay with me" Jason was hyperventilating

He shoveled some ambrosia into his friend's mouth and watched the green-eyed boy nibble it, groaning as he tried to swallow.

"Thanks buddy, you're a really good—" Percy succumbed to the darkness.

"No no fuck no! Wake up gods fucking dammit open your eyes Jackson!" He yelled

The son of Poseidon did not stir again.

Jason heaved, blueberry pancakes and water.

Minutes later the tears ran dry, and the shaking ceased.

"This is not fucking over." He swore.

And with that he picked up his friend and started walking. If anyone saw him they stayed far away. Those blue eyes crackled with murder.

Someone was going to pay f

Jason walked and walked and walked, until he stood at the entrance to Olympus. Then and only then did he dare look down. Black hair was plastered to a pale forheadhead and blood had soaked right through the Bon Jovi picture. He tightened his grip under his friend's knees and squeezed the hand holding Percy's shoulder.

The Son of Jupiter prowled onto the marble bridge of Olympus and the entire structure shuddered. Each step struck sparks of electricity. Dryads and nymphs scuttled back to their homes, not daring to make a sound. The infinite music  halted in a single note. The chatter of thriving life died. The only sound was the heavy, deadly footfall of a demigod.

Jason Grace stepped into the throne room and Gods became men.

"Fix this." Two words.

Nothing had ever sounded so paralyzing.

Nobody moved. No-one dared to loose a breath.

"This is your fault. We were down there because you couldn't keep the monsters out of the fields. FIX THIS!" The blonde haired boy bellowed.

"Son we are sorry but we—"

"I don't fucking care what you can and can't do. Fix him." How does a whisper sound louder than drums.

"We cannot change death Jason Grace." Ares frowned.

"Then you should have prevented it," Still so soft.

"I cannot say I'm unhappy to see him gone," Athena mused, unaware of the volatile half blood in her midst.

Jason's laugh entwined itself around his throat,

"And I thought you were the smart one"

The Goddess of Wisdom did not have time to open her mouth before a sword hilt stuck out of her rib-cage.

Her eyes widened a fraction before she slumped over.

The demigod retrieved his sword, inspecting the gold liquid that clung to it.

"Who's next?"

"You think you can beat all of us Son of Jupiter?" Artemis looked at him with interest

"I don't care if I can, I'll die trying if you don't fix him."

Only malice glittered in his eyes. Nothing of the good boy who followed rules and obeyed the divine.

Nobody bothered to move.

Jason smiled and the skies opened up. Lightning rained down like shards of glass, cutting and searing flesh.

Thunder echoed against the stone walls, loud enough to burst eardrums. Blood dripped down the side of agonized immortal faces. Storms, the demigod thought, had never looked so rich.

"JASON!" Zeus roared.

"What?" His son hissed.

"Stop this right now! Dionysus take Percy Jackson to Poseidon, he is not dead. The sea should heal him. And as for you boy you will not defy us like this ever again. I will strip you of everything you are." Zeus slashed.

"If you don't want me to act like this maybe you should stop getting us into life and death situations."

"Get out and do not come back unless you are invited." His father seethed.

"I always did want to know what gold looked like." Jason Grace grinned.

And all around him drops of sunlight coated the stone floor, dripping from those ancient bodies and glittering in the evening beams.

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

when they told me blood smelt like

iron

i grabbed my mother's favourite pan

and sniffed till I got dizzy off the smell

when they told me crying tasted like

salt

i gulped down a glass of ocean water

and watched as tears fell

when they told me silk felt like

polished glass

i dove into the ocean

and scraped shards against shell

i'll tell you what gold looks like

go ask the gods

they're bottled sunshine

and I am hell

[gweniala]

Ertanians

Finally, behold! The product of this year’s winter school: a fanfiction introducing four new characters to my already bursting cast, coming as a direct sequel to The Dam. It comes complete with character designs because I came up with the fanfic as I was designing the characters.

Disclaimer: This fic is dark. As in, grim dark. A lot of babies die in great pains, there’s mutilation, character death and angst all around.

------

Nike spends a good while puzzling over where he has seen Svea before he realises it’s not the woman he finds familiar; it’s her sword.

It’s a day like any other on the road: the sun is hot, the beer is watered, the innkeeper is greedy and the lunch guests are yelling and pawing at the poor waitress like all of the above was her fault. Some three hundred years ago, Nike would have told them to stop and happily got in a fist fight over it. But those days are gone. Now that he travels alone, he has to watch his back and pick his battles. A knife in the gut could actually be a problem for him nowadays, not to mention losing a limb. Oh how the mighty have fallen…

Nike’s musings are interrupted when, much to Nike’s surprise, someone else stands up to the common injustice. From the corner of the room a hooded woman grows: “Leave the girl alone.”

The rest of the guests look over but that’s about it. The waitress retreats to the kitchen, but soon enough she’s bringing another round of watered beer. When she bends over to collect the empty glasses, one of the guests grabs her ass and squeezes as if to prove a point. At that, the woman stands up and walks over to him. She leans down and tells him something in a quiet voice. The guest, a burly blue Ynt who barely fits onto his chair, sneers at her in response.

“Piss off,” he says. “I’m not gonna hit a girl.”

“Oh, it’s that old song again…” the woman says. “What, you’re afraid the girl might hit back?” When this doesn’t earn her response, she straightens and says: “Sure, have it your way. Let today be the day you ran from being challenged by a girl. I guess it can’t be helped. You do look like you can barely hold the spoon. Don’t let your mother see you this way, it would break her heart.” She laughs at him from beneath the hood.

The Ynt strikes the table. “Very well, outside it is!” he barks and gets up.

The woman chuckles and exits the inn first. As she’s walking past Nike, she lifts her cape to check on a sword strapped to her side. Nike can’t see under her hood, but he gets the feeling that he knows her from somewhere.

Outside the Ynt tries to talk the woman out of fighting him. When she doesn’t budge, he says that a true Ynt always fights with a spear and to the death. She says that’s alright with her; she’s armed, too. It’s plain as day that the Ynt just wants to go back inside and finish his lunch. Groping a waitress is a terribly trivial matter to die over. But this woman keeps goading him as if she had a death wish and he can’t let her trample all over his pride. So, after considerable stalling, he finally brandishes his spear and tells her to defend herself.

The moment she draws her sword, Nike recognises the flame-shaped guard and it dawns on him why he finds her so familiar. With a dramatic flare she tears her cape off, and he already knows that he’ll see black goggles and a red-eyed snake underneath. And his anticipation is proven right for the third time when her sword bursts into flame.

“En garde, little bug!” the woman shouts. “I am Svea, daughter of Stein and Kafendre, the Guardian of Fire, and you really should have left that girl alone!”

The Ynt screeches with terror. Dropping his spear, he opens his wing-case and he’s in the air before you can say “cinder”. Svea bursts out laughing. She jabs her burning sword into the ground and leans against it, cackling merrily.

“Gets them every time!” she says. “Hey, little bug! Come back! I know your folk is afraid of fire. I wasn’t going to hurt you. You still have a soup to finish.”

When the blue Ynt isn’t coming back, she sighs and flicks the flames off her sword. “Move along now,” she tells the spectators and she goes to pick her cape up from the dusty ground.

It takes Svea a while to come back inside the inn. Nike is wondering if she has gone after the Ynt when she enters, cape bundled under her arm, frowning like a storm. She plops down on her seat and glares at her beer. The waitress scurries to her side; the two whisper until Svea’s frown eases and she passes the bundled cape to the waitress.

Nike smiles to himself, picks his glass up and walks over to Svea’s table.

“You tore the buckle off, didn’t you?” he says. “I’m Nike, son of free will. Mind if I sit here?”

Svea grunts. She doesn’t offer him a chair but she doesn’t tell him to beat it either, so Nike takes his chances and sits. “Was it that obvious?” Svea asks begrudgingly.

“Not really. I just used to be big on capes myself,” Nike says. “I know what happens when you rip it off like that.”

“Hm,” Svea says. She shifts uncomfortably. “Do you want something?”

“I just wanted to ask how Razi’s doing.”

Svea’s entire demeanour changes. She perks up. Her snake – her familiar – fixates its gaze firmly on Nike. “You’ve met Razi?” she says. “Where? And when?”

“Uh, about two years ago. Far away from here, I don’t remember what the world was called.”

A relieved smile spreads across Svea’s face. “She’s okay… that’s good to hear. How did she look? Does she still carry that menhir around?”

“She looked fine, and yes, she does,” Nike says, somewhat taken aback. “You’re her sister, right? Just how long haven’t you seen her?”

“For nine years!” Svea says. “It’s been such a long time. I expected we would cross roads more often, you know? But either the universe is really big, or…” She breaks off, then continues. “The five of us were supposed to meet up five years ago. But when I got there, the place literally didn’t exist anymore and I couldn’t find anyone… Luckily, Aini planned for two meetings! So I’m heading there right now and I really hope they’re gonna be there.”

“Can I come along with you?”

Svea gives him a surprised look. She coughs, sits back and the friendly spell fades. “Why?” she asks cautiously.

Nike shrugs. “I’d just like to see Razi again.”

Svea looks him up and down a few times. Finally she asks: “How did you meet her?”

“On the road,” Nike says. “She saved a village from being flooded.”

Svea appears thoughtful, then she shrugs her shoulders and says: “Do you have a horse?”

“No, but I can run like one.”

She smiles. “We’ll see about that.”

Svea’s horse is a chestnut morgan and, naturally, it leaves Nike in the dust. The hoophead is afraid the Fire Guardian might leave him behind, but he finds her waiting at the first crossroad not twenty kilometres from the inn.

“I thought you’d give up,” she says simply and hops up into the saddle. “Try to keep up. We’ve got a long way ahead of us.”

It takes them over three weeks to reach the designated meeting spot. During that time, Nike learns almost nothing about Svea. The woman isn’t a talker; she rides and eats in silence, sleeps alone and never parts with her sword. He can tell, however, that she’s very excited to reunite with her family. So he puts in that little extra effort and runs faster than he usually would. Slowly it wears on him. But he can still match the morgan’s speed, granted that Svea doesn’t drive it like crazy.

They’re travelling across a wide grassy plane when Svea stops and points toward the horizon.

“See that tree? That’s where we’re meeting!” she says. “I’ll race you there!”

She pays no heed to Nike’s protests; she spurs her morgan and leaves the hoophead in the dust again. Nike sighs and continues running at his somewhat-higher-than-usual speed. He isn’t going to bust a nut over being impatient.

Svea doesn’t reach the tree before him anyway. He meets her about two thirds of the way as she’s leading her morgan by the bridle. The horse is soaked with sweat, its legs shaking and mouth frothing. Nike falls into step beside them and he can’t deny himself the pleasure of saying: “And that’s why you don’t sprint unless you have to.”

The tree is taller than Nike expected. Huge and ancient, it towers over a small inn. Svea barely wastes time tying her exhausted morgan to a pole before she barges inside. Nike ties the horse properly, though he expects that it isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and follows Svea inside.

Immediately he spots a bundle of people with snakes and goggles who are hugging each other and laughing happily. Razi’s there, with her menhir leaning against the wall. Nike counts five goggled people in total and concludes that Svea was the last to arrive.

“You’re late!” Razi says as if on cue. “I’ve already been here for two weeks. Where have you been?”

“It’s not my fault,” Svea says and points at Nike. “He slowed me down.”

Razi glances at him and she smiles widely. “Nike! It’s good to see you.” She makes her way toward him, extending her hand.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Nike says, shaking her hand. To his surprise, Razi clasps the back of his neck and pulls him down toward her. By all means it looks like she’s going to kiss him, but she just bumps her goggles against his eyes. When she pulls away and sees his expression, she starts and chuckles in embarrassment.

“Oh! Sorry, force of habit,” she says, stepping back.

“Hold on,” Svea calls from the huddle and her tone is nothing but jealous. “I was told you’ve met. How close are the two of you exactly?”

“None of your business, sister,” Razi says. “Come here guys, I’ll introduce you.”

Razi’s remaining siblings are a young woman who’s missing half of her limbs, an energetic man who carries her on his hip and a serious man with a sweet smile. Nike forgets immediately who is who, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s offered a spot crammed between Razi and one of her brothers, which suits him just fine. The five Guardians chat as if they didn’t have a care in the world. The taciturn Svea suddenly spins tales like a master storyteller, Razi and her crippled sister banter good-naturedly, and Nike is pretty sure both of the brothers are flirting with him. At some point there’s a hand on his thigh; it’s gone before he can take a look who it belongs to.

As alcohol levels rise, the conversation turns from hard-to-follow to downright confusing. Not only doesn’t Nike know half the terms (why do they keep calling Razi a tyrant?), he also has serious trouble reading the mood. He knows that the eyes in their heads are blind and he should make eye contact with the serpentine familiars instead. But the snake faces seem stony to him. If they emote, he can’t read them. Plus it’s so strange to have the voice coming from another place than below the eyes…

When the five Guardians decide to go outside and have a free-for-all, it comes as a relief more than anything. One of the two brothers lingers behind, fishing for something in his bag.

“Ah, there we go,” he says and pulls out a small book bound between two slates of stone. He offers it to Nike. “If you get bored of watching us goof off, read this.”

“What is it?”

“The history of our world. I copied it from our Wall of Records. Have you read the Wall lately?”

Nike shakes his head.

The man clicks his tongue. “You need to know your history if you want to navigate the future,” he says. “Especially if you’re after Razi.” And he gives him a searching look.

Nike shrugs. “I’ll read it.”

“Do that.”

Nike settles on a bench outside the inn, overlooking the sea of grass which is tinted golden by the drooping sun. In the distance, the five Guardians are preparing for their free-for-all. Nike can see Svea’s burning sword on the ground level and two figures darting about up in the air. He opens the stone-bound book and begins reading.

The history of Ertan (excerpt from the Wall of Records)

The first generation of fifth-age Guardians was born on the planet Ertan.

Ertan was one of the thousands of worlds created by Arven, and perhaps it was because of the creator’s renowned rush that its inhabitants suffered from an inborn, incurable disease. As soon as the eyes of their newborns were exposed to the planet’s atmosphere, they became inflamed and they would fester painfully until the baby went completely blind. The first Ertanians fervently searched for a way to reverse or prevent the process, but it was an impossible task. Some parents fell into despair. They smothered their wailing babies, saying that swift death was a fate better than a lifetime of agony.

But two doctors rose against this dreadful practice. They were a husband and wife, a surgeon called Briar and a physiotherapist called Tyra. They advocated that parents shouldn’t smother their children, but rather provide them as test subject to their experimental research. In response Briar and Tyra were called monsters and their house was tagged with paint and rotten eggs. But in the end, most parents found it easier to entrust their doomed offsprings to the two doctors than to commit an unforgivable sin. And so the Haven, the ghastly research facility, was created.

