#but when i am allowed to post it to ao3 maybe ill bring back the deleted scenes for an Extended Edition lol

[stevethehairington]

omg had a stroke of inspiration and managed to get the bare bones of two parts of my stobin zine fic downnnn right before the first check in tomorrow 🎉

[angst-fairygodmother]

Work of Art (Diego Hargreeves x Reader, Kinktober

A/N: Rather than try and finish 2 more fics this week, as would be necessary to finish the original Kinktober list I posted, I played a little shuffle, and combined the two remaining ones, tossed some stuff, added new stuff. Because frankly I’m running out of steam[iness], though really, this is further than I ever expected to get on this project. Anyway...the final fic. Hope you enjoy. Word Count: 2440 Kinktober Prompts: bondage, knife-play, marking Rating: E(xplicit) Content Warnings: dom/sub (dom reader), bondage, knife-play, marking kink, pain kink, begging, teasing, praise kink, oral (both male and female receiving), biting, blood, overstimulation Cross-posted to AO3 here.

“Stop squirming so much,” you laughed, dropping the soft cotton rope to start over. “You’d think I was torturing you or something.”

“You’re sitting there, dressed like that, looking that gorgeous, and not letting me touch you,” Diego pointed out. “Find me the part that isn’t torture.”

You rolled your eyes, finally securing the last knot to keep Diego exactly where you wanted him, despite his continued wriggling.

“Unless you want actual torture, stop complaining.”

“Actual torture? You couldn’t if you tried.”

You raised a challenging eyebrow and smirked. He swallowed, instantly regretting his words. 

“Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I just…” you walked over to the bedroom door, pausing dramatically in the doorway to look back at him. “Left you there then?”

“Wait, no, Y/N,” he called after you, voice straining with ill-concealed desperation. “Please. I promise I’ll behave.”

You waited a few beats longer, until you heard his faint whine, pleading for you, before you returned to the bedroom, satisfied that he knew your threat was serious. When you returned, he gave you his best penitent expression, which was admittedly, just a little bit ruined by the way his eyes trailed hungrily over your figure in the lacy, nearly see-through negligee you wore when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“I could do whatever I want to you like this,” you observe off-handedly, still standing near the end of the bed, studying his bound form. 

He wasn’t completely immobile, though you had originally tried to convince him to let you trap him in that way. But he was tied enough that he wouldn’t be going anywhere or able to pull his usual stunts to try to take control. And he looked so pretty: stretched out on the bed, hands bound above him with just enough slack to be able to twist and grab the thin wrought-iron rails supporting him, another thin set of ropes wrapped around his waist and secured to the underside of the bed. If you were being honest, it was a bit like the damsel tied to a railroad track in an old silent movie, but it was a look that worked for him, especially the way the blue ropes stood out against his skin. 

“And you’d like that wouldn’t you,” you purred, taking a few steps closer. “You like to act tough but really, you’re just craving to be used and controlled. Isn’t that right baby?”

His cock twitched at your words and you couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the visual evidence of your effect on him. He nodded in answer to your question, even as he strained against his binds. You stopped, waiting expectantly for him to use his words. It had taken a long time to convince him to let his guard down and be vulnerable like this, and you wanted to be sure that he was both capable and willing to bring it to a stop if he needed to.

“Yes,” he finally panted. “Please, use me, do whatever you want to me. Please, Y/N.”

“You look so good like this, like a work of art. What would you do if I decided I wanted to just sit here,” you plopped yourself down on a stool in the corner and folded one leg over your knee, leaning forward so you could still see his face. “And admire the art?”

He shook his head. “No, please, please touch me, hurt me, fuck me. Do anything, just please, do something.”

“You’re so right.” You stood again, sauntering to the edge of the bed and staring down into his face, gently running your nails down the side of his face, swiping them across his lips, drawing back harshly enough that they caught when he tried to suck a thumb into his mouth.

“My pretty boy.” He shivered bodily, as much as the ropes would allow, at your words, throwing his head back against the pillow.

“Do you like that? Being called pretty or being called mine.”

His face flushed and you repressed a giggle.

“Both,” he admitted shyly. 

“Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Please?”

“Of course, my pretty boy, all mine, all laid out and gorgeous for me.” A dangerous glint crossed your eyes as he tried to buck upward, a bead of pre-cum welling from your words alone. 

“Maybe, I should make sure everyone knows that you’re mine. Make it clear that they can look,” you ran your fingertips down his sternum, “but they can’t touch. Would you like that?”

You suspected that by the end of the night, he would grow tired of your prompting. And yet, if he paid attention, he would see that through this, he had more control than he ever did otherwise. 

“Yes, Y/N. Claim me.” There was a hint of frustration and desperation in his voice, and you decided not to push him any further before giving in. 

Slowly, making sure his eyes were trained on you the whole time, not that he had dared to look away for a second so far, you straddled him, just above where the ropes crossed his mid-section, moving at a pace that made tectonic plates look like speedboats. 

Settling comfortably, you leaned down, pressing your body against his, only the gauzy layer of your dress separating you. You let your breath ghost over him, teasing at the sensitive spots behind his ear and beneath his jaw. And then, sure that he wouldn’t be expecting it, you dipped your head lower and bit down harshly on the soft spot where throat met clavicle. Diego cried out, thrashing under you but unable to move, and just as importantly, not seeming like he was actually trying to get away from you. You felt the slightest hint of blood welling up and laved your tongue over the spot, soothing the worst of the sting but maintaining enough pressure to draw the blood toward the surface, ensuring a heavy, dark spot would be left behind.

“Mm,” you purred, pulling back to look at his face once more, the blissed out look on his face sending a jolt to your core. “You mark up so well for me Diego, but I don’t know if that little spot’s going to be enough.”

He gulped nervously. “Will you leave another?”

“I had a better idea, if you trust me…” you forced him to meet your gaze. 

“Absolutely.” It was the firmest his voice had been since you began. 

Hesitantly, you reached over to the nightstand, picking up one of the tiny precision blades that he used sometimes, though never in this way obviously. Palming it, you held it up for him to see. His eyes widened. 

“I promise, I won’t hurt you, not really,” you explained, dropping any act or pretense. “Lightest touch only. Just enough to leave a mark that will heal over without a trace. Or I can put this away. It’s up to you.”

His eyes flickered back and forth from the knife to your face. 

“Do it,” he said, voice gruff with desire. The muscles of your cunt clenched and fluttered at the sound, but you tried to ignore the feelings and focus on him. “...please?”

You kissed him passionately, trying to pour into it all of the thousand feelings coursing through you: how badly you wanted him, how much you loved him, how grateful you were that he trusted you like this. 

You rocked backwards, letting your ass brush teasingly against his straining erection as you inspected your canvas.

“Now, my pretty boy,” you taunted, “where shall I make my mark. There are so many options…”

You trailed the flat of the little blade along the column of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob, dangerously close to the point. You traced outward, first over one side of his collarbone and then the other and then down over the taut muscles of his chest. He hissed as you turned the blade so that the needle-sharp point was against his flesh as you traced circles around his nipples with just enough pressure to create a sting. Finally, you stopped, poised just above his heart.

“Shall I write my name right here?” you asked, “label your heart and lay my claim to it.”

“It’s yours,” he countered, “already yours.”

“Well then, let’s make it official.” 

You turned the blade again so that the full edge was pressed his exposed skin, biting your lip as you watched the little specks of red well up in the shape of your initials, tracing over them once, twice, thrice. He moaned louder with each pass, high and needy and threatening to overwhelm you, but he held himself perfectly still, one wrong move potentially spelling his end. You admired the endurance and discipline it required almost as much as you admired the patterns of pain you were tracing around the letters now, little hearts and swirling shapes. You followed behind the knife with open-mouthed kisses, as you wanted him to experience the sting and ache at the same time as you wanted to draw them away and spare him any suffering.

“Please,” he breathed. “Please, haven’t I been good?”

You looked up, a little startled at the question. 

“Of course you’ve been good. You’ve been so good. Perfect, obedient, beautiful. You’ve been all those things Diego,” you assured him. 

“Then please, I can’t take anymore. Please stop teasing me, no more games.”

You frowned. It wasn’t the safeword you had agreed to, but maybe…

“Please, don’t I deserve a reward?”

Oh.

“Of course you do baby. Do you want to cum now?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” you startled. 

“No. I don’t want to cum yet. Not until I taste you. I know you’re wet, I know you. I want that sweet little pussy all over my face.”

“Well who am I to refuse you whatever your heart desires?” You said, eyes sparkling with mirth before you rose up on your hands and knees, crawling over him until you were poised, hovering just out of reach of his tongue, which was already darting out to run across his lips. 

His hands strained at the ropes, and you knew that if his hands were free, something you could have given him with a few flicks of the little knife if you wanted to, they would be gripping your hips with bruising strength and holding you down while he pleasured you. You closed your eyes, letting the image dance across your eyelids while you sank down. 

Diego’s tongue flicked through your folds, tasting your gathered wetness. The groan that followed vibrated up through you, and it took all of your willpower, and the sharp bite of your nails into the palm of one hand, the other braced on the headboard, parallel to Diego’s own arms, not to break from that sensation alone. He sucked hard on your sensitive clit and you keened, grinding down on his face just as he moved his attention, tongue diving into you. You continued to move, hips bucking in rhythm with the thrust and flick of the wet muscle inside you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and then in a primal scream as he flicked and sucked at your clit again, alternating back and forth faster than you could keep track of. He answered each sound you made with one of his own, groans and moans and hums mixing with his clever mouth to drive you over the edge, and then again without warning as he refused to let up. 

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, “Fuck, Diego, yes! You make me feel so good baby!”

As a third orgasm tore through you, you pulled from him, trembling in the aftershocks as you tried to catch your breath.

“That was so good baby,” you panted. “You always know how to make me feel so good. But now it’s your turn.”

You slowly slunk down the bed, trailing kisses and little nips along his skin until you reached your destination. Looking up to check on him, and because you knew how much he loved the sight of you making eye-contact as you sucked him off, you wrapped your lips around his dick and slowly lowered your mouth onto it, taking him as deep as you could until he bumped at the back of your throat and tears stung at the corners of your eyes. Curling your hand around the base of him, the other bracing yourself against his thigh, you set an unstable pattern, working him rapidly, twisting your fingers and bobbing your head up and down only to suddenly slow, so that you were all but still, holding him in your mouth and the length of his cock with your tongue and then resuming your motions, trying to keep him on his toes. He bucked his hips as far as the ropes would allow him, trying to match your patterns with thrusts of his own, and crying out your name over and over. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned. “I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.”

You squeezed gently on the base of his cock at the same you hollowed out your cheeks, taking him as deep as you could and he came with a feral growl, his cum filling your mouth, hot and salty and you swallowed down as much of it as you could, fighting the urge to gag. 

Slowly, you slid him out of your mouth and stood. Your own fluids were rapidly cooling on the insides of your thighs as you made your way shakily to the bathroom for some warm cloths to clean you both up.

As you returned to Diego’s side, you noticed the way he shivered and sweat. Concerned, you quickly slit the ropes, freeing him to curl in on himself.

“Diego, baby?” you asked softly, stroking the damp fabric over his skin soothingly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, sounding hoarse and slightly out of breath. “That was just a lot…”

“Too much?” 

“No. No,” he shook his head, reaching around to grab one of your hands in his. “It was perfect, I’m just…I’ll be fine.”

You bit your lip, not sure if you believed him and concerned that you’d gone too far, all in the name of showing him how amazing he was.

“How can I help?” you asked, wanting to follow his lead and speed his recovery.

“Just, hold me, please.”

“Let me finish cleaning us both up, and then I can definitely do that,” you said with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Diego.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 21

21/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 4.8k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic 

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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

As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved. 

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her. 

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift. 

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth. 

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now. 

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need. 

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue. 

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now. 

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning. 

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them. 

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons. 

Mulder just gives her a look. 

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong. 

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room. 

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning. 

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open? 

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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

The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him. 

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak. 

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out. 

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive. 

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose. 

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.  

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets. 

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness. 

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.” 

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary. 

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm. 

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly. 

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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

Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night. 

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning. 

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

 It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old. 

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him. 

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it. 

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord. 

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.” 

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?” 

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly. 

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

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

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask. 

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open. 

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in. 

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly. 

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.” 

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips. 

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.” 

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this. 

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls. 

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies. 

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies. 

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.”

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

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

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain. 

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him. 

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him. 

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

[big-dong-zhong]

Chapter 1 has received a buff and has been posted to Ao3. Here is the link for those who want to view it there. For those who don’t, the modified chapter is under the cut. Apologies for any formatting errors, it doesn’t copy/paste to tumblr very well.

1 - Melt

[This is the First Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Words: 2,648

Rated [T+]  - Here is an explanation of my rating system.

Childe/Lumine, fluff (i guess?), sorry I really don’t know what to say here.

Lumine is ill-prepared for Snezhnaya’s weather.