Few knew what kind of research was conducted in the Haven. Few wanted to know. Over the next three years, sixty-eight babies were taken inside its walls never to be seen again. Briar and Tyra assured everybody that they were working on a cure for the disease, but when a mass grave was found in their backyard, they were nearly lynched by a terrified crowd. Briar, who protected his wife, almost succumbed to his wounds after he got her to safety. Only Tyra’s warm, soft hands saved his life. The two doctors never left the Haven afterward. Ertanians hoped that they would starve to death, but those hopes fell flat. Lights came alive in the Haven’s windows year after year, and the wind carried ungodly screams which made one’s blood freeze.

But, truthfully, the households which had children were no better off. No one could ease the intolerable suffering which the disease brought to infants. Few parents had the strength to go on day after day, swamped with the smell, gore and perpetual screaming. If a woman became pregnant, she would be berated: why did she bring children into this world? It was her fault for not staying clean! It was a better fate for the people of Ertan to disappear from the face of their planet quietly and peacefully.

The public opinion was as split as ever as the people of Ertan argued endlessly. They had been given life by Arven; they shouldn’t waste it simply because it was hard and painful! But in spite of that reassurance, hundreds of pregnant women were abandoned when their time of strife drew near. Such poor lasses couldn’t bear the thought of facing their future alone. They would go into the woods and return some time later, childless. There were no questions asked, but many suspected the truth. The lonely mothers-to-be sought the Haven and gave birth there, leaving the newborn child in the care of Briar and Tyra. Out of all the grim options they had, it seemed like the best. At the very least it gave them hope that their sacrifice contributed to something larger than themselves. In a world which was dying, hope for a better future was their only comfort.

Eventually the lands surrounding the Haven were abandoned and nothing was heard from Briar and Tyra for forty years. The Haven was forgotten while a new, decimated generation of Ertanians grew to adulthood. They were used to living in darkness and constant, head-splitting pain. Those who couldn’t shoulder it went mad or killed themselves. The original generation of Ertanians watched them struggle and they knew it was only a matter of time before death claimed the people of Ertan.

That was when the lost children returned.

There were about a hundred of them, people of all ages between five and forty. They were a strange-looking group. All of them had linen bandages wrapped around their heads, impregnated with something oily which smelled of fish. What was even stranger, each carried an erdack viper curled atop their shoulders.

When they reached the first settlement, its few inhabitants hid in their houses and watched them suspiciously. Eventually an old man, once created by Arven to be a soldier, stepped forward to speak:

“Who are you, viper-bearers?”

A woman, the oldest among the bunch, answered him:

“We are the children of Briar and Tyra. Our honoured parents have died and we have decided to leave our home. Don’t be scared! We bring joyful news. Mother and father have found a way to fight back pain and turn destiny. They have returned our sight.”

The old soldier sneered at her. “Well then, tell me, viper-bearer. How many fingers am I holding up?”

The viper resting on the woman’s shoulder raised its head and looked straight at the old man. After a tense moment, the woman said: “You do not have any fingers left to hold up.”

“She can see!” the old man cried out. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled and said: “We are the children you have once lost. Will you give us food and shelter?”

The lost children were immediately taken in. To the raring Ertanians they spoke of the wondrous result of their parents’ research. Through heart-wrenching trial and error Briar and Tyra had learned to implant a young erdack viper into a newborn child’s body so that it became an additional limb. The viper’s spinal cord was connected to the child’s at the back of the child’s neck, so the child could see everything the viper saw, smell everything the viper smelled and feel everything the viper felt. They called their fifth limb a familiar, and through its clear red eyes they had regained sight. They held they key to Ertan’s future, for Briar and Tyra had taught them everything they knew. The two cursed doctors had made sure to pass their blood-stained redemption on.

The lost children immediately set to work. They found all women in the neighbourhood who were delivering soon and split up into groups of two which attended each of them. The lost children who had learned from Briar had nimble, strong hands that never shook. The ones who had learned from Tyra had warm, soft hands that took pain away. When a woman’s time was nearing, the two children would find an erdack viper’s nest and collect its eggs. As soon as the woman went into labour, the eggs were placed under a hot lamp. The one that hatched just before the baby was born was selected to become the familiar.

As soon as the baby slid out of the womb, his or her bright blue eyes dimmed and the baby began crying with pain which would eventually turn into burning agony. But before that could come to pass, a child of Tyra wrapped clean linen cloth soaked with painkilling oil around the child’s head. This eased the pain and lulled the newborn to fall asleep on the mother’s belly. Then the child of Briar cut the newborn’s back open and connected its spinal chord to the viper’s. After the wounds were sewn shut, the child of Tyra taught the parents how to exercise with their child so that the familiar’s attachment succeeded. Six weeks later, it was decided whether the child would live or die. Half of the operations failed; the children first became paralysed from the neck down and then their hearts stopped beating. The infants who survived were blessed by the following words before the lost children moved on to another expecting mother:

“In the name of Patrick, Gloria, Neve, Maki, Callum, Undi, Chelsea, Rowan, Lawrence, Zakariya, Jerry, Maddie, Robbie, Carlan, Marshall, April, Sharon, Josh, Caleb, Farmer, Abby, Tabitha, Katherine, Keller, Kian, Aliyah, Harta, Herbert, Jose, Fiona, Hason, Dewey, Tommy, Felix, Carolie, Willard, Marie, Connor, Megan, Saman, Hanson, Frost, Isabelle, Iqra, Arjun, Isaiah, Fella, Yusuf, Ronan, Anna, Olive, Ruby, Kieron, House, Renee, Melody, Kyle, Weeks, Andrew, Dominica, Lorenzo, Polly, Connie, Rich, Jac, Kaitlyn, Hassan, Rachael, Edgar, Lachlan, Bella, Eve, Helena, Amaan, Stephen, Hanna, Sam, Diana, Hano, Sana, Scarlett, Austin, Jenna, Omar, Ibrahim, Vanessa, Eden, Maximilian, Sloan, Claoud, Hafsa, Khadija, Jane, Curtis, Dein, Louise, Edrei, Tristan, Amy, Ashley, Craig, Ismail, Kye, Hampton, Aiden, Theresa, Rebekah, Gray, Ellie-May, Alpha, Mathew, Edda, Lois, Owain, Yasin, Annath, Sara, Seth, Hannah, Heather, Bettar, Jack, Ray, Ted, Homer, Jimmy, Otto, Clara, Ellis, Will, Andre, Luke, Kane, Harmony, Tanisha, Frazer, Jay, Alannah, Martin, Courtney, Geron, Annie, Daniel, Aadam, Adil, Louisa, Reynolds, Rhonda, Reuben, Autumn, Carl, Sophia, Zara, Orla, Louis, Ricky, Jonathan, Carrie, Angus, Darcie, Euan, Elohi, Mohamed, Muhammad, Julian, Adam, Tilly, Walters, Dean, Robert, Droa, Jodie, Maryam, Donald, Sabrina, Olivia, Veronica, Allen, Natalia, Calvin, Troy, Charles, Mooney, Elizabeth, Chris, Harrell, Lily, Phoebe, Aron, Freya, Katie, Sienna, May, David, Jesse, Rowe, Summer, Montgomery, Tallulah, Hermione, Amira, Josie, Meghan, Kaitlin, Ebony, Kira, Joel, Kirby, Alfie, Lacey, Herman, Simpson, Betty, Dale, Zach, Christine, Phillip, Daniella, Matteo, Warren, Umar, Max, Kitty, Gethin, Shawn, Georgie, Bonnie, Jasper, Harold, Ash, Kathleen, Rita, Morgan, Abida, Benjamin, Zack, Sadie, Jean, Byron, Savannah, Joshua, Carver, Frankie, Catherine, Erica, Mccarty, Roman, Cerys, Paula, Alexander, Gary, Solomon, Haleema, Joe, Elve, Maxwell, Myers, Steven, Carmen, Morse, Chavez, Neal, Robin, Harriet, Lee, Evangeline, Elsa, Nadia, Jake, Lena, Rhea, Fleur, Anastasia, Lucia, Lucas, Marvin, Porter, Alvarado, Nina, Mark, Harriy, Sana, Clay, Rafael, Owen, Leonie, Patricia, Lauren, Scott, Harris, Estrada, Jessie, Keith, Chloe, Henry, Hellon, Alicia, Linda, Vincent, Aaliyah, Sarah, Evan, Jeremy, Mitchell, Russell, Baldwin, Tianna, Willie, Jeffrey, Mariam, Kenneth, Leonard, Fred, Eva, Nora, Kyran, Keira, Alice, Holly, Musa, Naomi, Zoe, Everett, Feli, Tanya, David, Roy, Francis, Lindsey, Moha, Alyssa, Ronald, Beleth, Frederick, Dennis, Boyer, Tia, Stella, Natasha, Vaughn, Rangel, Ernest, Alec, Adrian, Carlos, Ciara, Dominic, Zak, William, Libby, Freddy, Claudia, Jenson, Molly, Christina, Farhan, Jack, Leroy, George, Vincent, Margie, Ellie, Oliver, Hussain, Conner, Dalton, Terry, Hasan, Edoni, Nannie, Jacob, Rhys, Aisha, Susan, Yahya, Hashim, Charlotte, Tyler, Potts, Ebomui, Cooper, Iona, Cox, Cara, Noah, Bethany, Rosa, Faye, Eleanor, Monica, Irene, Theo, Aoife, Stefan, Maxim, Vang, Hatfield, Jim, Kayleigh, Jason, Elias, Malaki, Trasta, Nicolas, Ciaran, Hartfa, Aaron, Ralph, Haroon, Abellia, Velaz, Eddie, Poppy, Penelope, Gerald, Erika, Peari, Connolly, Abdul, Calum, Stanley, Aliya, Higgi, Hamma, Ibra, Grover, Tony, Samuel, Lloyd, Aysha, Zachary, Bernard and Gemma, blessed be thy eyes. May you live happily.”

The lost children spread their craft and hope among the people of Ertan like wildfire. A decade later, there wasn’t a child who didn’t receive a familiar at birth. It was unfortunate that adults and older children couldn’t undergo the operation. Their nervous systems were already set in stone so they would never learn how to use the familiar. But even they benefited from the painkilling oil Tyra had invented, which was now brewed by the gallons. As new generations of surgeons and physiotherapists were trained, the death toll of the familiar implantation decreased until, two hundred years later, it was nearly zero. Briar and Tyra’s blood-curdling research had saved the people of Ertan from extinction.

The Haven stands to this day, as if the ground refused to take it. It is haunted by the endless suffering and deepest pains of the 433 children who died at the hands of Briar and Tyra before their research was complete. Their names are still recited six weeks after every familiar implantation. It’s a chore more than anything, but Briar’s and Tyra’s followers (now called simply briars and tyras) insist on it. During their medical training they are taught to always honour the sacrifice, and so they recite “the four hundred names” in spite of the annoyed and bored parents. Every now and then Ertanians try to abolish the tradition of the four hundred names, but they are never successful. After all, briars and tyras hold a large political power, since every Ertanian needs their medical attention lest the dark age resume.

Now a few days into the fifth age, an Ertanian woman called Kafendre fell gravely sick. She had always been healthy and strong, but the illness tore at her body like a savage animal. Her skin lost all colour and her voice turned raspy. On the third night, Kafendre took her final breath in her husband’s arms and fell still. The man, called Stein, began mourning. But in a minute he felt her stir again.

“I’m sorry,” Kafendre said with a faint smile, “I must have fallen asleep.” Stein embraced her and thanked Quater for the miracle, his tears of sorrow turning into tears of happiness.

Kafendre’s state began improving until, a month later, she was as healthy as a fiddle. Another three months passed and she told her husband that she was with a child.

They named their first daughter Raznedeadra, Razi for short. Giving her such a long unpronounceable name was Stein’s idea. His family had a long-standing tradition of embarrassing their children by ridiculous names; Stein’s full name was Steinelwardumrist. Since he couldn’t get back at his father, he vented his frustration by insisting Raznedeadra was a wonderful name, and thus perpetuated his family’s tradition.

As every Ertanian child, Razi received a familiar at birth. She fumbled with the dark purplish viper at first, but as every child, before long she learned to move it just as well as her arms and legs. On her third birthday, she got her first goggles. Airtight, black and sleek, they had been invented some fifty years prior to replace the traditional linen bandages. They had since become an irreplaceable accessory for all but the most old-fashioned Ertanians. Their inside was filled to the brim with painkilling oil (much improved since the times of Briar and Tyra). They allowed no air in, which eased the inflammation, and they protected the “other eyes” from mechanical harm. Razi wore her goggles proudly and never took them off.

Half a year later, Razi got an even greater gift – a sister called Sveasilovudie, Svea for short. Stein and Kafendre immediately noticed that their two daughters had something in common. Razi had a spiral-shaped birthmark on the top of her left hand. Stein and Kafendre had dismissed it as a strange coincidence, but now Svea had a birthmark on the same place as well, only of a different shape. The concerned parents sought the advice of Ertanian elders. Thus they learned that their children sported the ancient symbols of earth and fire. It was quite possible, the elders said, that Razi and Svea would grow up to become the Guardians of Earth and Fire. To that Stein and Kafendre replied that both of their daughters were completely normal children. But the elders warned them that even though their powers hadn’t manifested yet, they could come to light any day. The two of them should be ready. There was no telling what would happen.

Razi grew to love Svea fiercely, and though she was still a wee girl herself, she always wanted to take care of her. One day Kafendre left the little Svea in Razi’s care while she went outside to hang the laundry. She was nearly done when she heard screams from the house. She rushed back and found Razi cradling her sister, rocking her back and forth.

“Mama!” Razi cried out when she saw Kafendre. “Svea messed up her bandages. Help me, she’s crying so much…”

Kafendre stopped only to stroke the back of Razi’s neck and then ran off to get fresh bandages and painkilling oil. When she returned, she was surprised that Svea was crying much softer than before. She prepared everything for the redressing and braced herself before she took the creased bandages off as quickly as she could. She was prepared for blood-curdling screams when the air touched Svea’s other eyes. But the baby didn’t wail half as loudly as she should have. While Razi was holding Svea up, Kafendre wrapped new bandages around Svea’s little head and wondered at this stroke of good luck. Then she noticed that something else was off. Razi’s eyes – the eyes of her familiar – weren’t red. They were as green as emeralds.

When Kafendre finished redressing Svea’s other eyes, Razi lay her little sister down carefully and curled up around her. “I’m so tired, mama,” she said before she fell swiftly asleep.

Kafendre was perplexed by this episode. She told everything to Stein in the evening and they both decided to wait until Razi woke up from her deep slumber. When she finally stirred and opened her eyes, they asked:

“What did you do, little girl? What happened with Svea?”

Razi replied: “I just wanted her to stop crying… Where is she? Is she okay? I have to see her…” She wouldn’t calm down until she made sure Svea was alright. Then she put her tiny finger to her tiny lips and said: “Mama? How is your back?”

“Like always,” Kafendre said. “It hurts but it’s nothing bad.”

“Let me have a look,” Razi insisted.

Kafendre smiled and sat on the bed. Razi climbed up behind her and ran her tiny hands along her mama’s hurting back. She blinked a few times… and her eyes turned green again.

“I can help you,” she said. “Hold still.”

Kafendre felt a strange warmth permeating her stiff muscles, like she was sitting with her back to the fire. Her back pains, which had started back when she was bearing Razi, began melting away. She sighed with relief. A few minutes later she felt better than she had in years. Finally Razi yawned and crawled onto her lap.

“I’m tired,” she said, curled up and fell asleep again.

That was when Stein and Kafendre came to believe that their children would truly grow up to become the Guardians.

As time went on, both Razi and Svea became quite the handfuls. Razi was bossy and overprotective while Svea was moody and defiant. Soon after finding her talent for healing, Razi discovered her ability of telekinesis as well. Nothing was safe from her grasp. Often she would steal cookies hidden in the topmost shelves. Even more often she would drop things and break them, so she was soon forbidden her to use telekinesis inside the house. This, of course, didn’t stop Razi, who always knew better. Secretly she began teaching her sister to use her fire powers as well. But when they set the bedsheets on fire and Svea began crying with terror instead of dousing it, even Razi had to admit that everything had its time.

“Mama, when will you give us more brothers and sisters?” Razi would ask Kafendre every once in a while. “There’s supposed to be five of us.” She counted on her fingers: “Earth, fire, water, air and invisible forces.”

And Kafendre would smile and stroke Razi’s head. “One day, little earthling.”

Razi learned the sad truth when a tyra visited the house and she overheard his conversation with Kafendre. The illness which had once nearly slain Kafendre hadn’t disappeared from her body. It seemed like it never would. It lurked in her muscles and internal organs, waiting for its opportunity. It was too risky for her to have any more children, the tyra said, and Kafendre nodded sadly.

Hearing this, the seven-year-old Razi’s heart filled with compassion and defiance. She wouldn’t let fate toy with her family like that! There were always five Guardians, one for each element, and this incarnation would be no different!

At the dinner, Razi announced: “Mama, papa, I want to become a tyra.”

Stein chuckled and patted the back of Razi’s neck. “You have to finish school first.”

“No, I don’t. I’ll become a tyra instead so that I can help mama have more babies,” Razi said with a conviction only a child can muster. Stein and Kafendre looked at each other. Then Kafendre smiled.

“You will make for a wonderful tyra, Razi,” she said. “You have the warmest, softest hands I have ever known.”

Thus Razi’s tyra education began. While Svea dilly-dallied about, picking fights and burning everyone but herself, her older sister studied diligently. Every Friday evening she would come home from cram school and give her mother a relaxing massage. Her eyes sparkled green as she healed all that she could. Afterward she would slump and sleep for most of Saturday. But her hard work paid off. Year after year, Kafendre felt herself grow stronger. And on Razi’s tenth birthday, Kafendre whispered to her that she would have another sibling.

Kafendre nearly miscarried thrice but Razi saved her every time. Despite her slim age, she was becoming the family’s tyra and one of the town’s most renown citizens. Her hands were the softest and the warmest, but her will was iron and her word was law. It was thanks to her tireless efforts that eventually Kafendre gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Stein named him Itsellenisaan, Itsel for short.

Itsel was still tiny when Kafendre’s belly swelled again and a mere year and a day later, another boy followed suit. This one was named Insattamirko, Insa for short. Itsel and Insa grew inseparable. They shared everything, from clothes and food to first words. They would fight just as often as get along swell, and it was in those fights that they first called upon their elemental powers. As their birthmarks had already betrayed, Itsel was the Guardian of Air and Insa was the Guardian of Water. Itsel, being the older one, always had a bit of an upper hand, but Insa was a slippery thing (literally). They were best friends from the time they could crawl.

Seeing that Kafendre had her hands full with the two boys, Razi stopped asking for her fifth sibling for a time. But when Itsel and Insa began attending pre-school (together in the same class, because Itsel wouldn’t leave Insa’s side), she began suspecting that despite her selfless help her mother wasn’t keen on bearing the last Guardian. Another year trickled past and Razi confronted her mother angrily. She had to deliver the Guardian of Invisible Forces! What Razi didn’t expect was that Kafendre would burst out angrily:

“Insolent girl! That is no way to speak to your mother! It isn’t my duty to give you another sibling, and it isn’t your right to demand one. I never wanted to have so many children. Your father and I barely earn enough to feed the four of you. You will not ask me to bend to your every whim, not in such a tone!”

Stunned and on the verge of tears, Razi ran away. She returned very late, and found Kafendre awake with worry in the kitchen.

“Mum,” Razi said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know we were falling on hard times. I can get a part-time job to help you and dad out. I’m not a full tyra yet, but I’m sure people will find my healing useful.”

Kafendre embraced her daughter and said: “Your healing demands you give a part of yourself. Don’t sell it to strangers. I’m sorry for shouting at you. You don’t have to get a job, love. Just focus on school and be patient. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to give you your last sibling. But when I am, you’ll know it first.”

When Razi turned fourteen, she was faced with a difficult choice. As a gifted tyra student and an emerging celebrity, she was offered a scholarship at the Haven Medical School. Located near the ruins of the ancient Haven, it was the most prestigious school of Ertan. It was also quite literally on the other end of the world. If Razi accepted the scholarship, she would have to leave her mother behind, and she just didn’t know how well Kafendre would hold up without her regular healing. In the end, however, she decided that her family was strong enough to get by without her. Seen off by half of her hometown, Razi got on a train and left.

Without Razi’s stern leadership, things got a little wilder in Stein and Kafendre’s household. Svea had always had a thing for protecting the weak and unfortunate, but usually she only targeted bullies. Now she managed to get involved with an actual crime syndicate, and on one of her vigilante escapades she got in way over head. She would have been hurt badly if she didn’t suddenly conjure a fiery sword out of thin air. Both she and the boys thought that the sword was madly cool; Stein and Kafendre disagreed. What was worse, Svea then took it into her head to become a swordswoman. Her parents betrayed her from such a career, arguing that she was still bad at controlling her fire powers and she was likely to hurt someone. But Svea scoffed at that sentiment. She needed to learn fighting precisely so that she would get better at controlling her fire! And thus her noble quests added another crease to her parents’ foreheads.

On the next autumn, just as Razi’s third year at the Haven Medical began, Kafendre fell ill. Stein recognised the symptoms right away – it was the same sudden illness that had nearly killed her once. Doctors couldn’t help her then and they couldn’t help her now either. A letter was sent to Razi immediately, but it was a lost cause; there was no way she would arrive in time. The illness progressed just as quickly and violently as the first time. On the morning of the second day, the six-year-old Itsel disobeyed his parents and took to the air. He commanded the winds to carry him to Razi’s school, fast like an arrow. He got lost, however, and he could find his way neither to the school nor home.

On the third night, Kafendre took her final breath in her husband’s arms and fell still. Stein, Svea and Insa began mourning. But in a minute, the fiery Svea raised her head.

“What’s this?” she said. “Who is this?”

There was no response. Stein was about to chide his daughter for being disrespectful at her mother’s deathbed when Insa said: “I can feel him, too. Who are you, stranger? Why have you come?”

“That’s no stranger,” Svea said in awe. “That is Quater himself.”

And then, for the second time in his life, Stein felt his wife’s dead body stir in his arms. Kafendre opened her eyes and said: “Oh dear… did I fall asleep again?”

By the time the terrified Razi arrived, Kafendre was well on her way to recovery. Razi tended to her first. After she slept it off, she took Svea along on a journey to find the lost Itsel. The three siblings returned a few weeks later. Svea refused to dismiss her sword from then on, and instead she took it with her everywhere she went.

In the safety of her home, Razi broke down. The worst had come to pass – her mother had nearly died and Itsel had gone through his own fair share of hardships. All because Razi had left her family. She swore that she would never leave them again. Even without finishing her studies, she had enough experience to find a job as a tyra apprentice. It would mean throwing away all of her effort until now, but she couldn’t bear the thought that Kafendre’s brush with death was her fault. Her family tried to talk her out of it, but Razi knew better… like she always did.

When Razi discovered not three months later that Kafendre was with a child, she couldn’t help but recall the circumstances of her own birth. She spoke of it to no one, but a dark suspicion took root in her heart.

Kafendre’s fifth and last child was a strong girl. Stein named her Aintdonnensali, Aini for short. Aini was everyone’s darling, Itsel and Insa’s most of all. The boys loved playing with her and took her along almost everywhere they went. Things were really looking up for a change. But then another disaster struck.

While Itsel, Insa and Aini were playing hide-and-seek in the woods, a hungry beast came upon them. It sneaked up on the five-year-old Aini and leaped, sinking its fangs into her familiar. Aini cried out in shock and pain. The best snapped its jaws and broke the viper’s neck. Aini’s world went dark and she nearly fainted. But Ertanians were taught to weather pain from early childhood. Aini’s element called to her; sparks danced along her arms as she was preparing for the beast’s next strike. She heard it coming and assumed it would go for the neck again. But she was wrong. In the next second, Aini was on the ground and the beast was chewing on her legs as if they were bubblegum.

Overcoming faintness once again, Aini concentrated all of her will to hurt in her hands and fumbled about. But be it her inexperience or confusion, she only managed to jolt the beast and make it angry. The next thing she knew, her left arm was being shredded by the beast’s claws. Her familiar followed suit, ripped out at the base of her neck. Her consciousness fading, Aini knew that her last remaining right hand had to kill now. She didn’t realise that her brothers had heard her fighting and were coming to the rescue. Blinded by pain, she didn’t see Itsel blow the beast away with a powerful gust of air. She didn’t see Insa run toward her and take her outstretched hand. All she saw as the built-up electricity discharged into her brother was white light. Then she finally passed out.

Itsel cried out in horror when Insa crumpled to the ground. He turned away from the toppled beast and dashed to his siblings. While he was trying to rouse his brother, the beast shook its head and got to its feet again. Then it charged at the meddling boy.

Itsel thrust his arms forward, trying to blow the beast back again. But the beast dug its claws into the ground and advanced despite the howling gale. Itsel shoved the wind harder, but his heart was wavering with fear for his brother and sister. The beast swept its sharp claws and carved up both his forearms. As his left wrist was nearly taken off, Itsel realised that the beast could slay him there and then. And if he fell, there would be no one left to save Insa and Aini.

The courage to defy death brings terrible strength. The next thing Itsel knew, trees were breaking under the gale’s might. The beast flew up into the air; it lolled and turned jerking its legs uselessly. With a vengeful shout, Itsel sent it plummeting down on one of the broken trunks. The splintered wood pierced the beast. It convulsed and screeched but it couldn’t wrench itself free. As soon as Itsel saw that it wasn’t going anywhere anymore, he stilled the tempest and rushed back to his siblings.

“Aini, Insa!” he called, but he got no response. He lulled the winds around him to a complete still and listened close. Neither of his siblings were breathing. “No…” he sobbed. “No! I have to get Razi!”

A pair of wings sprouted from his shoulder blades and he sprang into the air. Faster than a hawk, he made his way toward the doctor’s office where Razi worked. He found her and the doctor taking a break under a spruce tree.

“Razi!” he shouted. “You have to come with me! Aini and Insa are dying!”

Razi leapt to her feet. “Where?”

“Wait, take me with you!” the doctor said, but Itsel had already gripped Razi’s arms, swept his wings and risen into the air.

When the two Guardians arrived at the site of carnage, Razi immediately set to work. She instructed Itsel to press Insa’s chest hard and regularly while she attended the mangled Aini. After a while the smitten Insa stirred and coughed, but Aini remained motionless. Razi wiped her brow and took her shirt off, wrapping Aini in it.

“Itsel, take her to the doctor’s office,” she said, exhausted. “I can’t do any more.”

Both Aini and Insa survived the incident, but with dire consequences. The town’s briars had to amputate both of Aini’s legs, one above the knee, one below it, her left arm above the elbow and her familiar entirely. Insa was treated with severe lightning burns all along his right hand and forearm; the meandering scar never faded and he lost most sensitivity in the hand. Itsel didn’t escape unscathed either. The gashes in his forearms, aggravated by carrying both Razi and Aini, healed into broad angry scars. But neither of the brothers complained. It was Aini they worried about.

After the little girl woke up, she spent most of her time lying motionless. She would get up for food and drink, physical needs and rehabilitative exercises, but other than that she had lost all interest in the world around her. One evening Razi told her:

“Aini? I know that everything looks dark to you right now. But you have to go on. It isn’t over yet. After you heal, we can fit you with prosthetics. I don’t know if anyone will give you a new familiar, but if any briar will, I’ll find them. You can still lead a great life. So don’t give up.”

Turning her head toward her sister’s voice, Aini smiled and said: “I haven’t given up. I’m just looking at all these things. I didn’t notice them before. They’re so beautiful, you wouldn’t believe.”

“How?” Razi asked. “Your eyes are gone.”

Aini shrugged. “I don’t know. But they are all around me. I can see you, too. Faintly… but I can.”

As Razi promised, after a time Aini was given prosthetics. She didn’t like them; she said they were hard and made her clumsy. Whenever she could, she would take them off and ask her family to carry her around instead. Razi didn’t like to see it and Stein, Kafendre and Svea were usually busy, but Itsel and Insa obliged happily. They took Aini along to school, brought her to her private lessons and took care of everything she needed. It was little trouble; Aini was always quiet and calm, strangely mature for her age just like Razi had once been. Before Itsel and Insa knew it, Aini had become their leader despite her age and state. She had a way about her, like she could see more than others. She never got another familiar, but it was like she didn’t need one in the first place.

In time Razi noticed a curious thing. Aini was slowly taking the reigns over her family from her hands. Even the fiery Svea was accommodating Aini’s whims, even though she usually deferred to no one but Razi. Presently the oldest and the youngest sisters began butting heads. At first Razi couldn’t believe she actually had to fight for authority with a mere child. Aini was just eight! But there was no way around it. Aini was an alpha and as the Guardian of Invisible Forces, she asked for her rightful position as the leader of the Guardians.

The two sisters’ rivalry grew into an animosity that no one was happy about. The family, and by extension the entire town, became polarised. Some supported Razi, a well-known tyra with the warmest, softest hands you have ever seen. But those who met Aini, perched proudly atop Itsel or Insa’s shoulders, couldn’t help but be swayed by her charm. Where Razi was strict, Aini was opportunistic. Where Razi offered a second chance, Aini made a deterrent example. Where Razi went alone, Aini moved in a group.