Tartaglia lay in his childhood bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had been years since he had last slept there, and the scratching of the wool against his skin gave him a nostalgic sorrow, like he had left something behind. The other bed laid empty, another single wool blanket carefully draped over it. He put his arm over his eyes, wondering if it had been a good idea to return so soon. One day wasn’t quite enough to spend any meaningful time with his family, and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for having any kind of time with his family or if he regretted making the trip at all. He supposed that worrying about it wouldn’t do him any good; they were leaving first thing in the morning anyway. Regardless, his restless mind was robbing him of his much needed sleep.

The sound of the bedroom door opening quietly distracted him from his thoughts. He listened as light and hurried footsteps traveled over the rug and to the other bed. The wood frame creaked under the weight of someone sitting upon it for the first time in years. A loud huff. Tartaglia could feel eyes on him. It was nearly impossible not to crack a smile, but he would pretend that he was asleep for now unless she addressed him.

"Tartaglia?"

"Lumine?" He grinned and quickly pulled his arm from his face and turned his head to look in her direction. Lumine was sitting upright on the bed, completely wrapped in the wool blanket with only her face visible, and she was pouting. Her cuteness caught him off guard and his heart may have skipped a beat or two, but he quickly regained his composure.

"It's cold," she grumbled, pulling the blanket even tighter around herself. Tartaglia laughed at such on obvious statement.

"Of course it's cold! We're in Snezhnaya. I really hope you didn't forget that somehow.” Lumine grumbled and turned her head defiantly to deflect his insult.

“Aw don’t be like that,” he sang. “You could always come over here and I'll keep you warm." He turned to his side and lifted up his own blanket flirtatiously, inviting her to share his bed.

"No!" Lumine whispered harshly. "No way! I am not sharing a bed with you!" She shook her head as she declined.

"Well I guess you'll just freeze then," Tartaglia conceded and rolled back over with an exaggerated sigh. "A shame too. How will I ever be able to explain this to the Knights of Favonius? I guess I'll just have to run away and change my identity. They'll surely come after me if they think I let something happen to you out here." The sounds of the other bed creaking, and then footsteps toward him.

Got her.

"I didn't tell them," she said. He turned to face her again, this time he was confused. What did she mean she didn’t tell them? His puzzlement must have shown on his face because she repeated it.

"I didn't tell anybody I was coming here. Not the Knights of Favonius or even the Adventurers’ Guild. Let me tell you, it was hard enough to convince Paimon to keep this just between us.” Lumine shook her head as she spoke. “It's not everyone's business what I'm doing every second of every day. I'm allowed to do things on my own, contrary to popular belief."

Her gaze was serious. He had thought that when she reluctantly agreed to come to Snezhnaya with him for leisure that it would be a one time adventure, that she only did it because she had promised Teucer. He figured she would have told each one of her friends every tiny detail about the trip as a precaution in case the Fatui made a move on her, but now he was feeling unsure of her intentions. Had she really trusted him, a Fatui Harbinger, enough to travel so far from her other friends without telling them where she was?

Tartaglia snorted, then laughed at the situation. Everyone really wanted a piece of her, didn't they? This girl who looked like a dumpling wrapped up in his brother's old wool blanket pouting at him was so important that several organizations felt the need to constantly keep tabs on her. It was only fair though, he figured. She was incredibly strong, not to mention nobody knew where she came from. She was very intriguing. He wanted to know more about her.

She sniffled. Tartaglia could see that her nose was getting red, and she kept scrunching her face like she felt a sneeze coming.

"Come on," he chuckled, "you can bring the blanket with you; just get in." Lumine glared down at him and very reluctantly sat on the edge of his bed, her back toward him. She scooted herself back on top of Tartaglia's blanket then lifted her legs into the bed and laid down, never once removing the blanket she already had around herself. He laughed.

"Well this isn't exactly what I had in mind. It's not going to make a lot of difference if you're still under just one blanket."

"Then give me both of the blankets," she mumbled.

"Now that's cold, Lumine. You would let me freeze in the night? And after my family showed you so much hospitality. Imagine how upset my poor little siblings would be to find me frozen solid in the morning: a big brosicle!"

"Argh, fine!" Lumine seemed to have finally had enough of him telling her what to do. She jumped out of the bed and threw the second blanket she had wrapped herself with onto Tartaglia's face. "Make it up however you want, just do it fast okay!"

He laughed as he sat up, grabbing the blanket and spreading it out to toss over his own to create a double layer. Once he was satisfied that it was good enough he glanced toward Lumine and saw what she was wearing. A very short, white night dress with a frilled hem and collar, the latter of which rested halfway down her shoulders, exposing bare skin as well as her collarbones. He could see how delicate her legs were beneath the hem, which only barely covered the tops of her thighs. The fabric also seemed to be quite thin; silk from Liyue perhaps? Her arms were crossed over her chest so he couldn't gauge exactly how sheer it was. Unfortunate, but he could live with the mystery for now. He grinned.

"Well no wonder you're cold," he teased her and lifted up the blankets. "Come on now before you freeze." Lumine glared down at him in contempt.

"I'm not going to do anything weird," he insisted with his sweetest smile. She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Promise?"

"Maybe I wouldn't go that far-"

"I'm sleeping with Paimon and Tonia," Lumine said as she began to turn around.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I promise I won't do anything weird," Tartaglia urged. She pursed her lips into an unsure frown and climbed into the bed, this time facing him directly. He nearly forgot to breathe in that moment she was so close. Her toes brushed against his shin for a moment and he felt how ice cold her skin was. The sensation made him jump.

“Really? You’re not even wearing socks?” he interrogated, moving his shins further away to avoid her toes.

“I can’t sleep with them on,” she rebutted as she continued to pursue his warmth until he finally gave in to the momentary discomfort. She really hadn't prepared for this trip, had she? At least it was just a short leisure trip and she wasn't alone. Tartaglia took comfort in the fact that this exposure would better prepare her for the future.

The future… That was right.

Peaceful moments like this won’t last, he thought to himself. He had enough political knowledge to realize that the world was spinning into chaos, but not enough to know how to stop it. His folly in Liyue Harbor was proof of that. Even the man he felt he had grown close to as a friend was only using him as a pawn in a much bigger scheme, just as so many others had. It wasn’t safe to put his trust in others anymore.

Tartaglia was pulled from his thoughts when Lumine shuffled her arm to her front and placed her hand between their faces, her fingers curled except for one in particular.

"Pinkie promise me you won't do anything weird to me in my sleep."

"You really don't trust me, do you?" Is what he said, ironically, but she had to trust him to an extent. She wouldn’t be there with him in that moment otherwise.

She pushed her hand closer to his face. Lumine was really serious about a pinkie promise, wasn’t she? He was tempted to lightly nip at her finger just to get a reaction out of her, but he knew she would be furious if he did. He wasn't too keen on the idea of chasing her down in the snow in the middle of the night, so he elected not to bite her this time. He sighed with a small laugh and brought his own hand to meet hers. He hesitated at first, his heart skipping a beat when their fingers first touched.

She doesn’t know.

Of course, the traveler from another world wouldn’t have the same knowledge used to trick him over and over. Rex Lapis had fooled her just as well. Would other archons try to use her to their own ends as he and Barbatos did? Tartaglia couldn’t watch that happen.

“I’ll make this promise: I’m going to keep you safe,” he told her in a hushed voice as if any notes of affection in his tone needed to be kept secret between the two of them. “The Knights, the Guild, hell even the Liyue Qixing won’t have to worry if you’re with me. Whether it’s money or strength, you can always rely on me when you’re in need.”

“W-What the hell are you talking about?” Lumine stuttered as her face grew red. “Is this some kind of confession?”

“Hmm,” Tartaglia hummed in response. “Try not to think about it too hard.” He gave her a wink and grinned as he watch her face flush all the way to her ears. He was proud of himself that he managed to get her to make such a cute expression.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “As long as that promise includes not doing anything weird to me in the night.”

“I said I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?” A loaded promise, but in the moment he didn’t care.

“How am I supposed to know what your definition of that is?”

“I just don’t want you see you hurt,” he confessed. Lumine’s expression softened into a more serious gaze.

“Just stick with promising me only for tonight, all right?” she sighed.

“All right,” Tartaglia replied to her with a tender smile. In his heart he knew he would promise more, however. He wanted to be by her side more than just a night.

"You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life," he started.

"You break a pinkie promise," Lumine continued and narrowed her eyes, "I throw you on the ice." Their little fingers wrapped around each other.

"The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend." He tightened his grip, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. He wondered if she noticed how fast his heart was beating, and if hers may have been as well.

"The frost will freeze your tongue off, so you never lie again." They unclasped their little fingers and let their hands rest between them, not quite touching, but Tartaglia could start to feel her body heat under the blankets.

"Feeling warmer now that you're with me?" he asked with a smug grin. Lumine nodded and let out a small, breathy yawn that tugged on his heart strings. He wished he could fall asleep as fast as she did. Now that she had fallen asleep, laying next to her made him even more anxious. Every time she let out a deep breath he held his, unsure of what to do. Of course he knew he should just close his eyes and go to sleep, but he couldn't stop looking at her. She looked so small and calm, unlike the fury and excitement she radiated while awake. Tartaglia liked this side of her too. He stroked her arm with the tips of his fingers, feeling the warmth radiating off her skin, the sensation making his heart beat faster. He had promised he wouldn't do anything weird, but he still wasn't sure what Lumine's definition of weird could be. She stirred in her sleep, startling him to pull his hand away from her. It may have been just a nursery rhyme, but he knew Lumine would literally cut his tongue out if he broke his promise.

He held his breath, waiting for her to wake up and scold him, but she didn't open her eyes. Instead she moved even closer to him. One of her legs slid between his, which in turn caused her dress to ride up and expose her abdomen to his own bare stomach. Her hand slid over his navel and reached around to his back under his shirt. The sensation of her smooth skin sent what felt like a bolt of lightning through his body, though somehow far different from any electro powers he’d used. Her face was only inches away from his. Lumine was so close to him that he couldn't breathe for fear of waking her. Yet, the anxiety he felt was invigorating. It was a new and foreign kind of excitement to him that he never even dreamed of experiencing. In fact, he'd never given any thought at all to this kind of intimacy with another person. Lumine. Her thoughts, her feelings, and her body; they were a whole new battlefield for him, one he wasn't sure if he could ever conquer, but that made the idea all the more exciting.

Tartaglia's breath finally escaped his lungs, involuntarily shaky and vocal. He moved his tongue around inside his mouth to get rid of the dryness that had taken hold. Luckily the cold had made it so he wasn't sweating from all of the new sensations he was experiencing. He was starting to feel lightheaded from all of the times he'd held his breath, but that in turn with their combined body heat had also started to make him finally feel sleepy. His breath steadied and Tartaglia was finally starting to relax. Lumine was definitely fast asleep, and it didn't look like she was going to wake up to any small movements he made. He decided that wrapping arms around each other wasn't anything weird and moved his arm to cradle her back.

He already knew that he liked her. Since the moment he'd met her he had wanted to be involved in her life, and fighting her had brought him exhilaration he could have only dreamed of. Now he felt that they could have something even more. Lumine was in his home, in his bed with him, the rest of his family sleeping soundly within the house. She didn't belong and yet she fit in so well. He didn't want to let her go. If they could lie there and hold each other forever he might even have been happy with just that. The tiredness was finally beginning to take over. He was as relaxed as he had ever been in her embrace.

Tartaglia shifted to grace Lumine's forehead with a long and chaste kiss, holding her body against his own. He rested his forehead against hers, and finally he was able to let sleep take him.

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch11)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: Alright everyone I'M BACK ...And I'm so so SO sorry that I took so long to update. Over the past few months I took my first real break from posting fanfiction overall in a long time.

Before I posted this chapter, I actually ended up heavily editing some of the previous chapters, which I'd like to inform those who read the originals about first. (Currently only the Ao3 version, and the reblog version of this fic with the picture on top are up-to-date.)

* I made Tom overall more polite. I was of the belief that his politeness was not an innate trait, and without memory, he would be a bit more unpleasant, and then we could see him grow with time. I do still believe it's not an innate personality trait, but a couple things made me realize he really should act differently in my fic. * I made Snape treat Tom better in the interrogation chapter. Both at the beginning and end. I liked the ending with the Levicorpus spell, and I do kinda miss it, especially because it informed Harry's reactions, but I think it was just too mean, especially because of something I'm going for later. * I added a conversation with the other boy in the hospital wing. (By the way, if you go back to read that and can think of more things they should talk about, don't hesitate to let me know!)

...I think those are all the big things! Feel free to offer feedback on the changes if you read them!

I'm so sorry to everyone who was hoping for faster updates. I truly do appreciate your comments and support deeply, and hope that you will continue to read and still enjoy it. I would still love to hear what you think!! <3 <3

Chapter 11: The House of Books

“The summer? With you? And Harry Potter?”

Tom had been examining the objects Snape had brought him—objects which had apparently once belonged to him—and blinked, raising his head to look at him.

“Believe me, I am not thrilled about it either.”

“No, it’s not that—well, it is—it’s just…” He paused, running his fingers along the clothes laid out on the bed before him, then squinted up at Snape. “I’m trying to discern why this is a good idea.”

Snape looked away, seemingly wondering that himself.