One winter Sunday at breakfast, Aini said: “Razi, will you carry me to Quater’s shrine?”

Razi frowned and replied: “I’ll go there with you, but only if you walk on your own two feet.”

Aini sighed. “Very well. If I slip on the ice, will you catch me?”

“I will.”

When they reached Quater’s shrine, Aini sat in the snow and unfastened her prosthetic legs.

“Why have we come here?” Razi asked.

“You always say that I’m just a little girl,” Aini said, looking up to the bleak sky. “I want to show you why that isn’t true. Let’s wait here. He promised that he would come today.”

They waited together, among the bare trees, by the quiet shrine. When they grew cold, Aini fastened her legs on and they played catch. It was nice, just the two of them. It was like they could get along if they had nothing to fight over.

After a time Aini raised her head. “He’s here.”

Razi looked around. “Who?”

“You’ll see.”

It took a few seconds before Razi gasped and looked to the shrine. “No.”

“Oh yes.” Aini walked toward the shrine and bowed. “Hello, creator. Thank you for coming here on my behalf.”

A distant thought, like the sun’s warm rays, touched Razi’s consciousness. Hello. Welcome. It was wordless and indistinct, and yet so majestic that Razi sank to her knees at once.

“Quater,” she whispered. The warm thought lingered for a while more, then disappeared. And yet, Quater’s presence didn’t fade. Both the sisters gazed at the shrine, Razi disbelieving, Aini thoughtful.

“He says we were supposed to be born together,” Aini said. “When mother first became pregnant. She had twins, me and you.”

“What happened to you?” Razi asked, tongue leaden.

Aini shrugged. “You’re the doctor. You should know.”

Razi looked down.

“He’s also angry with us,” Aini said. “We have lingered at the same spot for too long. The only one who has done any good in the world was Svea, and she was always scolded for it.”

“I have done some good in the world!” Razi said. “I’m a tyra. My hands take pain away.”

Aini cocked her head to the side, as if listening, and said, as if repeating: “You aren’t a tyra. You haven’t even finished high school. And you have only ever healed mother, father and the four of us. The good you have spread was that of your own hands, not that of your element.”

“You know that’s complicated!” Razi said. “I’m still banned by the city council from doing any construction works because I’d rob people of their jobs. And don’t you remember what happened when Itsel and Insa tried to control the weather? Svea’s element is simply good for nothing but punishment, fire is that way!”

“You’re right, our hands are tied while we remain here,” Aini said. “That’s exactly why we should leave this place and help people elsewhere. Quater created us to protect his creation. We have to fulfil his intent.”

“And leave our home?” Razi asked, pale.

“No,” Aini said. “Leave Ertan.”

Razi stared at the shrine, wordless. “No,” she uttered finally. “If I leave Ertan, mother will…”

“You don’t know that,” Aini said. “And even if you did, there’s nothing you can do about it. We were meant to help all of Quater’s people. We always were. There’s nothing you can do. It’s our destiny.”

Razi shook her head silently. Aini turned her back to the shrine and went to hug her.

“We don’t have to go today,” she said. “Or tomorrow. There are still things we need to finish here. I have to learn to walk properly and Itsel and Insa should finish school.” She smiled. “The same goes for you, actually. Quater wishes that you become a real tyra. That scholarship had better still be valid.”

Razi sobbed into her sister’s embrace. “Aini, I don’t know if I can do it.”

“That’s why you have me,” Aini said. “Trust me. I can see where this road goes. It’s long and winding, but everything will turn out for the best in the end.”

And thus the long fight was finally over. Aini, by then ten years old, became the Guardian leader and spokesperson while Razi left for Haven Medical to finish her studies. A year and a half later Razi, Itsel and Insa graduated. On the day of Razi’s 30th birthday, the five Guardians said goodbye to their parents and left Ertan.

Nike leans back against the bench and stares at the red sky for a long time.

The sun has long set when the Guardians return to the inn. The little Aini (not so little anymore, Nike thinks) is riding atop her brother’s shoulders. Nike checks the man’s arms and finds an angry meandering scar extending from the fingertips up to the elbow. That’s… Insa, then. The one who had given him the book. Itsel and Razi are carrying Svea between them. The Fire Guardian trips and curses; it seems like she can’t put weight on one of her legs. She collapses on a chair, leans back and groans. Wordlessly Nike passes her his glass of beer. She says thanks and drinks thirstily.

“What happened?” Nike asks.

“What does it look like?” Razi retorts. “She sprained her ankle! Where is the… oh nevermind, I’ll do it myself. Here, bite into this.” She hands Svea a roll of bandage. “Itsel, Insa, hold her. Svea, are you ready? Okay, one, two, three.”

There’s a dull crack and Svea grunts and pales. She doesn’t cry out or whimper, however. She just starts taking deep breaths.

“Good, that was the worst of it,” Razi says, palpating the swollen ankle. “Give me a moment to bandage your foot and I’ll heal you right afterward.”

While Razi’s working, Aini scoots closer to Nike. She nods toward the stone-bound book on the table before him. “I see Insa’s taken some liberties,” she says quietly so the others don’t overhear. “What do you think of our people’s history?”

“It’s gruesome,” Nike says.

“It is,” Aini agrees. “And what do you think of our history?”

“The five of you? I don’t know what to think. I barely know any of you.” Nike pauses. “Is everything in here true?”

Aini shrugs. “It’s the Wall of Records. It doesn’t lie.”

“So you nearly killed Insa once?”

“I did.”

“And you can speak to Quater?”

“I can. Funny you should ask in that order.”

“And your mother died twice?”

There’s a noticeable pause before Aini says: “She did. But let me ask you something in return. Why did Insa give you this book?”

“He said I should know your history if I’m after Razi,” Nike says. He looks over at the Earth Guardian. She doesn’t seem to hear them, being utterly focused on healing Svea’s ankle.

“I see,” Aini says. She raises her voice back to normal level and says: “Insa. Why did you give Nike that book?”

Insa shrugs. “I thought he might get bored.”

Nike can practically hear Aini rolling her eyes when she says: “Sure, so you let him read the four hundred names. Don’t lie to me, Insa. Why did you give him the book?”

Everyone looks at Insa at that. The Water Guardian seems to shrink under their stares. “I… ugh, fine! It’s because I know who Nike is. Alright? I read about him on the Wall of Records. It didn’t seem fair that I know everything about him and he doesn’t know anything about us. So I thought I might level the ground.”

“Oh,” Aini says with interest and turns to back Nike. “So you also enjoy the privilege of having your most personal secrets divulged by the Wall?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Nike says. “I haven’t read it in a long time.”

“Which section are in?” Itsel asks.

Nike plays with his glass and suddenly he’s tempted to lie. He doesn’t care for the drama his answer will elicit. He doesn’t care for what Insa has read about him on the Wall. He just wants to be Nike, son of free will, unburdened by whatever he was once created to be… and whom he lost along the way.

Then he laughs at himself, and he says: “Hoborg’s section. I’m from the Neverhood.”

The five Guardians fall silent.

“Insa,” Aini says finally. “I’ll ask one more time. Why did you give Nike that book?”

Insa sighs. “Because he knew the previous generation, let their names rot forever. I wanted to make it clear that we aren’t like them.”

To Nike’s surprise, Aini laughs. She’s got a nice laugh, like jingle bells. “That’s why?” she asks. “Silly Insa! Of course he knows we aren’t like them! You’d have to be stupid to think we are anything like the Neverhood generation. I made very sure of that.”

“I don’t know,” Razi pipes up, looking up from her work on Svea’s ankle. “When I met Nike for the first time, he asked if I remembered anything from my previous life.”

“And?” Aini says.

“I yelled at him.”

“As you should have,” Aini nods. “Very well, let’s put this behind us! Insa, is there anything we should know from Nike’s history?”

Before Nike can stop Insa, the man nods vigorously and says: “Yes. Who is Klogg, really?”

Nike draws a blank for a second. “Why do you ask?” he says finally.

“Because it’s Klogg who destroyed the Emperor, and no one knows how! The Wall says you and Klogg travelled the universe together for centuries. I can’t believe I came upon a Neverhoodian of all people. How old are you? I wouldn’t guess more than thirty, but that’s the thing with you immortals…”

“Excuse my brother,” Itsel says, grabbing Insa by the familiar and tugging him backward, “he’s a total historian geek and he pops a boner whenever he gets wind of new info.”

“No, I don’t-”

“Yeeaah no, I can see what’s happening under the table.”

Aini rolls her eyes. “Boys,” she tells Nike with a smile.

Over the brothers’ bickering Razi asks: “How old are you?”

“Something over 1100,” Nike says. “Closer to 1200 probably.”

Razi whistles. “I can see why you’d lose count at that point.”

Eventually Aini tells Itsel and Insa to take it outside, which they do. When Razi finishes healing Svea, the two sisters bide Aini and Nike good night and they go up the stairs. The innkeeper stops by the table a few minutes later.

“You two should go to sleep, too,” he says. “It’s getting late and tomorrow is another day.” “I’m waiting for my brothers to come back,” Aini says. “Nike?”

“Do you have a free room?” Nike asks.

The innkeeper shakes his head. “I’m afraid this is a tiny establishment. I have two rooms, and they’re taken by your friends. But if you can make do with just a bed, there are six beds and five Guardian so there should still be one left. Let’s see… if the ladies sleep in one room, there should be a free bed in the gentlemen’s room.”

Aini snickers. “Gentlemen,” she repeats.

“That’s fine,” Nike says. “I’ll sleep outside.”

“As you like it.”

When the innkeeper leaves, Aini asks: “Don’t you want to sleep together with Razi? I was actually sleeping with Itsel and Insa. You can have the bed in the ladies room, no problem.”

Nike huffs. “Why do you all keep insisting that Razi and I have something going on? Seriously, we met once. For a day.”

“Ah yes, so she says, too,” Aini says. “But we all saw how she greeted you.” She pats the back of her neck. “You wouldn’t know, but this is a special place to us Ertanians. If you took someone’s familiar and jerked real hard, you could rip it right out. I should know,” she says dryly, running her hand over her bare throat. “People get very anxious when a stranger touches their familiar. And the greeting Razi used, you know…” She indicates pulling someone close and bumping foreheads with them. “…it’s pretty much only for family and lovers. So we all assumed that you and Razi had something going on and met more than once.”

“Huh,” Nike says. “I wonder why she did that. We really are just friends.”

“Maybe she was excited from meeting Svea.”

“Maybe.”

It’s then that Itsel and Insa burst back inside. They are covered in brown and green stains as if they have been wrestling in the grass.

“Okay, here’s the deal!” Itsel says.

“We can’t agree on who should have you,” Insa follows up. “And I’m done arguing with this airhead. Nike, who would you rather spend the night with? Pick me and I’ll show you the most skilled tongue on all of Ertan.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Itsel says. “He’d just ask you boring history questions all night! Spend the night with me and we’ll soar the sky! Literally if you want.”

Nike draws a blank once again. Aini snickers into her palm next to him. When she notices Nike’s indignant look, she waves her hand and says: “Don’t mind me. They’re just that way. Well? Which one would you pick?”

“Yes, which one?” Itsel says.

“Neither?” Nike says.

“Dammit!” Itsel says. “It’s like Razi said, he’s a faithful one.”

“I thought he would at least hesitate,” Insa says sadly. “So who’s the girl? Or guy. Or bug. Or whatever you’re choosing over me, Itsel and Razi.”

Nike lifts his hand up. “That must be a misunderstanding. I don’t have anyone.” In his mind, he adds: for the first time in 700 years.

The boys goggle at him. Then they turn to each other.

“He’s single!”

“Yeah I heard him. Are you up to raising the stakes?”

“Hell yeah!”

They turn back to Nike and Itsel says: “Let me rephrase the question. Which one of us will you sleep with tonight?”

“How about both?” Aini suggests. “You’re all going to share the same room anyway.” When Nike gives her a perplexed look, she doesn’t even blush. “What? I grew up with the two of them. This isn’t any worse than half of their ideas.”

Itsel and Insa seem equally perplexed by her suggestion.

“Dude, is that even legal?” Insa asks.

Itsel grins. “Do I hear a forfeit?”

“Hell no. I’m up for it if you are. Not like I’ll see anything new anyway.”

“Yeah. And then Nike can decide which one he liked better!”

The two turn to Nike, awaiting the verdict. The hoophead pinches his forehead.

“What if I’m too tired to sleep with either of you?”

Immediately Insa replies: “Then I call bullshit, because you’re a Neverhoodian. You’re immortal and live forever, a few weeks of fast travel can’t be anything to you.”

Nike smirks at that. “I’m not what I used to be.” He considers their proposal. It’s true that it has been a long time…

“Just so we’re clear,” Aini says, interrupting his thoughts. “They will take no for an answer. They’re powerful things, but they’re professionals. They won’t force themselves on you. They’re just excited that they can fight over something again.”

“What? No!” Itsel says. “Nononono, Nike – it’s just that you’re really hot!”

“You’re so big,” Insa says dreamily. “I can’t help but wonder what else is big.”

Nike has to laugh at that. “You guys know nothing of Neverhoodian bodies, don’t you?”

“No, unfortunately,” Insa says. “The Wall isn’t very informative on that topic.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Are you saying you’ve decided?”

“Yeah, I guess I have,” Nike says, a little surprised at himself. “What the heck. You’re pretty cute. And I don’t want to make this the day I declined a threesome with two Guardians. Especially if one of them promises the most skilled tongue on all of Ertan.”

“Haha, you’re gonna get it,” Insa says, eyes lighting up.

Itsel, on the other hand, crosses his arms. “Insa,” he mopes, “he called us cute!”

“He’s fifty times older than us,” Insa tells his brother. “I think he has a right to call us cute.”

“Wait, doesn’t that make him too old for us? What was the rule, divided by two plus seven?”

“Do I hear a forfeit?”

“You wish!”

The four of them ascend the stairs to the upper floor. Quietly Insa opens the ladies’ room and sets Aini down on the bed. She whispers something to him; Insa smiles and nods. Gently he closes the door again.

“She says we should keep it down, else Razi might come in and tuck us in.”

When Nike wakes up on the following morning, it’s late. It’s late as in, it isn’t morning anymore. He finds a tray with a sweet bun and inconsolably cold coffee next to his bed. There’s a note saying: “Hope we didn’t destroy you too much… I+I” There’s a picture of a rainy cloud next to their initials that has Nike smile. He stretches out and finds that yes, they did destroy him. Utterly and lovably. He’s going to be sore for the entire day, but he supposes it was worth it.