“I think, with time, you’ll find that our headmaster has a very unique sense of what is good for others. He believes uncomfortable situations often serve for people’s betterment.” He looked off to the side and muttered, “Whether or not they agree.”

“What sort of ‘betterment’ does this serve?”

“I suppose he would like the three of us to…”—He exhaled—“get along.”

Tom raised an eyebrow a second time, as if to say Us? Really?

“Futile though it may be,” Snape added.

Tom bit his lip, internally assessing the situation as he also returned to assessing the objects.

It wasn’t ideal—that didn’t need stating. Tom had a difficult time fathoming why Dumbledore—who seemed to bear him no ill-will—would want him to live with one person who had a rather insurmountable grudge against him, and another who didn’t seem to like him much better. He wanted them to ‘get along?’ `Surely that couldn’t be it. There had to be more to it.

Was Dumbledore really so naive as to think they’d grow closer instead of hate each other more? Not that he quite understood why they hated each other in the first place.

“Is there a reason I can’t stay here over the summer? I wouldn’t mind.”

Clearly Snape would have preferred that as well.

“You no doubt heard at the Feast that there has been some question as to whether Hogwarts is entirely safe. The Board of Governors likely wouldn’t approve of a student staying over the summer until they are able to deny these suspicions. Also, the headmaster wants you to learn magic over the summer, and due to few teachers possessing a proclivity to stay at Hogwarts during this time, we must make other arrangements.”

Tom’s breath bated at the reveal that he’d be learning magic, his mind beginning to buzz. He tried not to let his excitement leak into his voice:

“You’ll be teaching me magic?”

“Do keep up.”

“So…” He sat back. “What’s Harry going to do?”

“Mister Potter will be…taking up space as usual, I presume.”

Tom stifled a laugh; he hadn’t been expecting such a response from a professor.

“You don’t like Harry, do you?”

“I’m not…particularly fond of him.”

“Is it too forward of me to say it doesn’t appear you’re particularly fond of me either?”

“I pains me to say you’ll have adequate time to learn there aren’t a great many things I feel an extensive amount of fondness for.”

Tom could already see it now.

“Consider it a trial period, of sorts.” Snape swept around the room as he altered the direction of conversation. “If you are able to succeed over the summer, you may continue your schooling at Hogwarts when the next year begins. How much you learn, and how quickly, will determine the year in which you are placed. That is, if you’re placed in any year at all.” He looked down his hooked nose at him like that was both the most likely option, and the most preferable.

Tom could tell hidden behind his words was the idea that this ‘trial period’ was about more than just how adept he was at magic. He’d didn’t need telling that he’d have to be careful in more ways than magical.

“Do you have any other business to attend to before we leave?”

“Wait, we’re leaving now?”

“I don’t come to the hospital wing for pleasant chats if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tom bit his lip. In all honesty he would have liked to stay and explore the school more, but he could tell Snape wasn’t the kind of person one could negotiate such things with.

He turned back to the items that were supposed to be his.

“Is this really all I have?” He asked softly.

Sure all the essentials were there: clothes, books, toiletries and the like, but nothing more personal. No pictures for his nightstand, or even a keepsake to remind him of home, of family. Nothing that could tell him a little more about himself.

Snape paused a moment before he replied: “All of which I’m aware.”

Tom didn’t say anything. Merely put everything back in the trunk and followed Snape to the door.

“Don’t you have anything to bring home with you?” Tom asked.

“Don’t you think a skilled wizard such as myself would have methods of sending it to its proper location?”

They spent the walk across the grounds in silence, which could probably be considered steely, though Tom didn’t mind. The grounds around Hogwarts, and what little he saw of the castle, were altogether beautiful, and empty conversation would only have dulled his enjoyment. He turned around, walking backwards, a smile creeping upon his face upon at the sight of the castle in its full glory. He came to find this wasn’t a school, this was a palace, a haven.

A—

The word home rose to the surface of his chest.

It occurred to him this was the first time he’d smiled since he lost his memory. Really and truly smiled.

The feeling wasn’t half bad.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You like it?”

Tom cleared his throat. “It’s nice I guess.” But he couldn’t stuff the smile down, couldn’t quite figure out what this feeling was.

He must be a student, surely. Otherwise, why would he feel such fondness for the place?

He didn’t think Snape would reply, and was surprised to hear, barely audible, “I always thought as much.”

They arrived at a wrought iron gate with winged boars on either side—(really living up to the name, Tom supposed. All they needed was a decent amount of warts on them). Once they had passed through it, Snape stopped abruptly and held out his arm. It seemed he was expecting Tom to take it.

Tom wasn’t quite sure why he ought to do this, (and was rather offput by the thought of touching this man). Still, he did as he was told and—

He felt like he was being pigeonholed through a pipe. When the journey ended he was in an entirely new location, and wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t feel sick.

"Apparating for the first time can often make one feel unwell,” Snape informed the doubled-over Tom in a way that didn’t signify he really cared.

As Tom regained his bearings, he thought for a moment, in the same way he quite liked the walk along the grounds, he probably would have rather enjoyed traveling across the countryside. It struck him, that, while this sort of travel certainly got the job done, if wizards had a type of travel more like flying; allowing one to see the view, but also get where they needed to go quickly, he would like to learn it.

The new location, however, was far drearier and less pleasing to the eyes. Rather than an enchanting (and probably enchanted) forest, bordering sunny grounds, and a castle whose majesty was unmatched (at least in his current memory), this was a grimy, cobbled street, like a dull pencil: grey, disappointing, and without its sharpness.

He was almost certain the place was non-magical in nature. He couldn’t believe anyone magical would allow their cities to collect this much grime and…boringness. Identical brick townhouses lined those streets, their chimneys spewing smoke into the air, causing a low cloud of what could be either smog or fog to hang over the place, making the air warmer and more humid than necessary. Snape’s house was the last in the row, (at least, he assumed it was Snape’s as it was the one they were heading towards), and across from it he could see a black river winding through the mist.

Snape flicked his wand, unlocking what was presumably his front door.

Often houses have a certain, indefinable smell to them, but when Tom stepped inside this one, he found it wasn’t so indefinable: parchment, and old shoes, and maybe a little bit of neglect.

He could have fooled himself into thinking he’d walked into a bookstore. The walls were lined with books, the sofa and armchair in the corner creating a false sense of coziness—(‘false’ because nothing about this man said ‘cozy’). It had the air of being one of those spaces that is cluttered, but to call it anything but ‘neat’ would be an insult. Like a library of a devout scholar: cluttered with knowledge, yet, despite the fact that the shelves are puking pages, it all seems somehow perfectly in place.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Snape said in a tone that told him he didn’t want him to be comfortable at all. “Take care not to touch anything that isn’t yours.”

Tom’s eyes lidded. “So…don’t touch anything at all?”

“You’re catching on.” Snape smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes, not entirely sure Snape was joking.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

The words ‘your room’ were clipped, like the thought that it would belong to him for even a summer was repulsive. Though Tom could tell that before they arrived.

He opened a small door in the wall, which Tom would have thought another room, or perhaps a closet, but turned out to be a set of stairs.

After journeying up them, a hallway whose wood was in dire need of staining, dusty portraits whose stern eyes followed him as he walked by, and a decorative table with an empty vase upon it, greeted him.

The advertised room was small, and a bit stuffy, and a few of the floorboards creaked, but something told him he’d slept in worse conditions before.

Though it was a small house, they were able to keep to themselves. Snape was busy resettling into his house, and disinclined to give him a tour, and Tom, not having much to get settled in the first place, spent the time exploring his new surroundings.

He wandered around the library that was the downstairs, and the dingy hallways that were the upstairs. He took care not to enter what he assumed to be Snape’s room, as well as a few other locked rooms. He didn’t want to get on his bad side…if he even had a good side.

He quickly found he didn’t mind being around books. He had affinity for them, especially when their contents had to do with magic.

“Are these all about magic?” He asked Snape when he passed by.

“Some of them. It may surprise you to find most of them aren’t.”

“May I read them?” He asked, remembering Snape’s warning not to touch anything, as well as the fact that this was a ‘trial period.’

“If you cannot find ways to entertain yourself.”

“I’m sure I can. But you seem like the kind of man who appreciates silence.” He put his hands behind his back and smiled too pleasantly.

Snape pursed his lip.

They spent their time regarding each other as wolves encroaching on each others territories: they weren’t happy to be sharing the same space, but they couldn’t do anything but growl low until one of them made a move.

Later, when Snape made dinner, the action drew his attention from his book. Tom watched with fascination as Snape waved his wand with ease, and the ingredients floated and melded together of their own accord, like Snape’s wand knew what to say to them.

“Will I be able to do that?”

“A whole world of magic and you want to be able to make dinner?”

“Well—” Annoyance flared in Tom. “Of course I’d prefer to know much more exciting, dangerous things…but yes”

“Children are not allowed to use magic outside of school until they come of age…but, yes.”

The word ‘children’ in that condescending tone didn’t make him feel less annoyed.

“How come I’m able to do it, then? You’re able to teach me during the summer.”

“Dumbledore has his ways.”

Tom could tell he wouldn’t get any more information than that.

While they ate, Tom chanced a few more questions, and was surprised to find that it tasted quite good, and he thought he remembered someone once telling him good food does wonders for the soul.

He was glad to find that, despite Snape’s obvious distaste for him, and seemingly all things his age, he was cordial enough, and he certainly didn’t mind keeping to himself.

Tom was just thinking about asking when he’d start learning magic that evening, when a stack of books almost as tall as him landed on the table.

Flicking his eyes across the titles, he saw that each and every one of them something to do with magic.

“I expect you to have these read before before Potter arrives. Only then will I start teaching you magic.”

Tom leaned to the side to look at Snape and tried not to smirk.

“You sure this is everything? It doesn’t seem like quite enough.”

[alchemist-shizun]

This time

Based on this post by @lance-alt my inspirational hero 🧡

Read on Ao3!

Ts general taglist: @whizzie72 @sapphire-knight @burningpersonflapsuitcase @softanxiouspatton @royallyanxious @kim-argent-moon @lance-alt @suffering-is-my-comfort-zone @sometimeswritingsometimesdying @pushussmollworld @mylifeisadeceit @spooky-scary-virgil @angstyfanfiction @artissijam @logicalberry @pistachio-lan @roses-bubbles @princessnoodlebug @wolfie979 @gigitheimposter (tell me if you want to be added or removed)

Specific fic taglist: @bookwormscififan

Word Count: 1,455

Characters: Janus, Virgil, (Logan and Thomas mentioned)

Pairing(s): platonic Anxceit

Warning(s): Spoilers for SvS Redux, Self-destruction talk, illness/medical/hospital talk, allusions to crying, breathing difficulty (tell me if I missed anything)

Summary: There was a limit to everything, but Thomas hadn't yet realized that there was a limit to prioritizing others too. That's why Janus had to step in, but first there was someone else's consent he needed to get.

A/N: Hello how are you feeling I am destroyed in both good and bad ways. So, I put this little headcanon of mine where the sides get physically worse too as the state of Thomas's mind worsens. Other than that yes there are obviously spoilers and hope you enjoy, I don't know what I did I just let the words keep going out of my mind. That said, stan Janus. Have a good day!

✾

❝ It's all of the good that won't come out of us.

And how eventually our hands will just turn to dust

If we keep shaking them standing here on this frozen lake. ❞

Enough.

Enough was enough and Janus was sure none of them could take it any further.

He knew he'd been awake when he marched towards his door at almost four in the morning, the dark of the night hardly a villain against his memory of Thomas's apartment's furniture position.

There was no way he would have turned Janus down. Not in his state, anyway.

Deceit knocked on the door to Virgil's room and only heard a muffled, almost choked noise coming from it.

He ignored his heart sinking in his chest.

« It's me. I'm coming in. » he announced himself, not prepared but not surprised either by the scene laid before his eyes.

The room was a messier mess than usual, Virgil was contorted between his own blankets with the darkest shade of black under his eyes, starting to to expand in the shape of veins on his face, like tiny thunders had begun spreading across his cheeks.

It had been so dreadful ever since the choice in favour of the wedding had been made, seeing Thomas's mental health gradually decreasing every time the thought of the callback crossed his mind as well as the horrifying possibility of hurting his friends.

The dilemma replayed in his mind over and over again, unanswered questions rose and were shut down the moment they surfaced.

This is the right thing, he would think, I am being a good friend.

And yet it hurt so he would brush it off, increasing his dismay by the second.

Janus couldn't sit and watch any longer.

Not when they all were starting to break down. Not when … when that doleful sight of Virgil was displayed in front of him.

He swallowed the alarming feeling away and stepped closer until he was sitting on Virgil's bed, his hands folded in his lap.

One last furrowed glance to the rug on the ground before he finally spoke.

« I need your cooperation. »

« No- » Virgil's voice came out as a lament, strained and slurred.

« Please. » that was the first time in a long while that Janus had put his hand on his arm. « Do you believe I bare seeing you in these conditions? Seeing Thomas constantly fight with his subconscious with no resolution? » the need in his eyes prompted the other to listen.