When he comes downstairs, he finds Razi leafing through Insa’s stone book.

“Where is everyone?” Nike asks and sits down gingerly. Razi looks him up and down, her eyes stopping at his middle, and it has him wonder just how much she knows about last night.

“They went for a walk,” she says. “I can’t imagine where. There’s nothing but grass around here.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“Frankly, because Itsel and Insa asked me to stay behind and make sure you were okay.” She shrugs. “But also because I wanted to talk to you.” She reaches out and cups the back of his neck. Comforting heat starts spilling down Nike’s spine as her eyes turn green. He leans on the table and slumps over.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer for a while. The heat swirls around Nike’s body. “Mum is dead,” she says finally. “Aini told us in the morning. I thought you should know.”

Nike reaches over and takes her hand. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Razi squeezes back and heaves a deep sigh. “I knew it would happen. It was just a matter of when and… how much it would hurt.” She falls silent. Her familiar turns toward the book and its head moves from side to side lightly. A wry smile twists Razi’s lips. “She spoke of it to no one,” she reads, “but a dark suspicion took root in her heart. Hah, even the stupid Wall knows. You know what? I’ll – I’ll say it. The Wall is probably writing out my thoughts as we speak anyway. I might as well say it out loud.” She sits up straighter. “Quater let mum die because she’s fulfilled what he wanted from her,” she says in a loud, shaky voice. “No more miracles. Just death. I can’t believe… I can’t believe the total dickhead of a child I used to be. I can’t believe all the things I told her, and how she would always smile…”

Gently Nike shrugs off Razi’s hand and embraces her instead. Razi hides in his arms and draws a sob. She fights her tears all the way, crying more with her breath than her eyes. Tentatively Nike rests his palm on the nape of her neck; she stiffens at first, but then she sags against him again. Her familiar slithers on top of his hand, its red eyes open, dry and unblinking.

“Sorry,” Razi says finally, pushing herself upright. “You got the brunt of it. I just can’t cry in front of my family.”

“We’re even now,” Nike says.

Razi smiles faintly as she recalls their first encounter. “True.”

They sit in silence for a while. Then Razi clears her throat and cups the back of Nike’s neck again. “Anyway,” she says as her eyes turn green once more, “that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Back when we first met, you asked me to come to the Neverhood with you. I was wondering if the offer still stands.”

Surprised, Nike says: “I thought you didn’t want to go.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve been wondering if I could learn anything about healing there. Maybe immortal bodies just work differently. Plus,” she says and smiles, “who doesn’t want to see the neighbourhood that lasts forever? It’s said that a swig from the Neverhood fountain will cure any illness.”

Nike chuckles. “They say that?”

“And more,” Razi assures him. “Will you take me there?”

Nike stares at his hands. To return to the Neverhood? So quickly after he left? And with a Guardian of Earth to boot? What would Klogg say to that? What would happen if Razi saw what remained of the Garden? Would she… Would she remember anything?

“Nike,” Razi says, squeezing the nape of his neck very gently. Her hands really are soft and warm.

Nike wipes at his eyes. He doesn’t have the privilege of having no tears to cry. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Everyone who still remembers Arig will probably ask you about him.”

Razi sighs. “I expect as much,” she says. “It’s fine. It’s worth the chance to learn something new. I just don’t want to squander this opportunity. I didn’t think I’d run into you again. I’ve been scolding myself for the past two years for letting you go.”

Nike is silent for a while before he asks: “How long do Ertanians live?”

“About a hundred years. Why?”

He stares at his hands: exactly the same as when he first saw them, over a millennium ago.

“I didn’t think I’d meet you again either,” he says.

He thinks how his hands will be exactly the same a hundred years later, when Razi is long dead and another Guardian of Earth is born, and suddenly he feels very old.

[percontaion-points]

Daredevil/Punisher Fanfics (10/30/21)

Only Daredevil/Punisher fanfics. New stuff is marked with a [NEW] before it.

Daredevil

Better Natures by etirabys Description: “Work with me here, Frank,” Karen snapped. “Make some sense here. Talk to me. We can’t figure out what our next move is until you explain why you’re so disgusted at the thought of my being attracted to you — an attraction which, by the way, I’ve never let interfere with our work or our friendship —“ “I’m not disgusted,” Frank said in a strained, calm voice. “You have ghastly taste, but I’m not disgusted. No. It’s just the feeling of having carried a torch for miles and miles in the dark and... having the sun come up.” Words: 37,579 Timeline: Post season 2, but it gets pretty AU-y with the zombies and shit... Pairing: Karen/Frank Minor Matt/Elecktra at the end Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic violence and depictions of gore, but I find that it's pretty standard zombie stuff... Frank kills some people, and so does Karen, but it's all in line with the show Graphic sex Mentions of rape

United We Purge by Jenye Description: "Just remember all the good the purge does." -- Evil runs Hell's Kitchen, but one night out of the year that evil is legal. || Kastle Purge!AU Words: 4926 Timeline: It's a Purge AU Pairing: Karen/Frank Rating: Mature Warnings: It's violent and bloody, but I wouldn't say that the violence level is any different than it is on the show. (And if I'd seen the Purge movie, I'd guess that it was the same level of violence, too.)

Songs About Daughters by homesickblues and StellarRequiem Description: She has two entirely different minds about this. Before, she hadn’t even given any thought to having a baby. Maybe when she was younger – dreamier – but when her life picked up in the city, she barely had time to spare a thought towards any of that. Her compass never really pointed in one direction. Not even when Frank, quite literally, bulldozed his way into her life. But now the concept of “future” and “family” glares back at her from the tiny piece of plastic she just peed on, and she can’t help but bury her head in her hands. Because the other mind she has about the scenario is Frank. __ Karen discovers she's pregnant, and it changes nothing, and everything. Words: 18,064 Timeline: Post season 2 Pairing: Karen/Frank Rating: Teen Warnings: There's some violence, but it's pretty tame in comparison to the show. You'll probably cry a bit, but in like... a good way

Fire Meet Gasoline by xenowhore Description: And then, insanely, it was nearing midnight and Karen was standing in Frank Castle’s bathroom looking at herself in the chipped mirror. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else (it nearly came down to her knees) her blouse and pantyhose folded neatly on the counter, hair undone and falling in thick waves around her shoulders. She’d have raccoon eyes in the morning, no makeup remover here - soap was too harsh for her sensitive skin - but somehow she didn’t care. She didn’t care that her legs were so startlingly pale, that she didn’t have a toothbrush. These things seemed trivial when she considered that in moments, she’d be sliding between sheets that cradled a killer every night. Words: 9415 Timeline: Post season 2 Pairing: Karen/Frank Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic sex

you're like a commotion, all because of me by whenzombiesattack Description: (You’re dead to me. You’re dead to me. You’re dead to me.) He finally fucked up. Words: 3160 Timeline: Post season 2 Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Teen Warnings: Mild violence

It's All Over but the Crying by angel_deux Description: Frank Castle went to sleep in 2077, the day the bombs fell. When he wakes up, his family is gone, and he has to learn to survive in the world that evolved from the ashes. Words: 14,507 Timeline: It's a Fallout AU Pairing: Frank/Karen, minor Frank/Maria Rating: Teen Warnings: There's a lot of violence, and we're with Frank as he watches as some guys kill Maria. Karen also kills some guy, too.

Blood and Bone by Skasis Description: Frank Castle is a boxer at the top of his game. Laconic and anti-social, he has a reputation for being an incredibly-tough interview. Karen Page is a sports reporter trying to prove herself in a male-dominated field. She's done playing games--trying to be the "Cool Girl" who caters to the male fantasy--and now she's on a mission to take no shit. "For a while, the fact that an interview with Castle lasting longer than 5 minutes even existed was big news. Splashed all over the message boards—circulated among boxing and Castle fans alike. The very concept that someone actually got the man to sit down for more than a breath of time and give multiple-sentence answers to a question—it was huge. Massive. It was the only thing Castle fans could talk about. Until three months later, when Frank Castle disappeared. Then that was the news. It was the only news." Words: 96,872 Timeline: Boxer/Sports reporter AU Paring: Frank/Karen Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic sex, it's a little bloody with the boxing and everything, Karen's dad is an a-hole This is really really long

Into the Woods by Skasis Description: Frank is a logger living a life of isolation up in the mountains of Seward, Alaska. Running from his grief, he has retreated so far into himself that he couldn't find his way out if he tried. Karen is an author who has rented the cabin down the way from Frank’s in order to get away and write her next novel in solitude. Having suffered severe writer's block, she's hoping that the quietude of Alaska will help her find her muse. After years of falling apart, the universe has decided that it's time for these two to fall together. "Frank watched her, with her head thrown back, fascinated. It had been a minute since he’d made anyone other than Curtis and David laugh. He was surprised at how easily it was coming to him—how relatively effortless it was to talk to Karen. He supposed, in part, it was because of her profession; he was sure that someone who spent most of their time studying people and writing dialogue would be a great conversationalist. But it also felt like he was dusting off the parts of him that used to be really good at this—the parts of him that were capable of making Maria laugh; were comfortable joking around. The parts that, while creaky and unused, were still there." Words: 84333 Timeline: It's a writer/mountain man AU Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Explicit Warnings: Sex, the constant talk of Frank's dead family made me cry

Office Space by Skasis Description: Dr. Frank Castle is a notoriously misanthropic physics professor, and he has the Rate My Professor reviews to prove it. Dr. Karen Page is a young, idealistic journalism professor who sees the humanity in everyone. When the Liberal Arts building floods, they are forced to share an office. He's all order and precision and logic. She’s all chaos and curiosity and emotion. But eventually, that line they drew right down the middle of the office starts to blur. Words: 48845 Timeline: University professors AU Pairing: Karen/Frank Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Sex

I'm in the Ruins Too, I know the Wreckage So Well by theshipsfirstmate Description: A Kastle fic that weaves through the events of Daredevil season 3. Because of COURSE he was there. "Maybe it’s insane, that she thinks of Frank as the angel on her shoulder; but there was already a devil on her other one when they met. " Words: 7806 Timeline: It's season 3 of Daredevil, but where Frank is there the entire time Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Mature Warnings: Mild sex, violence but it's mostly just a recap of what happened on the show

breath of ash, bone of dust by qqueenofhades Description: Frank shrugs, almost diffidently, as if to say he’s glad to hear it, and he still isn’t used to anyone welcoming the sight. Maybe there are some, people who are old and ready to rest and who have lived a good life, who sit up and wait for him, on the nights he chooses to venture out of the underworld and take them personally in hand. But as they stand there face to face, him dark and rugged and grim and Karen pink-cheeked, flushed, blossoms trailing from a frozen tree and grass rising from the barren ground, the contrast could not be more striking. Winter and spring, death and life, hell and heaven. Then leaf subsides to leaf, and so Eden sank to grief. Kastle Hades/Persephone AU. Words: 25683 Timeline: It's a Hades/Persephone AU that's semi canon compliant Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Mature Warnings: Mild sex, there's two very intense death scenes that might be difficult to read (one is the death of a young pre-teen)

Seasons by CharmingProcrastinator Description: Karen had come back after a week away for a Women in Media conference in Chicago to find that Mrs. Sterner’s name on the mailbox next to hers had been replaced by an “F. Castle”, who evidently moved in while she was away. To her, he was only disembodied grunts and moans. They were bound to bump into each other, eventually. She had no idea how she was gonna manage to act like a normal human being when they did and not make a quip about maybe considering gagging his gaggle of girls, or make some passive aggressive request that he keep it down a bit when others were trying to sleep. Words: 21029 Timeline: It's kind of an AU, I guess? Almost the same but without the superhero nonsense Pairing: Karen/Frank, minor mentions of Elektra/Matt, and Marci/Foggy Rating: Mature Warnings: Talk of sex, but the actual act is glossed over (boo)

carrying by the restlessbrook Description: “Did you know that you’re pregnant?” Or, Karen will go to any lengths to protect her small family. Words: 69,676 Timeline: Post Punisher 2 and Daredevil 3 Pairing: Frank/Karen, minor Foggy/Marci Rating: Mature Warnings: There's the heavy implicaton of sex, but never actually on the page. There's a lot of violence, but it's like on both shows.

The Reporter by Underneath Description: Force Recon missions keep Marines isolated, entrenched for long periods in covert locations. They rarely received visitors, and in Frank’s long experience, the visitors were almost never civilians, let alone gorgeous blondes with mile long legs and sky blue eyes. Frank was trying not to stare. They all were. Well, everyone except Bill, who’s face had just split into a shit-eating grin. Words: 42645 Timeline: Slightly AU Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic sex, violence like on the show

a crooked love in a straight line down by HeartonFire Description: Frank Castle is a newly-divorced History teacher at the local high school. Karen Page is the single mom of a seventeen-year-old honor student on his debate team. Their paths cross too many times for it to be coincidence, and neither of them can deny the attraction they feel. But things can never be that simple, especially when Karen's ex comes back into the picture and threatens to upend the life she's built for herself. Words: 22908 Timeline: Teacher/student's mother AU (lol did you think that I was going to say student/teacher?) Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Explicit Warnings: Sex, mentions of Karen's rough background

you were a fire caught by therestlessbrook Description: They’re both hunters - but of a different sort. (Or that daemon AU no one asked for.) Words: 26110 Timeline: Everything is exactly the same, but everybody in this has a sort of soul-bound animal called a daemon Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Explicit Warnings: The story goes over things that happened in the show so it's quite violent and bloody. There's also some sex, but it seemed kind of... skimmed over.

1NEW1 Those Who Mourn by UnkindOfRavens Description: He wanted to live in her, bask in her goodness every second of every day, and then maybe he wouldn’t forget what it was to be part of the world. Maybe then he could cobble together enough of himself to feel solid. Maybe he’d remember how to live, then. Words: 2252 Timeline: The tags call it "canon-adjacent" Pairing: Frank/Karen Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Sex

[waveridden]

FIC: a lesson in framing

All great stories begin with one person yelling at the other from across the street. Or: a photographer/model AU, of sorts. [AUcember]

#

Parker knows a few things about himself. He knows he’s flexible, and he knows he’s probably a little susceptible to suggestion. So when he’s walking down the street and all of a sudden someone shouts “Don’t move,” he stops moving. Even though that’s probably how you get mugged.

“Stay right there,” the voice shouts again, and Parker sees him this time. It’s a guy across the street, wearing a headband and ripped jeans, fumbling with something around his neck. “Hold on!”

Parker points at himself. “You mean me, right?”

“Yes, dude!” The guy lifts something up, and Parker barely has time to register it as a camera before he’s taking pictures, shutter clicking loudly enough that he can hear it.

Parker politely waits until the guy pauses and then says, as delicately as he can, “Hey, what’re you doing?”

“Art!”

“What kind of art?”

“What kind of- oil pastel, what do you think?”

“I think I’m confused,” Parker admits. “And also, we’re kind of yelling across the street at each other.”

A car drives between them, like it’s trying to punctuate Parker’s point. The guy looks totally unbothered. “Listen, the best art happens totally by accident, and you’re hot.”

“I’m what?”

“Hot, dude! Attractive!”

Parker kind of wants to ask the guy if he’s looked in the mirror lately, because he’s definitely got a scruffy hot artist vibe going on, and Parker’s at least a little into it. “Do you do this often?”

“Take pictures? It’s kind of my job.”

“I meant the yelling at strangers across the street.”

“Only when they’re in the middle of good art!”

“Am I?”

The guy snaps a few more pictures of Parker and then gives him a look like that’s supposed to mean yes. Parker supposes it sort of answers the question.

“Can I see the pictures?” he thinks to ask, finally.

“In a minute!” There are a few more photos. Parker tries to strike a pose for all of two seconds, but he can hear the guy make a weird noise from across the street, so he goes back to standing as naturally as he can. “Okay, hold on, I’m coming over!”

“You’re what?”

And the guy sprints across the middle of the street - not like there’s a ton of traffic, but it’s still not a great idea - and stops in front of Parker, grinning. He’s definitely prettier up close. Nice eyes. “Hey, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Parker says. “What was that?”

“I take photos,” the guy explains, because Parker definitely hasn’t picked up on that yet. “And sometimes when I see cool things I take pictures. Check it out.” He holds up his camera, and Parker shields his eyes to look at the viewscreen.

He’s not a photogenic person - at least, he never really thought he was - but the photos he’s scrolling through are actually pretty good. There are two tall buildings a block or two away - office buildings, if he had to guess - with a sizeable gap between them, and then some trees lining the street. And there’s Parker, standing in the middle of the trees, squarely between the two buildings. It’s almost… artistic.

“Whoa,” Parker says. “How did you do that?”

“How did you?” the guy counters.

“Uh, walking?”

“Yeah, sure, walking.”

“So what are you going to… you know, do with those?”

“You model ever?” the guy asks abruptly.

Parker can’t stop himself from snorting. “Uh, no.”

“You want to?”

“For you?”

“I’ll photograph you like one of my German boys,” the guy says. “Get it? Like Titanic.”

Parker has never seen Titanic, but that sounds like it could be a line from it, so he says, “Yeah, of course. Titanic.”

The guy grins a little wider. “I will take you out for dinner if you let me do a photoshoot with you, dude. And also if I sell prints you get a cut, obviously.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, dude! I’ll cut up prints for you.”

“I don’t think- is that what getting a cut means?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Parker says, because it’s not like he knows the first thing about the art business. “But- do you actually want to? For real?”

“Of course,” the guy says, like it should be obvious. “Look at these. Turned out okay, right?”

“That’s the best I’ve ever looked in photos,” Parker admits. “Do you just have an eye for these things?”

“Two of ‘em!” The guy winks. “C’mon. C’mooooon.”

“I don’t know how to model.”

“I’ll guide you. You did okay there, anyways.”

“Thanks,” Parker says, and he can feel himself caving. “What’s your name?”

“Folks call me Cib.” He sticks a hand out. “And yes, it is a nickname.”

“Oh, thank god,” Parker mutters, and then realizes he said that out loud. “Oh, I’m so-”

But Cib just laughs, ignoring the way Parker’s cheeks flame red. “Yeah, no, I did this to myself, don’t worry. What do folks call you?”

“Parker.” He shakes Cib’s hand. “Hi.”

“Hey. Sorry about yelling across the street, but I’m actually not, because you’re going to be so good in pictures. If you say yes.”

“Absolutely yes,” Parker says, and Cib smiles, and god, he’s got a good smile when he’s actually happy. “What does taking a photoshoot involve?”

“You let me drag you around for a whlie.” Cib eyes him up and down. “Maybe wear my jacket.”

“What?”

“For outfit composition. You gotta-” he gestures at Parker’s entire body. “Like, it’s good, but the fashion makes it better, you hear what I’m feeling?”

“Maybe?”

“Good enough,” Cib says cheerfully, and reaches into his pocket. “Almost forgot, I have business cards! So you can look me up and prove I’m real.”

“I think you’re real,” Parker says, but he takes the proffered business card. The name on it is Clayton James, and it feels like it rings a bell, but he doesn’t know why. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, babe.” Cib winks again. “Seriously, anytime, because I printed a lot of these bad boys with typos on them, and I do need to get rid of them, very badly.”

“Really?” Parker looks back down at the business card and squints. “What’s the typo?”

“That’s a fixed one,” Cib says. “But I have about six hundred that say Clayton Jams, which would be a great name if I deejayed a radio show.”

“Or ran a jam and jelly business.”

“Or fixed broken printers,” Cib muses, and Parker laughs. Cib has the camera in his hands in the blink of an eye and takes a couple pictures, camera clicking away.

“Stop,” Parker laughs. “Lighting’s bad-”

“You’ve got a good smile,” Cib protests, and keeps taking photos, almost without pause. “These aren’t for anyone but me, dude, don’t worry.”

Parker can’t help but smile a little wider at that. And Cib keeps taking pictures.

#

He doesn’t think to google Cib until that night, after they go out for dinner (and ice cream, because Parker didn’t want to say goodbye). But the business card is still in his pocket, and so he decides to search for Clayton James.

The first thing that comes up is his website. The second is a shoot with Ed Sheeran, done for GQ. And the third is a multi-page spread with Vogue. And the cast of Star Wars.

“Oh my god, he’s famous,” Parker says aloud, mouth going dry. There are a lot- god, there are a lot of big photoshoots here. And he thought Parker, plain old Parker down the street, was good enough art to take pictures of.

#

To: Cib You actually met the Star Wars cast???

From: Cib hell yeah

From: Cib you were nicer than almost all of them though

From: Cib and better looking. than almost all of them

To: Cib I feel like you’re flattering me

From: Cib mmmmmmmaybe

From: Cib I like you better though

To: Cib I like you better too

[rose-of-pollux]

The Jack o’ the Lantern Affair (MFU fic), part 1/5

Part 1 of my annual Halloween fic!

Title: The Jack o’ the Lantern Affair Rating: PG13 (for action/danger) Chapter summary: When a struggle with THRUSH over an old book of scary lore releases the spirit of legendary trickster Stingy Jack, Jack chooses Napoleon and Illya as his adversaries and challenges them to out-trick him.  But Illya wants no part of it, and Napoleon has no idea what he’s up against--and their inability to stop Jack could result in dire consequences. Notes: This version of the fic (cross-posted to AO3) is slash-implied; if you prefer reading gen, there is a gen version on ff.net, but I can’t link to it with tumblr’s linking restrictions.

                         Act I: It Took Place in a New York Cemetery

“Am I the only one who finds it awkward to be having a gunfight in a cemetery?” Illya muttered, as he and Napoleon sought cover behind a mausoleum against a pair of THRUSHies.  “It seems so disrespectful to the dead.”

“You’re not alone; if I could move this fight, I would,” Napoleon said.  “But THRUSH were the ones who fired on us—and we didn’t tell them to come here.”

“We did instigate the fight, trying to obtain that stolen book from them,” Illya admitted.  “We still need to obtain it.”  He dodged a THRUSH bullet and winced as it deflected against the mausoleum wall, causing a slight nick in the stone, and he cast a quick apology to the occupants of the mausoleum.

“A book that ancient looks like it’ll fall apart before we’re through with this fight,” Napoleon mused.  “There must be something coded in there—why else would they be after a beat-up, old volume?”

“It could have some sort of value as an antiquity; perhaps they wish to sell it to obtain funds for some nefarious project.”

“Also possible,” Napoleon agreed.  “But, whatever it is, they want the book, so we need to get it from them.”

He sent a well-aimed tranquilizer dart at one of the two THRUSHies, knocking the gun out of his hand and sending it into the shadows of some headstones.  The unfortunate THRUSH agent’s companion, seeing that he was now a liability, proceeded to strike him on the back with the handle of his gun, took the old book from him, and bolted, expecting Napoleon and Illya to detain the unconscious one.

“Cuff that one,” Napoleon instructed Illya, indicating the fallen THRUSHie.

He took off after the fleeing one, taking a straight path and vaulting over a few headstones until he was able to tranquilize the other one.  The other THRUSHie sunk to the ground, and the book landed on the grass behind him. Napoleon put a pair of handcuffs on him before picking up the book.

It was battered and used, by the looks of it, and it smelled of age.  There was no title on the cover, and Napoleon was surprised to see the entire book written in ink as he paged through it.  The ink was still readable, but based on the age of the book, it was safe to assume that there was no code in it.

“What’s verdict on the book?” Illya asked, as he dragged his prisoner over.

“Antiquity,” Napoleon said.  “It’s a strange book—full of spooky poems and rhymes.  See, look—even this little note on the first page… ‘To the one who finds this book, either place it down or take a look.  As you speak it, you will unfurl beings from another world.’  What a find, considering Halloween is tomorrow!”

“THRUSH wanted to steal a book of Halloween rhymes? What sort of price would that even fetch?” Illya scoffed.

“That’s anyone’s guess,” Napoleon said, paging through it again.  “We’ll send this down to evidence, and they’ll figure out what it is and what it’s worth--”

They ducked instinctively as more shots rang out.

“It’s worth plenty to them,” Illya observed, as three more THRUSHies now approached them.

The two partners each grabbed a prisoner, Napoleon also holding onto the old book as Illya once again sought refuge behind the mausoleum.  Napoleon muttered as a battered page from the book fell out, floating across the cemetery as the breeze carried it away.  He momentarily considered going after it, but a narrow miss from a THRUSH bullet and a shout of alarm from Illya made him think better of it, and he retreated behind the mausoleum along with his partner.

“I’m beginning to doubt the antiquity value of this book if it’s falling apart like that,” Napoleon muttered.

“…They’re chasing after the page!” Illya said, marveling as the three new THRUSHies stopped firing at them and did just that.

Napoleon shrugged and tranquilized two of the three THRUSHies; the third one launched himself at the page, missing Napoleon’s third tranquilizer.  As Napoleon approached, trying to aim again, he heard the THRUSHie mutter something as he read from the page--

“‘Speak this if you wish to play my game, and I will appear when you say my name: I, the one, who tricked the Devil back: Jack ‘o the Lantern, known as Stingy Jack.’”

Napoleon was suddenly thrown off of his feet by a large gust of wind as he had approached the THRUSHie, sending him flying away several feet; the THRUSHie also was sent flying.  The page also landed beside Napoleon, showing a drawing of a shadow-cloaked man holding a turnip carved into a lantern.

“Napoleon!” Illya exclaimed, running over to him. “Napoleon, are you alright?”

“I’m okay…” he said, as Illya helped him up. “But what was that!?  It was like a tiny tornado whipped up right around me!”

“It was me,” a voice said.

The two looked back at the book, staring as the shadow-cloaked man with the turnip-lantern floated a few feet above them, holding the struggling THRUSHie who summoned him by the ankle, dangling him above the ground.

“What is that?” Illya snarled.  “Have we been drugged by THRUSH!?”

“…Would we be seeing the same hallucination if we were both drugged?” Napoleon wondered aloud, confused.  He groaned, looking at the book in his hand and the page at his feet. “This… This isn’t an old book about spooky poems and rhymes, is it?”

“Not at all, my good man,” the being responded. “’Tis a book that can open a doorway to another world—a world where I was trapped, but now, thanks to you and your little squabble, I am free.  Jack is the name.”

“…Stingy Jack,” Napoleon realized.  “Ok, no…  This… This isn’t happening.  Illya, you’re right; we’re both seeing things.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Solo,” Jack.  “’Tis quite real.  You see, I had tricked Ol’ Scratch twice in me lifetime—made him promise he could never claim my soul.  Heaven didn’t want me, and Ol’ Scratch said he couldn’t go back on his word.  I wandered aimlessly, tricking all I encountered, until the Devil trapped me in that other world.  A loophole—he could not claim me, yet there was no agreement about whether or not he could do that.”

“And so now, you are free, and you are going to wander around aimlessly again?” Illya said.  “Very well, do so and do not trouble us.”

“I will not be cast aside and forgotten!” Jack snarled at him.  “No longer will I wander aimlessly—this world will answer to me now--!”

BANG.

Napoleon, taking advantage of Jack’s monologue, had fired his Special at him, but the tranquilizer dart phased right through him.

“My dear Mr. Solo,” Jack tutted.  “I could have told you that you would not be able to stop me that way.  I was going to let you be, but you need to be taught a lesson.  And so, I will use you as an instrument in my plan.”

“You will not touch him,” Illya said, coldly. “I do not know who you or what you are—everything logical says that you should not exist.  But no matter what you are, you will not lay a hand on my partner.”

“So defensive of your lover.  How intriguing.  Perhaps I can use both of you,” Jack mused.  “Very well, Gentlemen, the die is cast—if you can outwit me before the first sunrise after All Hallow’s Eve, I will admit defeat.”

“We do not have to accept this challenge of yours!” scoffed Illya.  “We did not summon you!”

“You do not,” Jack agreed.  He glanced at the THRUSHie he was holding.  “But he does.  He was the one who set me free.  …Unless you wish to take my challenge in his stead, the world will have to depend on him!” He gave the THRUSHie a shake, and the man began to whimper and plead to be let down.

“Then let it depend on him!” Illya fumed, unfeeling. “Come, Napoleon; this does not concern us!  THRUSH summoned him, so this is their problem!  Let them pay the price for meddling!”

“As much as I want to,” Napoleon said.  “It’s in our job description to clean up THRUSH’s messes.”

“Not for things like this…” Illya said. “…Whatever this is!  What is the worst that can happen?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Jack sneered.  “Most of that book really is idle lore and poetry, but some of them are actual spells that open the gateway to the world where I was banished.  Who knows what I can do with the knowledge of those spells?”

Napoleon scowled.

“He is trying to bait you,” Illya said.  “Leave him be, Napoleon; this is not our fight. Once he is done making a nuisance of himself, he will go away.”

“…Do you really believe that?” Napoleon asked.

Illya looked at him, helplessly.

“Whether I do or not believe that, I do know that I do not want anything to happen to you.  Napoleon, I love you, and the last time we dealt with something unexplainable, I nearly lost you forever.”  The Russian’s heart twisted in his chest as he recalled the time Napoleon had been possessed.  It pained him to admit it, but he was afraid—afraid of having to face things he couldn’t explain with rational logic, and afraid of what those things could do to his beloved Napoleon.  “Napoleon… You do not have to take up the call for every little thing that goes wrong, especially when it is… something like this.”