Virgil fell quiet and Deceit saw his half lidded eyes barely able to stay open.

« If you want to hate me so much I'd prefer you do it in good shape rather than not being able to stand up. »

Virgil bit the inside of his mouth, partly because he kept himself from retorting something, partly because he had been wanting to cry for so long and it was getting too hard to keep it in, too impossible to fight down a urge he couldn't control.

« Listen. Next time I confront Thomas, don't show up. » Janus looked as the other's expression immediately changed.

Virgil surged up the best he could, eyes squinting and wary.

« What? »

« I need you to trust me, okay? » Janus put up his hands in front of his chest. « Just. Trust me. »

« Trust you? How. How do I not know- How can I be sure you're not going to twist their thoughts? How- »

« Thomas is destroying himself. » he shook his head in a slow motion. « You're one of the sides that should know this better than anyone else. We all see it, but we don't speak about it. We don't bring it up because changing the whole way of how you thought of your values is terrifying. »

« But the truth is we can't keep this self-destructive behaviour up until it disintegrates Thomas's health, both mental and physical. You don't take medicines only after a week of fighting with your high fever because you think you'd be able to bear feeling awful and now you're on the verge of going to the hospital. »

Virgil's stance got softer, more relaxed.

« The same way you shouldn't suppress your emotional pain until you break down and you're forced to take that metaphorical medicine for your mind, too. » Janus watched as his interlocutor finally nodded, Virgil knew deep in himself that everything with how Thomas was feeling was wrong.

Maybe … maybe he could allow letting Deceit …

« What I'm trying to get to is self-care is important as well and as much as it seems like the most obvious thing, we tend to brush it off for the sake of our reputation. Thomas doesn't understand it either and he needs to know he can't keep sacrificing his needs. »

« He's going to burn out. » Virgil's eyes were fixated on an unspecified spot, focused and filled with realization.

« Exactly. » Deceit nodded and Anxiety followed his reasoning.

« I … I don't know, I think I understand, but how are you going to tell him? I don't think he's going to listen with how strong his moral dilemmas are. »

« I talked to Logan. He's going to lend me a hand so I'm not alone in this and prove the integrity of my argument with stable facts. »

Janus stared into Virgil's eyes and still found uncertainty.

He turned his head away from him.

« I am going to twist their thoughts, Virgil, in one way or another this is going to affect their way of thinking eventually and I can't prevent it. It's not wrong, it's not evil or anything, it's a start. The entrance to the healing path. »

« It's not … it's not easy. »

« Oh, believe me, I know. » he let out a melancholy short laugh. « But this is the reason why I'm asking you to trust me. I know what I'm doing, Logan has my back too. If you don't trust me, trust him. I don't plan on ruining anything for you, okay? »

Virgil would have shot up if he weren't in the worst state he'd ever been, but his eyes still widened and his head turned to Janus in an instant.

Seeing that he got his attention, Deceit took the opportunity. « I don't want to step onto a podium and show that I'm better than everyone else here. I don't want to put any of you in a bad light. I just- I just want Thomas to be okay so that we can all stop tearing ourselves apart. And this is going to require me stepping in. »

Virgil's gaze fell down again and his bangs covered his eyes.

« I … Okay, I- »

« Virgil, one last thing. » Janus breathed in and focused on his glowing yellow gloves. « I don't want to change anything for you. I recognize you feel better with this new family you found and I don't want to take you from them. I don't want to prove I'm better in a “told you so” way so you can come back to us. » he took another breath and closed his eyes so the tears would stop forming. « I simply still care about you and it would shatter me more if things didn't work out with them either only because Thomas's mental state affected all of us. »

It was getting really hard to breathe for both of them.

Really hard.

Virgil wanted to respond, he wanted to let him know that he hated the fact that he was still mad at him but he couldn't prevent himself from feeling that way.

He wanted to say he still cared for him too but he hadn't yet realized and it still hurt too much.

« I just don't want you alone the way you are right now. » he murmured, then got up and paced towards the door.

He turned to give him one last glance and await his response.

Virgil was internally devastated and still didn't let others pierce through that.

« Okay. I'll be quiet, but you … please be patient with them. »

Janus nodded. « I will. I'll try to be as cautious as possible. » he turned and now the door was coming to a close.

« Take care of yourself, Virgil. »

There was a clicking sound and he was gone, with that old usual catchphrase he used to tell him.

Virgil fell back on his bed, unable to fight back the heavy breathing rising in his lungs.

One time. One time to trust the last person you'd trust on earth.

But this time he would let him.

This time, he'd let him save them all.

[unsettledink]

Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there��s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

[mikauzoran]

Ladrien/Marichat: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Thirteen

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Thirteen: The Revelation

“Here we are. Safe and sound,” Ladybug announced with forced chipperness as she set Adrien back down in his room.

Reluctantly, he removed his arms from around her and stepped back, doing his best to put on his own fake smile.

“Today was really fun,” he remarked with a lightness he didn’t feel.

“Yeah,” she agreed enthusiastically, but the joviality didn’t make it to her eyes. “I had fun too. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” he affirmed earnestly. “It was really great, and I seriously appreciate you going to the trouble of organizing all that for me. I’m never going to forget today.”

“Me either,” she whispered, a bit of the false cheer wearing off, revealing the bittersweet melancholy hiding below the surface. “I had such a good time getting to know you better.”

“Me too.” He braced for impact as he added, “We should do it again sometime.”

She winced, averting her eyes. “Adrien… I’d love to, but we can’t. It was madness for me to even think of dating you as Ladybug in the first place.” She looked back to him with pleading, desperate eyes. “This is too dangerous. Like I said before, I don’t know what all Papillon is willing to do to get to me, but…I would never forgive myself if my selfishness and carelessness got you hurt. We’re lucky no one recognized us today and posted pictures where Papillon could see and start targeting you.”

“I know,” he sighed, gaze dropping to their shoes. “I don’t care about the risk for myself, but…I would never want to bring that kind of guilt on you if something did happen…. This wasn’t a good idea.”

“No,” she agreed softly, stepping in closer and taking his cheeks in her hands, making him look at her. “But today was the best mistake of my life, Adrien Agreste, and I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, letting himself get entranced by her swirling, sea-like eyes.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, smile infused with light and warmth and love.

“Well,” he chuckled, taking heart in looking on the bright side. “At least you can still ask me out as a civilian. This doesn’t have to be the end.”

Her smile flickered and faded as her brow pulled into a conflicted frown. “Adrien…I don’t think that’s possible now.”

Her words were like a cold shower, sending a jolt through his system.

“Wait. What? Why not?” he demanded, a whine creeping into his voice.

She gazed at him sadly, shaking her head. “What are you going to think the next time some black-haired girl comes up to you and asks you out for coffee? You’ll know it’s me right away, and that can’t happen. I have to keep my identity secret at all costs, not just for myself and my own safety but for the safety of all of Paris and the Miraculouses and kwamis in my keeping. I have to think about the bigger picture,” she informed him ruefully, feeling the weight of her yoke of duty then more than ever. “I can’t just think about myself…so this has to be the end of this. I’m sorry, Adrien.”

It occurred to him that he could simply ask Marinette out, but the unfairness of the entire situation agitated him.

“If you’re not allowed to think about yourself, who’s going to?” he challenged. “This isn’t right. It’s not fair that you have to bear such a heavy burden alone. I know what it’s like to have to keep secrets from everyone, Ladybug. It’s exhausting and isolating, and, after a while, it makes you feel like a bad person because you feel like you’re always lying to everybody in your life. I don’t want that for you.”

He eyed her pleadingly, willing her to relax her guard and let him in, let him be there to help support her.

“I don’t really want that for me either,” she admitted with a tired sigh, tears beginning to build at the corners of her eyes. “…Sometimes it just can’t be helped, though. I’m sorry, Adrien, but I can’t do this. Please don’t make this harder than it already is,” she begged, just barely managing to resist the temptation he offered.

He could see her on the edge of breaking, but pressing her further felt wrong and manipulative. He didn’t want to push her into something she would later regret, so he backed off with a soft, “Okay. Sorry.”

“Me too,” she whispered, her hands dropping to take his and give them a squeeze. “…Maybe the stars will align and we’ll get to date someday.”

“Maybe I’ll find you and ask you out first,” he hummed impishly.

“Please don’t try to find me,” she entreated, feeling sick with worry. “You can’t know who I am.”

He bit his tongue, knowing that it would only scare her off to tell her he already knew.

“Kiss me,” Adrien pleaded.

Ladybug blinked, startled by the urgency in his voice. “What?”

“If this really has to be the end of things between us, can’t you at least kiss me? You said that you wanted to earlier. If we can’t be together, can’t we at least have this much?” he reasoned. “Give me a kiss to remember you by.”

She worried at her bottom lip as she studied him carefully, weighing her options.

“Please, Nelle?” he whimpered, and his yearning gaze nearly did her in.

Reasoning that one kiss couldn’t hurt, she stepped in, taking his face gently in her hands and bringing it down to hers.

She’d intended the kiss to be brief and sweet like cherry blossom petals floating on a river, but she did not anticipate the spark she felt inside of her when her lips met his.

It was like an electric zap radiating through her body from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, and, judging by the way he gasped into the kiss, Adrien felt it too.

What Ladybug had intended to be a chaste brush of lips quickly devolved into a sloppy, hungry crush of lips and tongues and teeth and hands.

Before she could really think through what she was doing, she’d pushed Adrien back and down onto his couch and was on top of him, seeing what kind of noises he made when she bit, licked, or sucked on different parts of his neck and throat. She quickly found out that he purred when she massaged his scalp, and the sound only encouraged her.

“Wait,” Adrien gasped, getting a hold of himself several minutes later.

She lifted her head and blinked blearily down at him, mind hazy with hormones. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t lie to you anymore,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want, but things have gone too far and gotten out of control. I can’t keep secrets from you anymore, My Lady.”

She opened her mouth to seek clarification, but he alleviated the need by calling, “Plagg, transform me.”

In a green flash of light, it was Chat Noir beneath her on the couch in place of Adrien.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, eyes begging for her forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you right after we’d just talked about waiting to start a romantic relationship until it was safe, but…when you showed up to ask me out, I figured that Adrien must have been your mystery boy all along, and it was just a dream come true, so…I should have said no, but I didn’t. I’m sorry. You know I think with my heart far more often than with my head.”

Ladybug did not respond right away. She was too busy gaping at her partner with her mouth hanging wide open as her mind bluescreened.

“Please say something,” he pleaded through a grimace, starting to feel ill. “I can tell you’re not taking this well, but—”

She cut him off with a guttural curse.

He blinked at her for a moment, and then a sly grin slowly curled up the corners of his lips. “On a first date? I’m sorry, but I’m a little old fashioned. You’ll have to marry me first.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands as she had a mental meltdown.

He winced. “Sorry. I really am sorry. …On a completely serious note, are you okay?”

A muffled, “No,” leaked out through her fingers along with very Marinette-like sounds of despair.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just…I really did understand earlier when you were talking about it being unfair to Adrien, him not knowing your identity. I felt guilty for keeping this from you this whole time, but I knew you didn’t want to know, so…” He shook his head. “But I couldn’t keep lying to you. …Sorry for messing things up,” he summarized dejectedly, ears drooping.

“…Do you hate me?” he whispered, half afraid to learn the answer.

She dropped her hands down to her sides and looked at him with eyes full of sorrow, compassion, regret, and love. “Chaton, I could never hate you. Ever,” she stressed, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “In fact, I think I love you now more than ever before.”

“O-Oh,” he choked, so happy it was hard to breathe.

“And you didn’t mess anything up,” she assured with a cloudy smile. “I did.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Detransformation.”

In a swirl of pink, Marinette appeared, wearing the same blue dress as she had their last movie night.

A broad grin stretched across Chat’s lips as he sat up, taking her face in his hands.

She hesitantly peeked one eye open and was surprised to find him beaming at her like she had arranged the stars in the night sky. She blinked, noting, “You don’t look surprised. Or angry.”

“Because I’m neither, Princess,” he chuckled, running a hand down the side of her face, neck, and shoulder. “What better outcome could I hope for than for the two girls I’m crazy about to be the same person?”

“And, let me guess,” she snickered. “You’re not surprised because you were able to see Ladybug in your ‘Everyday Ladybug’?”

He bit his lip. “Actually…it was more like suddenly seeing Marinette in Ladybug earlier today when we were browsing in the Place du Tertre.”

The grin dropped off her face. “What?! Wait. What?! You figured out my identity?!”

He made a half-hearted, wobbling gesture with one hand. “I mean…sort of? I didn’t know for sure until just now, but…”

“Oh my gosh. All those questions you were asking!” she gasped as she mentally reviewed their day from that point.

He winced. “Yeah, well…I mean…”

She slapped his arm, and not in a fun, playful, joking away. “I can’t believe you! You were purposely trying to figure out my identity!”

“To be fair, I had already figured out your identity,” he reasoned, hoping she magically accepted this loophole and decided not to be mad at him. “I was merely seeking confirmation.”

She smacked his arm a second time, clearly not amused at his semantics.

“Hey, you’ve been in love with me for years and never said anything,” he whined, trying to shift the focus off of himself. “To Adrien or Chat Noir. If anyone has the right to be upset, it’s me.”

“I had my reasons,” she spluttered indignantly, hoping he wouldn’t ask for the receipts. “It’s not like you told Marinette you had a big, ridiculous crush on her either!”

“I’m sorry,” he snorted. “I just thought it was painfully obvious to anyone who listened to me rant regularly about how amazing and talented you are. If you’d shown interest in return, I would have gladly confessed to my gigantic crush on you, but, unfortunately, someone has been lying to my face the past seven years about how they’re not interested in me, they’re just a fan of my father’s work,” he returned with a sour pout.

“You are literally a model,” she whined in her own defence. “I thought you’d laugh in my face.”

“Princess,” he cooed, reaching up to stroke her face. “Who could say no to you?”

He leaned in to give her hair a reassuring nuzzle. “Marinette, you are the most awe-inspiring woman I know. You’re kind and brave and funny and gorgeous, and I would have to be a bigger fool than I already am not to fall deliriously in love with you.”

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Minou.”

“Shhh,” he comforted, pulling her in closer. “I’m sorry too. Maybe…can we try to accept that we both screwed things up and attempt to move beyond this?”

“…Yeah,” she decided, giving a little nod. “What’s done is done, so let’s just try to do our best going forward.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, savoring the warmth of her body pressed to his, her sweet scent.

Earlier, he’d catalogued them in sorrow as she carried him back home, wondering if he’d ever get to experience them again. Now, he took stock in joy, planning to appreciate these sensations for years and years to come.

Suddenly, Marinette pulled back with a gasp and stared at him wide-eyed. “What are we going to do about akuma fights?! We just talked last week about how every second counts and how romantic feelings could cloud our judgment and get in the way in battle. What are we going to do now?!”

He grimaced, beginning to massage her shoulders in hopes that it would help her calm down. “My Love, I’ve had feelings for you for years now, and you just told me the other night that you’d loved me for almost as long. We’re going to have feelings that could potentially get in the way no matter what. We’ve had those feelings all this time, and I think it’s been pretty okay. I mean, I know I’ve sacrificed myself more times than you’re comfortable with, but the point is that we’ve managed all this time, haven’t we?”

“I guess you’re right,” she reluctantly agreed, slowly coming to see that what he said was true.

“Yes, we could have a fight or, God forbid, break up, but I’d like to think that our friendship and our partnership is strong enough to see us through, so…we’ve gone years suffering through trying to suppress our feelings, I, for one, would like to try making a romantic relationship work,” he suggested timidly, mentally crossing his fingers. “Who knows? Maybe when we stop holding ourselves back, we’ll be a better team than ever before. Want to give it a try?”

She didn’t need to think about it. “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

“Really?” he laughed in joy and relief as his wildest dreams came true before his very eyes.

She nodded enthusiastically, joining in his laughter. “Yes. Really, really.”

He surged forward, capturing her lips once more in an exuberant kiss of celebration.

This one was more playful, less heated, but still full of fireworks and emotion.

Several minutes in, Marinette pulled back and glared at Chat Noir. “Heeeey. You sneak into my bedroom. Adrien Agreste sneaks into my bedroom.”

He quirked an eyebrow, wondering at the relevance of this revelation. “Technically, you invite me in. I always knock, even when the skylight is open.”

“Adrien Agreste has seen the inside of my bedroom,” she groaned in embarrassment, covering her face with her hands and letting out a moan of misery. “You’ve seen me in my laundry day sweatpants!”

He rolled his eyes fondly, gingerly taking her hands in his own and prying them away from her face. “Princess, look at me.”

She did so, her cheeks stained red as realization after realization informed her of all the unflattering sides of her he had seen.

“It’s just me,” he soothed. “Just your big, stupid cat, and I think the world of you.”

She pursed her lips, considering this for a moment. “…Yeah. You are, aren’t you?”

He nodded encouragingly. “Remember that time I got my tongue stuck to that lamppost?”

She burst out laughing, accidentally spraying him with spit which he gracefully wiped off, not minding in the least.

“Oh my gosh,” she giggle-snorted. “You did. You’re such a dork!”

“Your dork,” he confirmed.

“My dork,” she hummed and went back to kissing him.

They didn’t make it ten minutes before the next outburst.

“I tried to give you the Snake Miraculous!” she gasped.

Chat’s ears flattened. “We’re going to be having moments like this for years to come, aren’t we?”

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she demanded.

He shrugged. “You said you needed Adrien. I’m stupid in love with you. Emphasis on the stupid.”

She frowned, debating on her reaction. His reasons weren’t exactly good, but they were flattering, so maybe she could forgive him.

He took the liberty of kissing the crinkles from her brow. “Later, you’ll have to tell me how you pulled Multimouse off because I’m dying to know, but, for now, could we maybe kiss and snuggle? Maybe watch some movies?”

She instantly perked up. “Can we have a Disney singalong? I’m sort of in love with your voice.”

“Just the voice?” he asked again with a teasing eyebrow waggle.

“All of you,” she informed softly, leaning in to press a butterfly kiss to his lips. “…But your voice in particular.”

“I can live with that,” he cackled, pulling her back down onto the couch with him.

 Alya and Nino were lounging on her bed watching X-Men: Apocalypse when her phone buzzed.

“Why are you grinning like you just got the biggest scoop ever?” Nino inquired cautiously, lifting a suspicious eyebrow.

“My ship has sailed!” Alya cheered, nearly jumping for joy. “Adrien and Marinette are dating! Aaaaaahhhh!!! This is the best day ever!”

Nino frowned, pausing the movie. “Wait. Adrien’s dating Marinette or Ladybug? They should still be at the Eiffel Tower, right? Did she tell him her identity? Did he tell her his?”

Alya’s mood immediately plummeted. “Hold on. Let me figure this out.”

She shot quick texts to Marinette and Adrien, asking if they’d revealed their respective identities and who was dating whom.

“Okay. Full identity reveal. Everybody is dating everybody,” Alya reported with a contented sigh, sinking back down onto the bed. “These two are exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” Nino snorted. “Why do they have to be so complicated?”

Alya shook her head. “Thank God Marinette locked us in the panther cage, right?”

“We never really thanked her for that, did we?” Nino snickered.

Alya shrugged. “Meh. I’ll work it into my maid of honor speech at her wedding. I consider my debt paid in full after all the identity shenanigans I’ve had to put up with getting her and Adrien together. I single-handedly defeated the Love Quadrilateral. My job here is done.”

“Awesome work, Al,” Nino chuckled, leaning in to give her temple a light peck.

The

End

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Verboten 8 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:   AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: some gets physically sick, discussions of death

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 8

"Hey, is it just me, or is the floor moving?" Danny questioned as he stared at the moving stone.

"No, it's not just you," Sam confirmed as she glanced at her friend. Although he was sitting rod straight as he watched, his coloration was still flickering, and there now seemed to be a green tinge to his cheeks.

"Don't you think we should run?" Tucker's question nearly made Sam snort. With Danny getting worse, there was no way he'd be able to escape with them.

Before anyone had a change to respond, the stone completely lifted and shifted to the side, exposing a hole. Seconds later, a furry head popped out. They watched in silent horror as it flicked one of its ears as if hear them and turned to face them.

The face that greeted them was terrifying. If Sam had to describe it, the appearance was like an angry polar bear who happened to have icy horns. Maybe calling it a yeti would be more accurate, but she could argue with herself about the semantics once she was out of this mess.

They just stared at the thing in the floor until it smiled at them. Whatever spell its sudden appearance held over them was broken, and they yelled in terror. There where several seconds of confusion as the three of them tried to escape. Tucker was halfway to the door while Sam tried to help Danny, who had fallen off the table, when the thing spoke.

"Children, please do not be alarmed," it gently requested as it raised itself up from the floor. Its entire body was covered in that same white fur, save for its one arm, which appeared to be made from ice. In an almost bemused afterthought, Sam noted it wore a blue clothing article which may have been a kilt. "We don't have much time before Plasmius returns."

When they didn't respond of move, the creature continued to speak as it tried to look as non-threatening as possible. "I am call Frostbite, the leader of the Far Frozen. I am lucky to have found out about you when I did. Plasmius has killed many humans in his experiments. If you allow me, I will help you return to your home."

"Why should we trust you? How do we know you won't take us somewhere and eat us?" Tucker demanded as he inched closer to Danny and Sam.

It laughed heartily at Tucker's question. "Myself as well as my clan do not eat people. We have made it the goal of our afterlives to try to assist as many wayward humans as we possibly can." Frostbite's smile faded. "However, I acknowledge your concern. This is the first time we have met, and if Plasmius has been your first encounter with the those of us from this realm, then you most likely do not think highly of us." It, possibly he, glanced at Danny as his coloration cycled again. "You are ill, and if you do not leave this place soon, you may not be able to return to the land of the living."

There was a tense moment as Sam and the boys stared at Frostbite. It… no, he… seemed genuine. Although his face was frightening, his eyes were sincere and almost seemed to plead with them.

"Alright," Danny eventually stated as he slowly stood, "but, you have to swear you won't hurt them!"

"I swear it on my honor, young one."

"Psst, Danny, what are you doing?" Tucker angrily whispered as he tugged on Danny's sleeve. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Call me crazy, but I think it's much less risky to go with him then it is to stay here and wait for Plasmius," Danny responded as he tested his footing. "He's a lot more honest than Plasmius, that's for sure."

"You noticed it too?" Sam was impressed he picked up on it. Although, Danny was often clueless when it came to certain social cues, particularly flirting, he did have an amazing talent for picking up on whether someone was being honest.

Tucker looked at both of them for a disbelieving moment before he shook his head. "Alright. I'll follow your lead on this, but if we get eaten, I'm blaming you."

"Young one, do you require assistance?" Frostbite asked as he eyed Danny, who appeared to be somewhat lightheaded as he tried to walk.

"It's Danny, and no, I can handle it."

A frown crossed Frostbite's face for a moment before he scurried forward and scooped Danny into his arms. "I understand your desire to escape on your own, but you are not well, and time is of the essence." Frostbite then instructed Sam and Tucker to enter the hole in the floor first. Once they were safely inside which was revealed to be a tunnel, he handed Danny to them. He then entered the tunnel and carefully replaced the floor's stone.

There was little light in the tunnel save for the slight glow Frostbite and occasionally Danny produced. As if sensing their concern, Frostbite held up his hand (or was it more of a paw?) and created a soft blue light. "This way, children," he instructed as he began to walk. "I am sorry I cannot produce a better light source, but if I generate much more energy, Plasmius may discover our location."

"I was wondering why we were doing things so old school," Tucker whispered.

As Sam rolled her eyes at him. If it wasn't for the fact she and Tucker were both supporting Danny as they walked, she probably would have smacked him for being rude. But, his statement did bring up an interesting point. "So, you could have gotten us out in an easier way, but Plasmius would have caught us?"

"Correct. Most sentient ghosts can easily phase through walls, unless the object is something native to this world or is coated in something that disrupts our powers or repels us. Plasmius' palace is unusual as much of it is created from materials taken from the human realm, but his reputation and the barrier he uses is able to keep most ghosts away. He is very unkind to trespassers." Frostbite glanced back at them. "I know young Danny's name, but I have yet to learn yours."

As weird as it sounded, Sam was embarrassed by that lapse in courtesy. She quickly introduced herself, and Tucker followed suit.

"Sam and Tucker! Such fitting names!" The strange ghost seemed pleased, but after a moment, he stopped walking, so he could turn and look at them. "Please alert me immediately if you notice you are not feeling well or notice something strange about yourself." After they promised, Frostbite nodded and continued forward. "This world can do strange things to those who unintentionally enter it, and there are many ways the changes can occur."

"Can… can I ask a question?" Once Frostbite agreed, Danny continued, "I'm sorry if this is a bit rude, but were you human?"

"That I was." The ghost didn't appear bothered by the question. "While many of my human memories have faded over time, I do remember that I was once an explorer. As for how I came this this realm, I am uncertain, but I do know that by the time I once again found a way back to the world of the living, I appeared much how you see me now. Many of my clan seem were also explorers or those who spent a great deal of time in the woods or mountains. We are not sure why we have taken this form, but we use it to our advantage. We often patrol areas where portal formation is common and try to scare humans away from them. However, more recently we have been finding more and more humans who seem to be looking for us." He seemed absolutely puzzled by the concept.

Sam shared a look with her friends. Did that mean that he and his clan were what people considered Bigfoot? Maybe she was reading too much into it, but that's what it seemed like.

"So, does that happen to everyone who dies? Cuz I don't know if I can handle the fact I might not keep these good looks when I die," Tucker whined.

The soft blue light flickered as Frostbite chuckled. "I don't believe you have to worry. While it is possible, you are unlikely to become a ghost if you expire outside of this realm. However, I am no expert regarding the mysteries of life and death."

"But what happens if you die here?" It was Sam's turn to ask a question.

"It seems to vary. Some die, but their souls do not remain here. For others, their body and soul mingle and change, creating a ghost."

"That almost sounds like a zombie," Sam mumbled to herself.