Napoleon understood what Illya was trying to say. Illya still had trouble believing in things he couldn’t explain, and after their past experiences with such things, Napoleon certainly couldn’t blame him for it.

“I love you, too, Illya,” he said.  “You know that.  But I have this feeling that Jack isn’t going to stop acting out until we do something about it—or at least, if I do.”  Napoleon looked back at Jack, and he let out a yelp as Jack began hoisting up the panicking THRUSHie he was holding even higher into the air. “Hey!  Hey!  You put him down right now!”  He caught his choice of words.  “Gently!”

Jack giggled.

“I don’t feel so inclined to release this fellow,” Jack mused.  “I’ll find some use for him—the other one, too.  …Or, how about a deal, eh?  You give me the book for this fellow here?”

“Shut up,” Napoleon grumbled, flipping through the book, looking for something that would help.  “Okay, hopefully this will work to send him back—Illya, get ready to catch that THRUSHie after I do this.”

Illya wasn’t so sure; Jack looked more smug rather than concerned about going back to a realm where he’d been imprisoned.

“Napoleon, wait…” he said.  “Napoleon, please, don’t do this—let’s just walk away--”

“Look, he wants the book so that we can’t use it to send him back—so that’s just what we’ve got to do.  We put an end to this, and nobody gets hurt.”  Napoleon cleared his throat.  “‘Where the foulest trickster’s once escaped, that door will open once again—a world that is the perfect prison, full of darkness and of pain.’”

Though the sky was clear, a crack of thunder filled the air as a dark, shadowy portal appeared in the sky beside Jack. Napoleon glanced up at him in triumph, but his look soon switched to one of sheer horror as, instead of Jack being pulled into the portal, a hoard of agonized-looking spirits burst forth from the portal.

“Napoleon!” Illya yelled.

“…Did I mention that some of those verses were written by myself?” Jack said, grinning down at them.  “Failsafes.”

“Napoleon, he tricked us!” Illya fumed.

“No, he tricked me,” Napoleon said.  He began to page through the book again.  “I think we have to figure out which are the real verses and which ones are by him; that’s the key to this whole thing.”

“Napoleon—!” Illya cried.

“You should have listened to your lover, Mr. Solo!” Jack taunted, as now ambulatory skeletons emerged from the portal, walking across the cemetery.

“That isn’t even possible!” Illya fumed.  “Bones cannot move without musculature!  It is basic anatomy!”

“Never mind that—we have to close the portal!” Napoleon said.  “Ah… Okay, here…  ‘An easy answer to a problem posed; that which was opened is now closed.’”

To his immense relief, the portal closed, but it did nothing to stop the spirits and skeletons that were already loose; as Jack cackled, flying off while dragging the screaming THRUSHie he was carrying, the other tranquilized THRUSHies were being carted off by the creatures, as well. And the skeletons were advancing upon Napoleon and Illya, as well.

“Napoleon, we must run!” Illya said.

“But the other THRUSHies--”

“Forget them!” Illya said.  He let out a shout as a wailing spirit dove at them from the sky, and, desperate, he tackled Napoleon out of the way.  The book went flying out of Napoleon’s hands.

“No!”

Napoleon made a grab for the book, but one of the skeletons seized it first, leering at him with its empty eyes.

“Leave it!” Illya ordered, pulling his partner to his feet and practically dragging him out of the cemetery.

Seeing no practical way to retrieve the book, Napoleon had no choice but to go along with Illya, wishing he had listened to his partner and not attempted to play Jack’s twisted game, which had only made everything worse.

“Oh, Illya…” he sighed.  “What have I done…?”

[callioope]

I was tagged by @theputterer​ -- thanks!! this is a more writing-oriented tag meme and i love it

+Where do you publish your work?  If “publish” means “post” as in fanfic: AO3 under callioope, and sometimes drabbles on here, which you can find under the ‘writing’ tab. I used to post in other places too, but we don’t talk about those fics.

+What medium/application/etc.?  For original stuff that requires more note taking and organization: I’ve used a combo of Microsoft Word & OneNote (for writing and notes, respectively), as well as Scrivener. Basically in OneNote I was trying to do what Scrivener does inherently so I did like using Scrivener for that, but sometimes the text formatting options aren’t as good as Word.

For fics, 100% all in Google Docs. Most of those don’t require an extensive note system so Google Docs is fine, plus allows me to write on my phone when commuting. This has been somewhat problematic for Whatever I Do, which probably would have benefited from being more organized but oh well. The Google doc got too long so I had to separate it into multiple docs and all my notes are a complete mess.

Oh, and I do sometimes hand write to help with writers block and then type it up in the applicable location.

OMG and POST ITS. Yes. I will think up dialogue or narration while at work and scribble it down on a post-it and stuff it in my purse. One day I had 7 post-its, I think that was for my Star Wars ASOIAF au. 

I have also been known to write on napkins. Honestly basically any surface that I can write on will do. When the muse strikes, you gotta use what you have.

+Do you collaborate with others?  When I was younger I did. Actually my first ever fic was with my best friend in third grade, about Jacen and Jaina Solo. 

Recently though, not really. But my sister was so helpful in the plotting of The Last Stark and she beta’d for me, so I often say I consider her the co-author. 

+How much editing do you do before you publish? Too much, probably. I edit as I write. I edit when I come back later to write the next scene. I sometimes ask the fiancé to look a chapter over for glaring plotholes. Then I do a preliminary round of revisions. Then I do a final round of proofreading. Then I paste it in to AO3 and reread it again, usually find issues, and make corrections, and finally post. 

(It might be pertinent to note, I pretty much started my career as a proofreader.)

Occasionally, a fic will flow out and not undergo rigorous editing. This usually happens when I daydream about it for a few days before writing, so it’s planned in my head when I sit down.

+Do you listen to music?  All the time except for while writing. It’s too distracting. I will sometimes play the Cassian Andor playlist and do something mindless (cleaning, computer game, etc.) and let my mind plan out a fic, but I cannot write or read while listening to music.

+How do you decide what to write about?  Original stuff: most of my ideas are inspired by bizarre dreams I have and are based on genres I like. Fic just pop into my head, usually with one particular scene or line that bothers me until I sit down and write it. When I was reading the Rogue One novelization I also drew a lot of inspiration from that.

E.g.: Whatever I Do was inspired by a line in the novelization from when Jyn first arrives at the base on Yavin 4. I read this and knew I had to write about Lyra in the temple. 

Jyn recalled her mother’s love of history with the faintest of pangs and banished the memory.

+When do you write? At night between 9-11, any free time I have on the weekends, and if I am *very* motivated and inspired, I will write on my commute. This sounds like I am writing more than I am. More often than not, I open the doc to write, stare at the screen blankly, then come on tumblr. Motivation is difficult sometimes.

+How often do you write?  I mean, see above answer. I write whenever I have time and whenever I’m inspired. Before I started writing fic, I often went months without writing, then spent a month writing during every free moment. I’ve been more productive this year, but it’s all been fic, not original stuff.

+Do you take requests?  Hmm. Objectively I am open to it. My only hesitation would be I have so many other projects going on that I’d be worried about responding in a timely manner and I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone. I guess I’d be willing to give it a shot, if requests came in. 

+Is there a genre or type of story you want to write but are hesitant to? hmm not really. I’ve started projects in all my favorite genres (fantasy, sci-fi, pirate/adventure). Oh, maybe smut? I don’t have a strong desire to write it, but I’ve tried a couple times and just gave up. It feels weird to write, idk, too personal. 

+Any inspirational quotes, videos, tricks, articles, etc that help you stay motivated?  “Perfect is the enemy of good enough.” This is what my dad likes to tell me because I am a perfectionist. I get hung up on little things and don’t move forward. 

+Go to page 7 of your WIP, skip to the 7th line, and share 7 sentences: A little more than 7 sentences just because (fun fact! this was from one of my deleted scenes I plundered when I had writer’s block):

“Yes—sure—all those things!” It bursts out of her. So like her daughter. She’ll grip what burns, a grenade, an overheated blaster, a scorching baton that blisters under the sun, but she won’t touch what’s soft. She’ll leave it to collect in the corner, rags and shreds of her heart, just so she doesn’t have to feel. “Where he comes from matters. Who his parents are matters. When and how and why he joined the rebellion—it all matters, those things all matter to me, they made me who I am and—and…”

Lyra reaches out and places her hand on Jyn’s shoulder. “And what do you know about him?”

“I…” Her brow furrows and she looks away. But Lyra can see her eyes soften, that in her head, her daughter sees a string of moments she’s shared with him, she sees the reasons she already loves Cassian Andor.

Tagging: @lustfulpasiphae, @rxbxlcaptain, @jeeno2 & anyone who sees this and writes

[eccacia]

These Games We Play

Notes: Um, so, the muse has been kind to me lately, so here’s another Savitar/Killer Frost speculation fic, partly based on the 3x22 promo. I wanted to explore their dynamic more, and Savitar’s motivation for turning evil and all. @blackirontyrant asked me if I was going to and I didn’t initially plan on it, but the characters ran away with the story, so here it is.

Warnings: This is a lot darker than what I usually write, even compared to my other Savifrost fic. They’re crueler to each other here, I guess. There’s also cursing, violence (although nothing that we’re not used to on the show), and smut (like, in the first scene, so if that’s not your thing, avert your eyes. If it is… er, read on. I’m not used to writing smut, but I hope it doesn’t disappoint). If any of these is triggering, please be kind to yourself and don’t read this.

Soundtracks: Largely inspired by “Gasoline” by Halsey, “Love Is a Losing Game” by Amy Winehouse, and “Circles” by Greta Svabo Bech. Give them a listen if you haven’t already, they’re wonderful.

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: ~ 4,450

i.

Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me? Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? Pointing fingers ‘cause you’ll never take the blame like me?

— Halsey, “Gasoline”

Her back’s chafing up against the rough concrete wall behind her, and his painful grip on her thighs are already leaving bruises, but she can’t bring herself to care about those right now.

“Tell me how much you want it.” His breath is hot in her ear. She can feel his smirk against her skin, his hand inching up the inside of her thigh. “Or do I have to make you beg?”

She makes a strangled noise when he brushes a thumb over the fabric covering her slit, already soaked with her arousal. They haven’t even undressed yet—her coat and his jacket are on the floor, but her skirt’s still bunched around her waist, and his pants are still on, unzipped—and already she is so close. She grits her teeth and digs her nails into his shoulders, wishing she could rip his shirt off and tear her nails down his well-muscled back. “You’ll never—ah—you’ll never make me beg,” she snaps back.

“Never?” he says, amused. His thumb traces lazy circles around her clit, and she arches into him, trying to grind into his hand, but he keeps to that agonizingly slow pace. She nearly whimpers in frustration. “Is that a challenge?” he continues, his lips now ghosting the smooth expanse of her neck.

“You’re not”—she gasps when he slides a finger into her, and he bites down hard to leave a bruise on her neck, before soothing it with his burning tongue—“you’re not up to the challenge.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says with a dark smile. He slides another finger into her. Her entrance is so slick that it meets no resistance, and he begins pumping into her at a steady pace.

She shuts her eyes and digs her heels into his waist. “Faster,” she says. “For fuck’s sake—”

“Beg for it,” he growls against her skin. He withdraws his fingers, but he thrusts his cock inside her with such force that her head slams back against the wall. He flicks her swollen clit with his thumb and it takes all her willpower not to come then and there. “Fuck, Princess. Beg for it.”

“No. Just—God, move,” she demands, grinding her hips against his until he lets out a groan. She smirks, knowing that he won’t last much longer, either.

“Not until you beg,” he grits out. And then, with a glint in his eyes, he grasps her chin and he kisses her roughly. His mouth collides with hers; he thrusts his tongue in to plunder her mouth, he bites on her bottom lip until it’s swollen and close to bleeding. The onslaught of heat from him, and the sheer force of the kiss, is blinding and intoxicating; she feels like she’s been set on fire; his desire is raw, consuming, corrosive, and it proves too much for her to bear.

“Fuck me,” she gasps into his mouth, yanking on his hair to break the kiss before she loses her mind. She gulps in greedy breaths of air and licks her lips, tasting the remnants of him in her mouth. “Come on. Fuck me.”

He gives her a feral grin. “The magic word, Princess.”

She digs her nails into his back. “Please fuck me, you sick bastard—”

She hasn’t even finished her sentence when he slams into her, increasing his rhythm until her toes curl and she throws her head back in a silent cry of ecstasy.

He comes not long after she does, his groans muffled in the side of her neck, his hot seed trickling down the inside of her thighs.

She slides down to the floor afterwards, trying to catch her breath, and he folds into a sitting position beside her, leaning back on his hands.

His flashes her a triumphant smirk. “I win, Princess.”

She smoothens her skirt and flicks her hair back into place, gathering the sweaty strands away from her neck. “I told you not to call me that.”

He snorts. “I have nothing else to call you.”

“I don’t either, but I don’t give you a pet name.”

He shrugs and zips up. “Call me God.”

She scoffs. “Don’t delude yourself.”

“You’re one to talk,” he returns. “You call yourself Killer Frost, but you haven’t killed anyone yet. Maybe I should test your limits again.”

Her gaze darkens. “You almost killed me the last time you did.”

“I almost killed you?” he laughs. “I stranded you in the middle of a feast. You were the one intent on killing yourself.”

She doesn’t respond. She remembers that incident well. It had happened a day after she’d failed to kill Tracy, when she’d almost depleted her energy reserves from fighting Flash and his team. He’d been disappointed, but he said he knew exactly what she needed. He’d brought her to a small factory in the outskirts of the city. It was an all-male factory. At least fifty warm bodies, he’d said. For your target practice. Or your next meal, whichever strikes your fancy, he’d said. And then he’d left her to herself.

She’d already been weak then, nearly unable to stand from her battle with Vibe—she’d been unable to conjure a single icicle—so she’d decided that she would feed first.

But when she’d held the first man around the throat, smirking at the terror in his green eyes, she’d suddenly seen Barry Allen’s face superimposed on his. This isn’t you, Cait, he’d said. Don’t do this. Underneath all that cold, you’re still you. She’d abruptly let go of the man, and as he’d scrambled away from her she’d tried to silence the voices in her head, but she’d started seeing more of her friends in the faces of the remaining men—Cisco, in the young man with the shoulder-length hair; HR, in the middle-aged man with blue eyes; Julian, in the man with blond hair; Wally, in the quiet young man with serious eyes. And their voices, ricocheting around the inside of her head—Cait, please, you’re my best friend. You can always come back. It’s never too late. Please. Please. Please. We love you. Come home.

It had been Caitlin Snow’s memories, she knew, from the last time she’d overcome Killer Frost. She’d been trying to fight her. She might have been weak with hunger, but Caitlin Snow was not; and for the brief moment that she’d been able to control over the body they shared, she’d handcuffed her wrist to a steel pipe.