Frostbite chuckled again. "I understand why you would think as such. However, zombies can only exist in your world. They are corpses reanimated, often through magic, but lack a soul. For us, our earthly bodies are somehow a catalyst for the new form our soul takes, but even though I have seen it happen, I do not understand the process."

His explanation somewhat made sense, Sam mused. It also lined up with what Plasmius mentioned about how his experiments didn't always work. Although, it posed a more troubling question. What exactly would happen to Danny? If he really did die and become a ghost, did that mean there would be no body for his family to bury? It was a troubling thought that wouldn't go away no matter how much Sam tried to think of something else.

However, something Sam also noted was that Danny was avoiding asking questions regarding what was happening to him. Other than when his hands flickered in and out of visibility in the lab, he hadn't brought up the subject. It was possible he was focusing on escaping. However, with the new knowledge Frostbite had given them, he was probably in some sort of denial. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to be as calm if she was the one affected.

What seemed like an hour later, although her sense of time could have been altered due to the darkness, they finally reached the end of the tunnel. It wasn't a moment too soon as Danny had fainted when they had first caught sight of the exit. Once outside, she and Tucker carefully sat Danny down, so they could take a quick break. Once she was certain Danny was settled, she took the chance to look around.

In front of them was a think yet somewhat dead looking forest, like what they first found themselves in when they fled from the first ghost. Behind her was the tunnel which had been cut into what appeared to be a rock outcropping. If it wasn't for the strange coloration, it could have looked like something found in the forests back home.

She started when Frostbite gave a quick whistle. Moments later, four more ghosts who had similar appearances to Frostbite appeared from within the forest. They had to be part of the clan the ghost had mentioned while they were escaping. The group exchanged a few words before Frostbite beckoned to the humans behind him.

"Children, do not be alarmed. These are members of my clan, and they will be assisting us in your escape. However, we need to stop at our realm first as we have an object that will help us locate when and where a portal will open. I would also like to assess Danny's health." The ghost frowned at the form of the unconscious teenager. "You have probably guessed this realm has a grip on him, but he is resisting the change more intensely than I have ever seen."

"That means he'll be able to come home with us, right?" Tucker's question was full of a wary hope.

"I am… uncertain. We may have to seek the wisdom of an older entity to know for sure."

…

The world wouldn't stop spinning when Danny finally came to. After rolling over and relieving the contents of his stomach, he finally was able to think clearly enough to take stock of his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be some type of medical room. Although the walls appeared to be made of ice, there was a light and almost friendly atmosphere about the place.

A sound caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see white creature duck out of the room. Puzzled at the reaction, it wasn't until it returned to the room with Frostbite that he realized it was simply retrieving the other ghost.

"You've wakened, young one!" Frostbite seemed exuberant as he examined him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got spun around in one of those centrifuges at space camp way too many times," Danny replied as he rubbed his head. Although the dizziness had subsided, he still felt somewhat ill. "Where are Sam and Tucker?"

"They are resting in another room. They've been eagerly waiting for news of your awakening."

Danny sighed in relief at the news. "Will I be able to see them?"

"Absolutely, but first I would like to discuss something with you," Frostbite sat down at a chair near the bed Danny was using. Somewhat unnerved by how serious Frostbite seemed to be, he carefully sat up and gestured for him to continue. "Your circumstance is nothing like what any of us have ever seen before."

"My circumstance?" That didn't sound good. Did it have to do with something Plasmius did to him?

"Yes. Before I explain, I need to ask if you've eaten anything while you were here?"

Danny shook his head. "Unless Plasmius fed me something when I was unconscious, then no. Wait," he paused for a moment as he tried to remember what Plasmius had told him, "maybe? Plasmius said something about taking care of me when I got lost when I was six."

"How odd, but as you must have returned home afterwards, it might have something to do with the unexpected results. Did Plasmius explain what he wanted from you?"

"He wanted me as his heir? I think?" Before he or Frostbite could say anything else, Danny felt something clench in his navel. Immediately afterwards, what seemed to be a flash of light momentarily blinded him. Terrified, he yelped and tried to move away. "What-what just happened?"

"This is what I have need to discuss with you." The ghost then rose and picked Danny off the bed before carefully setting him down in front of a mirror at the far end of the room.

It was the first time since he had come to this world that he had a chance to take stock of himself. However, the image looking back at him wasn't what he was expecting. His eyes weren't his usual blue but were instead an unnatural green. His skin had tanned, but the color somehow seemed unhealthy. His hair was now a silvery white instead of his black, and if he wasn't imaging it, he was admitting a slight glow. "What's wrong with me?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

Before he could get his answer, he felt the clench in his navel again. When the light subsided, he was greeted with the reflection of how he originally looked. Uncertain if his mind was playing tricks on him, he checked his hands and what he could of his bangs. Everything appeared normal.

"Usually," Frostbite started, which caused Danny to pause his examination and look at the ghost," when this world claims someone, they can no longer return to their human form. If they do, they often end up dead. You are somehow able to keep your human form, yet you produce a ghost form. In all my years, I have never seen such a thing."

"What exactly does that mean? What am I?"

"Unfortunately, I do no know. From what our tests showed, you have both a functioning human heart and a ghostly core, which is our equivalent of a heart. You've been switching back and forth between forms for some time."

======================================

Notes:

1) So… the Bigfoot mention. This is something that I've heard before. There are 2 major lines of thought regarding the famous cryptid. 1) Bigfoot is a flesh and blood creature, and 2) Bigfoot is an interdimensional, extraterrestrial, or spiritual entity (I seriously had a professor who believed Bigfoot could travel through dimensions. He even wrote papers about it). For this story, I'm going with the concept that people are catching brief glimpses of Frostbite and his people as they patrol areas known for spontaneous portal openings.

Interdimensional aspects are popping up more and more when it comes to paranormal topics, and they're a major theory when it comes to unexplained disappearances and weird creatures. Personally, I find the concept intriguing, but it's not something that can currently be proven. Though… there are a lot of rumors about how CERN is trying to do that. I know that group is just supposed to be studying particles and quantum physics, but there are sooooo many weird rumors about CERN.

2) For this story, I'm borrowing the type of idea where a ghost can't be created unless its former vessel (body) is used as a medium. You see things like this for Revenants, Strigoi Mort (Romanian ghost/zombie/vampire thing), and Gjenganger (Scandinavian ghost/zombie thing similar to a Dragur), and others. For those stories, the only way to get rid of them is to damage/destroy the body in specific ways which vary from region to region.

3) human centrifuges are real things. They are used by to help test the effects of G-forces on people, and astronauts receive training to handle said forces in them. They do, at least used to have, a version of it at space camp.

[fanficsandfluff]

Hannibal: A Little Less Different

This fic can also be found on my AO3, where it was first posted, here.

As much as I adore all the art that’s out there for Hannigram, I really don’t feel comfortable writing for them. So instead I chose my other OTP, Will and Beverly! I seriously love their dynamic. So, enjoy!

Pairing: Will & Beverly (platonic)

Words: 2075

~~~~

It wasn't so much shame as it was embarrassment that Will Graham felt while sitting at FBI headquarters mere yards away from the morgue. Or was he closer than that? Yardage didn't matter. A probe was gently stuck into his right ear, bringing Will back to this present moment momentarily. It was an uncomfortable sensation. This physical reminded him of why he doesn't like doctors. Why take the physical at FBI headquarters, one might ask?

Will got hurt on their last catch. It was no one's fault, Will tried to reassure. There was a fleeting moment of uncertainty where Will experienced time-lapse, and he fell into a ditch. That was the first instance. While facing off with the killer, he was thrown into the corner of a mantle. Scathed but alive, that's what Jack called it. As much as Will demanded he be given leave to go home and heal, Jack wanted to make sure there was nothing more seriously wrong with him. It was his leg and back right behind his ribs that were the main sources of pain. Typical injuries and soreness, in Will's head. But Jack gave him that look and, well, here we are now.

"Lie down for me, please."

Beverly's calm voice resonated in Will's head as he obeyed her instruction. He'd just gone through the vitals checks, passing each with flying colors, he was sure. Will shivered when his bare back touched the icy metal table. Now he felt like he belonged in the morgue. A very corpse-like feeling encompassed him as the metal chilled his skin and likewise, he warmed the metal.

"Will."

Will's eyes focused on Beverly. She clearly had just said something to him and had gotten no response.

"I said loosen up a bit."

"The table's cold."

Beverly smirked, "I saw you shiver. Relax."

"In this position, am I wrong to have a fear that you'll start cutting into me?"

"Your only fear right now should be not listening to my instructions."

Will smiled. He was put at ease. Beverly rested her hands on Will's belly and started pressing around. Will could feel her cold hands through her latex gloves, but that wasn't his only thought as he sharply inhaled and grunted. Beverly paused and looked at Will's face. Having not worked as frequently with living subjects, she feared she was being too rough. She was checking for injury, after all, so maybe she hit a sore spot. She proceeded with slightly gentler touches. But again, Will tensed.

"You can let me know if I'm hurting you," she rested her hands on the table as she looked down upon Will's pale upper body.

"No, you're not hurting me. I'm sorry. Continue."

Beverly massaged just under Will's ribs and that one got him to shoot up from his prone position, arms coming forward to protect. Beverly stared with an agape mouth and was about to send him to the hospital for intense organ displacement when she heard a small titter.

New shivers coursed through Will's upper body and he made shy eye-contact with Beverly, "I'm ticklish," he admitted.

Beverly's look of utter alarm placated to a kind of smugness when Will came clean.

"Well, better that than injury. Lay down, I need to finish up," she let Will lay down once more before she continued. No organ swelling or odd lumps, though she did get him to giggle. When she felt just behind his right set of ribs, he winced from pain this time. Assessment with that finished, Beverly then rolled up Will Graham's pant leg and brushed her fingers around his leg. Swelling under his kneecap.

The crime scene investigator lifted Will's leg and rotated his ankle, "Does this hurt?"

Will responded, "It's uncomfortable."

Beverly finished her physical examination and peeled off her gloves after instructing Will to get dressed.

"Am I dying?"

"Not this time," she responded with her usual wit. Will liked that he could talk to Beverly like this. The jabs, the morbid humor. They bounced off each other well.

"Bruised ribs, swollen knee, and twisted ankle. Nothing a little R&R in bed can't fix," she gave her analysis to Will, "I don't know how well you're gonna adhere to my prescription."

"I'll do my best."

"I think I'm going to have to check up on you."

"Well, aren't I the special patient."

Beverly grinned, "Goodbye, Will."

"Goodbye."

~~~~

It turns out Will didn't listen very well, after all. Two days passed and he was keeping up with his day to day activities, concordant with his sleeplessness. He walked the dogs, worked on flies, thought about death and destruction and loneliness and mental illness... all of Will Graham's greatest hits.

He was rightly a little surprised when a knock came on his door on a sunny winter morning. He expected Alana, or Jack, or even Hannibal. They frequently checked on him; and it was always a worrisome house call. They'd be concerned about him or if it was Jack, he'd be picking him up to consult on the newest grisly murder. No one ever checked up just... cuz.

"Hey," it was Beverly who greeted Will when he opened his door for her.

"Oh," he sounded surprised because he truthfully was, "Hi," he looked past Beverly, thinking there was someone else with her.

"Can I come in?"

"I need house calls now?"

Beverly and Will exchanged small smiles. He stepped aside to let her in. She stepped inside and placed a hot coffee on his desk, "I didn't know how you liked it. I deduced no sugar, dash of milk."

"You would be almost correct. I like one sugar packet," he lifted up the coffee in his hand and took a sip.

Beverly groaned and snapped her finger, "Ugh! So close. I figured someone unstable might not want sugar."

"As in not want joy?"

"As in don't overanalyze coffee preferences."

Will smiled at that. Beverly walked around his home, taking a look at the bits and bobs of the place that made it home. She leaned down and pet a few of the dogs that brushed against her boots.

After Will took one more sip of the steaming, bitter coffee, "Can I ask why you're here?"

"We haven't had a new case since the last one, and no one's heard or seen from you since. I figured you needed something to think about."

"You figured I needed someone to talk to."

"That too," Beverly took a seat on the ottoman of a sofa chair. Winston came over and rested his chin on her lap.

"You're not a dog person."

"You can tell?" Beverly rested a gloved hand on Winston's head and gently pet it, "I always believed dogs gravitated towards people who they knew were uncomfortable around them."

Will smiled and he took a seat in the chair adjacent to Beverly, "To torture them?"

"To tease, or to convert."

"Is Winston converting you?"

Beverly set her coffee down on the floor carefully and removed her gloves. Once she did, she gave Winston a full petting and scratching. Will looked on.

"Thank you for the coffee."

"You're welcome," Beverly tucked some hair behind her ears after Winston trotted away from her to go to his dog bed, seeming proud and accomplished, "You haven't been relaxing very much, have you?"

"I'm doing the best I can."

"I don't want to be your nurse, I really don't... but if Jack needs you back in the field, he's gonna want Will Graham at 100%."

"That sounds like an impossibility. Will Graham has never performed at 100%."

Beverly watched how Will's eyes looked nowhere towards her. They didn't seem to focus on anything.

"Will you let me take another look at you?"

"You think you missed something?"

"No, I just want to do a little checkup. See how things are healing."

Will took another big gulp from his coffee and he walked over to his bed and sat at the edge of it. Beverly followed him and sat beside him.

"This doesn't seem like protocol."

Beverly looked at Will's face, his striking jawline. He was right. It wasn't. She cared about his wellbeing, physical and mental. If she could pay him a visit under the guise of medical work, then so be it.

She slipped her hand under Will's sweater to find the tender spot at the back of his ribs. The second her fingers made contact with the skin, Will gasped and he flinched.

"Your fingers are very cold."

Beverly grinned, "Being inside your icebox of a home isn't exactly helping," she teasingly traced her nails towards the front of Will's ribs and gave them a scratch. The consultant forced out a sputtering breath.

"I will repeat myself. This doesn't seem like protocol."

Beverly couldn't not smile now. She had Will here, in the safety of his own home, his dogs all around him, and now she was present. She needed to act on this, she may never get another opportunity to do so. Will froze, as did Beverly's hand. She kept her hand just barely touching Will's ribs, still under his thick sweater. It was just this extra pause of anticipation that bubbled up in Will's chest and he giggled sporadically when Beverly dug in. Will wiggled like a worm on a hook, unable to escape Beverly's hand.

"You're not a very good patient," Beverly teased and she introduced her other hand in the mix, all ten nails scratching and digging against Will's soft, tense skin. Will threw his head back as a louder laugh ripped through his lungs and he fell back onto the bed. It was very cute, Beverly couldn't lie.

"Beverly! B-Bev-- wahahait!" Will giggled away. He wasn't trying to shove at her attacking hands, nor really try to protect himself. It seemed all he was managing to do was wrap his arms loosely around his middle. Beverly was still able to access every curve and protrusion on Will's torso.

Beverly tried squeezing instead, and she latched onto both of Will's sides, allowing her thumbs to do most of the work digging into ticklish muscle. Will spasmed and he rolled side to side, his elbows pressing into his sides more now to try and lessen the sensation.

Will Graham's laugh was nothing like Beverly imagined. She didn't imagine it much, mind you, but she did think about it more than once. His laugh was deep and steady. Nothing she did really changed its pitch. Beverly scritched her hands to Will's belly and that's the first time Will reacted strongly to her tickling. He grabbed her wrists with his hands and tried pushing them out from under his shirt.

"Noho more, please," he giggled, face flushed red.

"You don't want a repeat physical?"

"More than anything, no."

Beverly shot her hands onto Will's belly again, even with him holding on, and she poked and clawed at anything she could. Will belted out more laughter. He snorted when Beverly scratched a nail around his bellybutton. When Will was snorting more than actually laughing, Beverly felt she betrayed him enough. She relinquished her ticklish hold on his bare skin and slipped her hands out from under his sweater. Will was panting on his bed, the tip of his nose having turned red from the fit of laughter.

"Is... Is it bad if I say I never want you as my doctor again?"

Beverly chuckled and she tucked hair that fell in her face behind her ear, "You're a pretty fun patient, I might have to recommend that we keep seeing each other."

Will smiled without provocation now and he sat up, "I really don't want to know how you're so good at that."

"Eldest child. Had a lot of practice."

Will looked at Beverly and his lips were quirked upwards. He had a friend in Beverly. It warmed his heart, almost more than the tickling warmed his body.

"Thank you for bringing me company. Just... don't tell anyone about... all of this."

Beverly smiled and she nudged Will's shoulder with her own playfully, "Wouldn't dream of it. Being ticklish definitely conflicts with your whole unstable, outsider persona."

"How so?"

Beverly considered it, "It makes you a little less different."

Will appreciated that statement. They sat in silence for a few extra seconds. One of the dogs jumped up onto the bed and made itself comfortable.

"I think I should take a look at that ankle now."

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 2

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Just wanted to say thank you guys for all the support you gave on the first chapter. I’m definitely excited to write more for you and I hope you’ll stick around for future parts :)

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This story is also on AO3

TWO MONTHS LATER

AURORA BASIN, WEST ELIZABETH

Blackwater.

It was so close.

Dutch could see it.

Somewhere beyond those trees, all the way over the eastern horizon and past the Great Plains, lay the city that started all this. The city that caused the Van der Linde gang to transform from a simple band of outcasts... into a group of killers willing to do anything for a wad of cash.

But was anyone surprised? Probably not.

After Hosea finally succumbed to his illness five years ago, any glimmer of humanity that remained among them instantly vanished. Dutch took full control over the gang and immediately started heading back out west, eager to return to New Austin. Meanwhile, his mental health deteriorated rapidly into a state of paranoia, greed, and an incessant need for power... and the fact that Marston eventually left did little to help matters either. 

At the moment, the only original gang members to remain at Dutch’s side were Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, and of course... Arthur Morgan.

Nobody ever questioned Bill or Micah’s sense of loyalty -- they rarely expressed any emotions suggesting otherwise, after all -- but to everyone’s surprise, Arthur decided to stay.

Some of the rumors said he stayed simply because he had no other family to return to. Others implied that he was waiting for Dutch to follow in Hosea’s footsteps before swooping in to become the new leader. But in reality... the reason Arthur had yet to abandon Dutch was mostly due to sentiment.

Despite everything Dutch had done over these past eight years, Arthur could still see a part of the old him lingering inside. Behind all the ravings and robbing and killing, Arthur could sense that there was something more human at Dutch’s core -- something more fatherly -- and he knew it would disappear completely if he left. So, against better judgement, Arthur stayed.

It probably seemed foolish to other people, to stick around like this. But those rare moments when the old Dutch would break through and remind Arthur of the good ol’ days definitely made it worth it. He had nothing else to care about nowadays, and it wasn’t like Arthur could just leave the gang behind. He was old now -- or at least older than before -- and even if he did abandon Dutch, he doubted he’d have enough time to start a new life for himself.

Right now, the only thing Arthur could do was accept that he was destined to be an outlaw for life... and he had.

Putting his tangled thoughts aside for a moment, Arthur returned to the task at hand and roamed down the short corridor, making his way through the derelict cabin as he went to meet Dutch in the living room.

This cabin was nice, Arthur thought, for a place that had been abandoned for so long. He and Micah found it sitting in the middle of nowhere while hunting for food at Aurora’s Basin, and decided it would be the best place to set up their new camp. At least until they finally made their move on Blackwater.

Though, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was worried for Dutch’s wellbeing. Ever since the gang first settled here, the man practically locked himself in the cabin and rarely ever came out. 

And whenever he did come out, he always looked so pale. Tired. Sickly, even. Not even close to the man Arthur knew eight years ago. He could’ve sworn that Dutch’s hair was getting grayer every time he saw him, and the way his eyes often stared blankly into the distance did nothing to help ease Arthur’s nerves.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late to bring Dutch back from the edge. He might’ve been a total madman these days, but... even then, he was still like a father to Arthur. And as his son, the last thing he wanted was to see him lose himself completely.

He just feared it might have been too late already.

Finally arriving at the living room, Arthur sauntered through the narrow wooden archway and walked up to Dutch, only to be greeted by a depressing scene.

It was completely dark in here.

All the candles had been snuffed out, the fireplace lay cold with ashes, and the lamp on the ceiling did nothing but swing despondently in the chilling breeze.

At the moment, the only source of light in the room was the one in front of Dutch himself. It was a tall, somewhat cracked window that sat right underneath a broken pendulum clock, and it had a torn bundle of curtains dancing gently around it.

There was an array of pale, white sunbeams pouring through its dusty glass currently, and with the way they embraced Dutch’s figure, he looked like nothing more than a silhouette relaxing in an old rocking chair. 

Arthur took a few steps towards the man, hoping to check up on him.

“...Dutch?” He called out quietly. “You, um... wanted to see me?”

The older man slowly glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name, silently beckoning his friend to come closer once he saw who it was.

When Arthur was at his side, Dutch presented a used handkerchief to him and held it up in the light, making sure the other man could see the blood splatters staining its white fabric.

Arthur eyed the handkerchief with a sorrowful gaze, letting out a morose sigh.

“You ain’t doin’ too good, huh.”

Dutch coughed a few times, his voice raspy from the irritation. “What gave it away?”

Pressing his hands against the armrests, Dutch steadily pushed himself up from the chair and rose to his feet, still facing the window as he continued to talk.

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” He said, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. It won’t be long now before you and Micah are the ones in charge of this gang, and I’m buried in the ground.”

Arthur was admittedly grief-stricken by the news, but did his best to hide it and simply carried on with the conversation.

“...You really think Micah would share that kinda power with me? You know how that man is.”

Dutch put his hands on his hips. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Well, with all respect, Dutch, I ain’t too comfortable with lettin’ the future of this gang depend on a ‘maybe.”

“Neither am I,” the older man agreed, “but I don’t know what else to do, Arthur. Even after all these years, you and Micah continue to butt heads like a pair of deer who’ve got their antlers tangled. If I’m gonna leave this world in peace, I need to know that you and Micah can work together. Otherwise...”

Dutch’s voice trailed off, leaving Arthur with a sense of dread in his gut.

“Well...” he picked up, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Arthur shrugged in uncertainty, leaning against the wall. “So... what d’you wanna do?”

The other man returned to his rocking chair, allowing himself to sink into the flat cushion.

“Nothing. Not yet, at least. For now, we just do things the way we’ve always done them. We head for Blackwater, and we focus on the bank. My death is a bridge we’ll cross once we get to it. In the meantime, though...” Dutch gave Arthur a pleading look, “just try to cooperate with Micah, would you? For my sake. The future of this gang may depend on it.”

The younger outlaw crossed his arms, reluctant to agree but still complying nonetheless.

“...Of course, Dutch.” Arthur replied. “For your sake. I doubt it’ll be easy, though.”

That seemed to please the older man. “Thank you, son. Thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dutch let his head fall back and stretched his legs out, gazing aimlessly through the open window once again.

“Oh... I wish Hosea were here. We had our disagreements from time to time, but no one knew how to keep people together quite like that old boy. It ain���t been the same since he died.”

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “No, it hasn’t. I just wish John was here, too.”

Dutch glowered at the mention of Marston’s name. “Pfft. That man was a traitor. We’re better off without him.”

“Maybe,” Arthur conceded, “but he was still family.”

“Family don’t turn their back on you, Arthur.” Dutch countered. “If we’re going to survive this year, we’ve got to stick together. You, me, Micah, Bill, Mackintosh -- everyone. We can’t let what happened at Beaver Hollow happen again. You understand?”

The younger man hesitated to answer, unable to deny his skepticism about Dutch’s leadership.

“...I understand.” He replied regardless. The other man managed to display a small smile.

“I knew you would, Arthur.” Dutch said, shutting his eyes in order to get some rest as the day gradually came to an end. “You was always there through thick and thin. Even after John abandoned us and Hosea passed, you stuck around. You’ve been loyal from the start, and that means the world to me. Never forget that.”

Arthur pushed himself off the wall and began heading for the cabin’s front door, letting Dutch get some sleep. 

“I won’t, Dutch. I won’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

SAINT DENIS

GASKILL RESIDENCE

AFTERNOON

“...Gaskill...” Isaac murmured to himself, reading the small note in his hand.

He glanced up at the house in front of him, making sure this was the right place.

“Yep,” he confirmed, talking to his horse. “I think we’re here, Aldo.”

Leaving Aldo at the hitching post, Isaac said goodbye to the majestic creature and stuffed the note back into his pocket, strolling up to the front porch.

The property wasn’t as big as some of the others Isaac had seen along the way, but he still thought it looked rather cozy. It had a total of two stories and was decorated with loads of flowers, trees, grass, and a small water fountain that stood elegantly on the front lawn. There were a few birds perched on the edge of it at the moment, and they chirped happily as the cool water trickled onto their feathers, causing them to flutter their wings joyfully.

As for the house itself, if Isaac’s information was correct, then it belonged to an author by the name of Leslie Dupont. Though, according to the research he’d done, that was just a pen name. 

Her actual name was Mary-Beth Gaskill, and word on the street was that she used to be part of the Van der Linde gang... the very same gang Isaac had been tracking down for these past two months.

He had to admit, this “Dutch van der Linde” figure was proving rather difficult to find. For a while now, he had been jumping from person to person -- town to town -- just trying to get even the smallest lead.

At first, Isaac paid a visit to a general store owner named Simon Pearson who apparently used to be the gang’s cook. He talked with him for a while and shared a few drinks, only to realize that the man had a talent for speaking a lot without actually saying anything substantial. 

Afterwards, he tracked down another ex-member by the name of Tilly Pierre. She appeared friendly enough and was somewhat more willing to communicate, but Isaac hardly got a word out of her before her husband shooed him away. Didn’t want suspicious folks hanging around their family, he said.

And as if that wasn’t tiresome enough already, Isaac found himself talking to a preacher called Orville Swanson who seemed to have nothing but bad memories of Dutch, and kept going on about how much Isaac reminded him of one of the gang members.