I’d rather die, she had found herself thinking through the haze of delirium. It’d felt like it had come from her as much as it had come from Caitlin Snow. Better me than them.

That was how Savitar had found her, wrist bleeding from the steel of the handcuff, half-deranged from hunger, paralyzed by the voices in her head.

“Pathetic,” he says now, lips curling into a cruel smile. “Perhaps the name Caitlin suits you better than you realize.”

She gives him a venomous glare. “Don’t you ever speak that name.”

“How did it feel like, Princess?” he continues, leaning forward. “We’ve never talked about it, have we? How did it feel like to be at the mercy of a mere slip of a girl? To be completely, utterly powerless?”

Her hands are balling into fists. “We’ve agreed to never mention the past.”

“What did Caitlin Snow tell you? That they’re going to take you back with open arms?” He smirks. “That they love you?”

“Stop it,” she hisses. Cold steam rises from the ground she’s sitting on.

“Let me tell you something, Princess.” His eyes are glittering with malice. “I know the past and I know the future, and I know that they only ever came to you when they needed you. I know that you contented yourself with whatever scraps of attention they gave you. They gave you a prison, and you thanked them like they’d given you a gift.” He sneers. “Pathe—”

She slams her hand onto the ground, and an icicle spears him from behind.

He gasps and chokes. When she retracts the icicle, he coughs out blood.

It will take an hour for the flesh wound to close, and four or more for the collapsed lung to mend. In the meantime, he will feel like he is suffocating to death.

“You’re forgetting that I am not her,” she says coolly, although in the back of her mind, she can acknowledge that Caitlin Snow’s medical knowledge has been useful to her yet again. “Now, Barry. What was it you told me when I first joined you? Wasn’t it ‘Never speak of the past’?”

He’s glaring at her now, his breath ragged and stuttering, but he’s unable to make a sound.

“I’ve abided by your rules,” she continues. “I expect you to abide by them, too. I’ve never asked about your scar or your little vendetta, so from this point onward you’ll never speak of Caitlin Snow again, either. Understood?”

She takes her coat from the floor. She brushes the dust from it and flares it around her shoulders in a flourish. “I’m going around the city,” she tells him. “You are not to hunt me down, or I’ll destroy both your lungs.”

When his wounds close, he doesn’t hunt her down. She regards him coolly when she returns, challenging him to hurt her, but he merely turns his back to her and leaves.

ii.

He did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his hands When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved, And murdered in her bed. [ . . . ]

For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die.

— Oscar Wilde, from “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”

They find him.

He’s made a slight miscalculation. He’d underestimated just how wily the team becomes under tremendous pressure, and now, they’ve managed to track him down.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re letting Iris walk to her grave, after all.

He watches the expression on their faces now. It’s only Joe and Iris facing him, although he knows that Barry Allen lurking in the vicinity. He can almost imagine the conversation that took place. Let us talk to him, Bar, they would have said. Maybe we can reach him.

Fools, they all are. The future has been set in stone.

He smiles at their expressions. They’re thinking they can save him. Ridiculous. Gods have no need for salvation. “Joe. Iris.” Her name is like poison on his tongue. “I see Barry has told you about me.”

“We want to talk to you,” Joe begins, putting his hands up in surrender, as if to calm him down. “Whatever you’re planning, please don’t do it. You were my son once. Please, Barry—”

The name sets him on edge. “That’s not my name!” he growls, his shoulders tensing, his hands turning into fists in his pockets.

“I am not Barry Allen,” he adds more evenly. “My name is Savitar.”

But Joe is undeterred, and he takes another step forward. “Please. Tell us what happened to you. Let us help you, son.”

That word is acid to him, and against his will it corrodes the walls around his memories—Barry’s memories, memories of Joe taking him in very gently when his mother died, of Joe bringing him to ball games and watching every one of his quiz bees, of Joe bringing him back to his senses every time he’d doubted himself as The Flash. Memories of a time when he’d been cared for, cherished, loved.

And on the coattails of those memories are the uglier ones, memories from the future—Joe seeing him for the first time as a time remnant. Joe saying, “You’re not the real Barry. What have you done to him?” Joe loading his gun, pointing it straight at him. Joe firing. The bite of the bullet on his shoulder. The smoke from the barrel of the gun.

“You’re not my father,” he grits out. “You’ve never been a father to me.”

Joe’s gaze falters. Iris puts a hand on the crook of his arm and turns to face him. “This isn’t you, Bar. Please don’t do this.”

“Oh, but this is me,” he says. “This is me after you broke me.” He gives her a twisted smile. He remembers the sting of her rejection across all the timelines he’s been to, but the memory is but a phantom pain. He is immune to pain now. “Even now you refuse to see me as I am. Tell me, Iris, do you love people only if they’re what you imagine them to be? You loved Barry Allen when he was human. You loved Barry Allen when he was a hero, even if he was a hero burdened by the world. But me, a broken Barry Allen, you’re incapable of loving.”

“That’s not true,” she says, her gaze fierce and unwavering. “I love all of you. All versions of you. That’s why we’re here now, because we want to bring you back—”

He laughs. “Bring me back,” he repeats. “Bring me back to what? To the light?” He takes a step towards her, and like the Iris he remembers, she does not shy away from him. She stands her ground. She looks him in the eye. She knows she will die by his hand, but even so she looks at him with the deluded certainty that he will yield before her.

“You know what I realized, Iris, over the centuries that I’ve been God?” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “God creates man in his image, and like God, man fashions other men in his own image. We only see what we want to see in the people we love. We are blind to what will hurt us. And you, Iris, fall prey to that human fault.”

“I never said I wanted bring you to the light,” she says softly. “I only want to bring you home.” She takes a step closer to him. “I want you to come home to us as you are now.”

His gaze darkens. “Never.”

She searches his face. He remembers those eyes. He remembers the ghost of Barry Allen in him looking into them and thinking, I’m in love with her. I will always love her. She’s the light and love of my life. She is my world. But when she will look at him in the future, she will say, “You’re not the Barry Allen I know and love,” and she will turn away from him, like all the others will; but it is her rejection that cuts the deepest. He had made her his light and love and life, and when she leaves, light and love and life leave with her, too. She will leave him a blind man in a labyrinth, she will leave him to descend into hell, and when he emerges from it he is never the same again.

She touches the scar on his face. “I see you as you are now, Savitar,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry for whatever I’ve said to you, or whatever I will say to you. But time doesn’t matter now. Only this moment does. And in this moment, I’m telling you that I love you. Barry or Bart or Savitar, past or present or future...” Her voice breaks. “In whatever form, I love you. In whatever timeline, I love you. In whatever life, I love you.”

He knows those last three lines. He almost whispers them with her as she says them, because these are the lines she will tell him right before he kills her. Right before he watches the light leave her eyes. Right before she takes her last breath. He’s seen himself kill her a thousand times. He’s relieved it a thousand times.

He doesn’t know why, in this moment, imagining her die by his hand makes him feel something akin to remorse.

But it lasts only a second, and in the next the steel returns to his eyes, the walls around his heart.

Iris must die, or he will never be born. It’s the pinnacle of greed, but he isn’t Barry Allen anymore; he thinks of no one but himself now, and he makes no apologies for it.

“Very touching.” He grasps her hand in his and pulls it away from his face. “But love is just a memory to me now, Iris,” he says, flashing her a cruel smile. “And soon you will be, too.”

iii.

For you I was a flame, love is a losing game Five story fire as you came, love is a losing game One I wished I never played, oh what a mess we made And now the final frame, love is a losing game

— Amy Winehouse, “Love Is a Losing Game”

She’s leaning against the entrance when he returns. Her gaze is accusing.

“You still love Iris,” she says.

He sweeps past her and ignores her.

She follows him. “I saw the look on your face when she touched you. You wavered. You said you don’t feel pain, but you’re lying—”

He slams her into a wall, his arm to her throat. The cold metal digs into the skin of her neck. “Never speak of the past,” he growls.

She narrows her eyes at him and tightens her hands around his arm. Frost crawls into the fissures in his armor, biting into his skin; and when she twists her hands hairline cracks appear on the metal surface.

He snarls in fury and loosens his hold around her throat. When he does, she swings her legs up and kicks him on the chest, so hard that he loses his balance. He catches himself in time, but she falls into a heap on the floor, gasping for breath.

And then suddenly, she’s laughing, a low, raspy sound. “This isn’t the past anymore,” she says. “This is the present—”

“This is all past to me!” he fumes. “There is nothing that I haven’t already experienced—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she hisses. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You were surprised when they cornered us. You were surprised when Iris touched your face. When she said she loved you, your face changed.” Her gaze is heavy with accusation. “You can’t bring yourself to kill her, can you?”

“You weren’t even supposed to be there,” he spits out. He emerges from his armor. “You were supposed to be fighting Vibe, and then you were supposed to kill the girl.”

“I did fight him, but he sent her away before I could knock him unconscious.” She got to her feet. “You haven’t answered me. Do you still love Iris?”

“What does it matter to you? Are you jealous, Princess?”

Now she throws her head back and laughs. “You’re hilarious,” she says, clutching her stomach. “You come face to face with Iris once and instantly you go soft. You can’t even summon enough malice for your insults.”

He glares at her. “This is none of your fucking business.”

“Of course it’s my fucking business,” she snaps. “Because if you’ve had centuries to forget and you still haven’t gotten rid of Barry Allen, what hope do I have of ever getting rid of Caitlin?”

“They’re not real,” he bites out. “Those memories and feelings aren’t real. They’re phantoms.”

“Phantoms,” she scoffs. “Phantoms that still haunt you, you mean?”

“Don’t test me, Princess.”

“And don’t patronize me,” she says. “You know what I heard back there, in your exchange with Iris? I wasn’t hearing a God who’d transcended pain. I was hearing a man who’s scared of being broken by the woman he loves.” She gives him an icy look. “You don’t fool me, Savitar. You’re no God.”

“Leave me,” he says evenly, turning his back to her. “Leave this place now.”

“You’re a coward,” she says with venom. “You can’t even face the truth about yourself like a man—”

He lunges at her before she finishes speaking, and she falls face-down to the floor from the force of his blow.

He crouches beside her. “You want to know the truth, Princess?” he rasps in her ear, holding her face to the ground. His anger sparks electricity down his limbs, and his voice drips with acid. “The truth is that I am not a man. I am a phantom. I am a relic of Barry Allen’s mistakes.” He can see her digging her fingers into the ground. “I am not real, but the pain they inflict on me is.”

Suddenly, sharp tendrils of ice burst out around him, and he’s barely able to flash away before they pierce the place where his body was, but several nick his clothes and draw blood from his skin.

She props herself up and spits out the blood in her mouth. The scrapes on her face are already healing.

“So that’s it,” she says, smiling grimly. “You don’t know how to deal with pain. The reason you want Iris dead is because she’s the one who can hurt you the most. She holds the most power over you. If you kill her, you’ll be free of any weakness.”

He leans against a table. It seems that her persistence and their fight has worn him down. She can see from the slump of his shoulders that the adrenaline has fled his system, and he suddenly looks smaller in the dim light. “The reason I want Iris dead,” he says, enunciating the words, “is because her death is the beginning of my ascension. Once I kill Iris, Barry Allen will kill me, and then he’ll become me.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Kill you?”

“One of the possible futures,” he says. “Perhaps the most probable one, from what I’ve seen. After I kill Iris, and after Barry Allen kills me, the only thing that will stop him from becoming me is if he can save Caitlin Snow.”

She strides towards him. “I won’t become Caitlin Snow,” she says, her voice hard and determined. “And you will not die. You will not die. I won’t let it happen.”

And then, for a brief moment, her eyes flash brown.

His gaze softens. His fingers curl around her chin. “Princess,” he says, and the way it rolls off his tongue now sounds nearly affectionate. “We both know that there’s more Caitlin Snow in you than we first thought.”

“Nonsense.”

“Tell me,” he says, “did Caitlin Snow ever love Barry Allen?”

She looks away.

“I never loved any of them.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I gave them everything,” she continues, her eyes flashing brown again. “I stitched them back together each time. I listened patiently when they told me how hard it was to see me like this. I kept quiet when they didn’t ask me about my pain. I didn’t even nag so much anymore, even though I worried myself to shreds when they were out.” Her breath hitches. “I gave them everything.”

“And in return, they gave you a cage,” he murmurs.

“A pretty cage, but still a cage.” She leans in to his touch and her hand ghosts around her neck, where her necklace had been. “They said they loved me, but their love was a cage, too. Why did they do that?”

“Men want to contain what they fear,” he says. “Especially if what they fear is a woman.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “You men have fragile egos.”

He lets out a gruff laugh, and she gives him a tentative smile.

She hasn’t answered his question, he notices, but he knows it’s one of those questions that he can never ask again if he wants to keep her by his side.

He tilts her face to the dim light of the room, and he notices that she is paler than usual. From her fight with Vibe, no doubt.

He runs a hand along her jaw, and rests it on the back of her neck.

“Hungry, Killer Frost?”

Her smile widens. “Mmm,” she says, and he pulls her to him and dips his head to give her a kiss. It’s entirely unlike their previous kisses—this kiss is tentative, leisurely, probing. He runs his fingers along her curls, licks the seam of her lips, savors the taste of her in his mouth.

When he pulls back, he subtly vibrates to restore heat to himself. He puts his hands around her waist and settles her on the table behind him, and then he gets down to his knees. 

She gives him a bewildered look, but doesn’t protest when he tears her underwear away and flashes her a wicked smile.

“For what I said about the factory incident,” he says, and before she can understand what he means, his mouth is already on her clit and he’s eating her out like a man starved. He’s unbelievably skilled with his tongue. All she can do under his ministrations is to scrape her nails down his scalp and dig her heels into his muscled back and whimper incoherently as he takes her to the height of pleasure.

When he’s through with her and she’s able to see straight again, she shoves him into a wall and palms the front of his pants. He’s already hard, and his pupils are dilated in arousal.

She smiles. She gets down to her knees, and then runs her mouth over the tented fabric. “For the icicle to your lung,” she says. “And to even the score.”

She unzips his pants and takes him into her hot little mouth, and as she had been, he finds himself helpless and incoherent and completely surrendered to her.

———

The next day, they carry on as if nothing had changed between them. After all, they never speak of the past—to them, there is only the present, and the agonizing, all-consuming hope for a future where they will no longer be shackled to their pasts.

But in their heart of hearts, they both know that that future is unlikely to happen. He knows enough of her to see that she is still Caitlin Snow, and she knows enough of him to see that he isn’t trying to transcend pain—he’s only running from it. And yet they hurl themselves towards that future as men and women hurl themselves at their burning houses, greedy to salvage whatever they can before the fire turns everything to ash.