At this point, Isaac was just hoping that this Gaskill woman actually existed. It seemed like every lead he followed up would end up with more questions than answers, and all the people he talked to so far had been less than eager to speak about their experiences with him.

If Miss Gaskill didn’t have anything valuable to give him, he had no idea where he would turn next.

Stepping up to the front door, Isaac gave it a few firm knocks and waited patiently in the garden, eager to speak with this woman. After a moment or two, the door swung open from the inside, revealing Ms. Gaskill herself. 

She was a lot more presentable than Isaac expected. In contrast to the rugged, hardened, mean-spirited woman he had been anticipating, Ms. Gaskill actually seemed quite sweet. She had a romantic twinkle in her eye and carried a very inquisitive nature, giving her the look of someone who enjoyed reading books and drinking tea as opposed to the ex-outlaw Isaac heard she was.

“Arthur--!” Ms. Gaskill greeted excitedly, only to cut herself off once she got a better look at her visitor’s face. “Oh, um...” a flustered chuckle escaped her, “s-sorry, mister. I... mistook you for someone else.”

Isaac smiled. “No worries. That seems to happen a lot nowadays.”

The woman cleared her throat. “Can I... can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, actually. Um...” the young man double-checked his note, “...are you Mary-Beth Gaskill?”

She nodded, immediately picking up on the fact that he used her real name. “I am. Who might you be?”

“My name’s Isaac. I apologize for interruptin’ your day like this, but... I was wonderin’ if I could ask you a few questions.”

“What about?”

Isaac hesitated for a second, unsure about how to broach the subject. “...It’s...it’s about the Van der Linde gang. I’ve heard that you used to run with them back in the day, and I was hopin’ you might be able to provide some answers. I’m lookin’ for them, you see.”

To Isaac’s surprise, the response actually seemed to earn him a more colloquial temperament from Ms. Gaskill, as opposed to the suspicious nature his previous visits induced. 

“Ah... I think I understand. Of course, of course. Come on in. I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, madam. I’ll just be a minute.”

Pushing the door completely open, Ms. Gaskill allowed Isaac to walk in as she made her way to the sitting area, preparing something for them to drink.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She offered.

Isaac shut the front door behind him, removing his hat. “That’d be lovely.”

Mary-Beth beamed at him, gesturing to the multiple chairs that had been arranged around the room. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

Taking in his surroundings, Isaac sat down next to a rather nice end table and placed his hat on his lap, gazing at the decorations scattered throughout the house. 

Isaac already pegged Mary-Beth for a bookworm, but he had no idea just how into it she truly was. There were numerous bookshelves filled to the brim with horror stories, mysteries, comedies, tragedies... but most of all, romances.

They seemed to occupy the shelves more than any other genre, and just by looking at the small ribbons sticking out from between their pages, it was evident that Mary-Beth was busy working her way through quite a few of them at the same time. He wondered what that said about her as a person.

“Here you go,” Ms. Gaskill said as she handed him a cup of coffee, breaking Isaac out of his thoughts. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Isaac gently brought the cup into his grasp, holding it securely as the smell of freshly-brewed coffee beans reached his nose. “Thank you.”

Giving him a smile in response, Mary-Beth retrieved her own cup of coffee before taking a seat across from the young man, admittedly intrigued by his motive for being here.

“So...” she started, “you’re lookin’ for the Van der Linde gang. May I ask why?”

Isaac took a sip. “Well, truth be told, I ain’t really concerned about the whole gang. I’m just lookin’ for a specific person who I’ve been told is with them.”

Ms. Gaskill formed her own conclusion. “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”

“In a way, I guess. Only difference is I’m not doing this for the money. My reasons are more personal.”

The young woman nodded in understanding. “I see. And how did you know I used to be with them?”

“Your friend Mr. Swanson directed me to you.”

A nostalgic look spread across Mary-Beth’s face at the sound of Swanson’s name. 

“Oh, Mr. Swanson...” she reminisced warmly, “it’s been many years since I last saw him, but he was always so kind. Lost, perhaps, but kind. How is he nowadays?”

“He’s doin’ well, I think,” Isaac answered honestly. “He’s a minister now, up in New York. I don’t know what he was like when you knew him, but... Swanson seemed to be content with his life, if a bit remorseful.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ms. Gaskill said, her expression dimming slightly afterwards. “Too many of my friends from the old days ended up dead, missing, or just straight-up insane... so I’m glad that at least someone besides Tilly turned out okay.”

She downed some of her coffee, changing the subject. “But enough about that. You said you had questions about the Van der Linde gang?”

“I do.”

“Well...” Mary-Beth set her coffee down, “what would you like to know?”

Isaac decided to start at the top, inquiring about the leader himself.

“...What kind of a man is Dutch van der Linde?” He asked. “What can I expect from him?”

Ms. Gaskill chuckled at the question. “I used to ask myself the same thing everyday.”

Isaac smirked. “He’s unpredictable, I take it?”

“Understatement of the century. Though, to be fair, Dutch wasn’t always like that. When I first joined their gang, he actually saved me. A couple of men had just caught me stealin’ from them and were chasing me over the hills until Dutch scared them off. He was so generous back then. So passionate.”

“Yeah?” Isaac noted. “How so?”

Mary-Beth leaned forward, gesturing with her hands. “Well, even though Dutch was technically an outlaw, he never really came across as one. He was more like a teacher, or a guardian. A father even, to some. He loved us all, and we loved him, but...”

A melancholic sigh escaped the young woman. “...things just... spiraled out of control. As the years passed by, civilization began to spread, the law started killin’ our people, and eventually, Dutch just... snapped. In the end, he was more akin to a tyrant than anything, and the gang fell apart within a few short months. That was when I decided to run away with my friends, but... not everyone made it.”

Mary-Beth’s expression sank with sorrow, causing Isaac to blurt out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gaskill. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She reassured. “I just wish things could’ve turned out differently, y’know? Not everyone in the gang was rotten. Some of them were actually quite wonderful... but it’s rarely the good ones who survive. I’m just surprised to hear that the Van der Linde gang is still going. I thought the rest of them would’ve scattered to the winds by now.”

Isaac drank some more of his coffee. “D’you have any idea where I could find them?”

Ms. Gaskill thought for a moment. “Well, if there’s anythin’ I know about Dutch, it’s that he probably headed back to the west.”

The young man quirked a brow. “The west? That’s a pretty big region. You have any specific states in mind? Or cities? Anything that could narrow it down?”

“Hmm... Dutch used to talk a lot about New Austin,” she suggested. “Apparently, he’s quite fond of the desert. Said it made him feel closer to the sky. I know he was always eyeballin’ that town Blackwater, too.”

“Blackwater...” Isaac repeated, mentally marking the town as his next point of interest. “I’ve been there a few times. Do you know why he’d be hangin’ around there?”

Mary-Beth shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that eight years ago, a ferry job in Blackwater nearly finished the whole gang. Perhaps Dutch feels like he has unfinished business there. Probably sees the town as a trophy he never got to win.”

“Hmm... that makes sense. And what about his numbers? How many men did Dutch have when you was with him?”

The woman conjured up a quick estimation. “Roughly two dozen, I think. Possibly a few more. But I can’t imagine he has that many people following him around these days, considerin’ how maniacal he was when I last saw him.”

“I see. So, he’s likely got a good chunk of people with him.”

The young man finished his coffee and placed the empty mug on the end table, preparing to leave.

“Well, I think I’ve gotten all the answers I needed, Ms. Gaskill. Thanks for takin’ the time to help me out. I really appreciate it.”

Mary-Beth smiled sincerely. “Anytime. It was good to talk about the old days, no matter how chaotic they might’ve been. I just hope you can find whomever it is you’re lookin’ for. Are they a friend of yours?”

Isaac chuckled. “Hardly. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Ah. So you’re trackin’ down an enemy. Well, be careful out there, then. Things may be more civilized nowadays, but many gangs still roam the country. Not to mention that Dutch himself is exceptionally dangerous. Stay safe during your search.”

The man rose to his feet, heading to the door. “I will. Believe me. Oh, and um... Ms. Gaskill?” Isaac threw a look of gratitude at her, putting his hat back on before stepping out into the sun. “Thanks for the coffee.”

[snizabelle]

Alright, finally got to a point where I’m happy enough with this fic to actually post it. I’ll probably be putting any further chapters on AO3, enjoy.

------

It took exactly 148 steps from the sandy base of the ruins to get to its former grand lobby, Castis had counted every one meticulously. Barely anything stood of the ancient skyscraper but its pillars. The roof had long been destroyed, or caved in with time, allowing the light and sweltering heat of the desert sun to cover most of the floor. Crouched in the shadows by the weathered railing was a figure, aiming a rifle into the sandy valley below.

Cas aimed his pistol. “Freeze!!" 

It wasn't an unusual sight, the ruins were usually crawling with bounty hunters, vagrants, and thieves.

The suspect remained still, as they hadn't been moving in the first place. I told an unmoving person to 'freeze', he thought. Spirits, I am a fool. He tried again. "Stay where you are!" That's even worse. I wish I was dead.

This was hardly his first arrest, but he was still rattled by confrontation. Everything was so much simpler on paper; doing the actual dirty work was too nerve-wracking. He had already spent 6 months on this crappy planet and dealt with his fair share of riffraff. Nolvion may have been a dwarf planet in the back end of the terminus systems but you wouldn't think it with the amount of scum it collected. The small security outpost he was a part of was the only thing driving it back, though the real objective was considered classified. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as his thoughts continued to scream through his head. "Look, just get up-no stay where you, uh, raise your-" (aaaAAAAUUUGH!!) Finally, the suspect stirred. They were wearing thick, but shoddy, ill-fitting armor, head obscured by a large standard-issue helmet. Without turning, they raised a single finger, indicating whatever Castis was spouting could wait. Wait....what? "I - excuse me!!", he sputtered, "I am an officer of Fort Audax!" There was a brief pause. Then, the suspect stood, and slumped forward with an exaggerated sigh. This intrusion seemed to leave them put out. 

Castis was getting impatient. "I demand you turn around slowly with your hands in the air now!!"

After what seemed like an eternity, the suspect turned and- There was a deafening sound and the floor flew up to meet Castis' head. His jaw cracked on the ground and tasted blood in his mouth. He could feel a bruise forming where the kick had landed on his mandible. Enraged, he scrambled to his feet, head pounding. The culprit stood there, seemingly baffled. "Did you just ..." Castis felt only anger now. "...assault me?!” He heard something that sounded like an 'uh oh' noise muffled in the helmet. Castis barred his teeth. You're goddamn right 'uh oh'. He may have been a terrible negotiator but he was pretty damn good at hand-to-hand combat. Before the offender had a chance to do anything else, Castis had lunged forward and grabbed their wrist, twisting it, forcing their knees to buckle. Before they could react, he headbutted them on the bridge of their helmet, causing the cheap material to crack. As the assailant fell backward, Cas swept their right leg, hearing a distinct crack as they fell backward, helmeted head thudding on the ground. Panting, Castis steadied himself and surveyed the assailant. There was no movement. He walked carefully around the body and pushed their discarded rifle away with his foot. "Vakarian! Come in Vakarian!" A voice crackled onto the communicator on his omni-tool. Cas answered the comm, still trying to catch his breath. "This is Vakarian." "Status report." "Sir,” he panted "Suspect attacked me, but I have rendered them unconscious. Sustained minor injuries. Suspect is unarmed and incapacitated."

There was a pause. The voice cracked again. "Just shoot them."

Cas clenched his jaw. "I repeat: the suspect is unarmed and incapaci-" "I heard what you said." There was a shuffling sound as though the person speaking was shifting, agitated. "Do it." Cas swallowed hard, fingers clenching and unclenching. He chose his next words carefully. "Sir...It would be more...prudent... to bring in the suspect for questioning and proces-”

"Damn you Vakarian!!" Cas jerked his head back so violently it smacked the stone wall lightly behind him, "Do we have to go through this every time?! Do we have to spend hours of paperwork for every infraction!? Just shoot the f -"

He disconnected without thinking.

Damn. Gonna pay for that later.

He glanced over at the motionless figure. ‘Just shoot them.’

***

Well, crap. Marcella was in incredible pain. Hopefully, her leg wasn't broken but it certainly felt like it was. Damn it all. Usually, one kick to the face made rent-a-cops drop like drunk elcor. Should've sized this one up better. You're getting sloppy. The crackle of the cop’s comm echoed over to her. "Just shoot them." Spirits..... If I had known it was my last day alive I would've....would've... She struggled to think of something meaningful one could do in their last hours while the comm screeched. There was abrupt silence and she heard the scraping of boots as the officer turned around. 

Shit. Shit! Not like this! 

More silence. From inside the helmet, she peeked open her eyes for a second to see what he was doing. He was leaning in close. Inspecting her? There was a hunting knife on her hip. Maybe if he leaned in close enough she could get him in the neck. It was her only shot. She felt her helmet jostle and snapped her eyes shut again. Hot air rushed her face as her helmet was removed. Just play dead. Don't move...! She heard a thunk as her helmet was tossed aside. Her hand was laying under her back by her left side. She could feel the shape of the knife pressing against the back of her thigh. He had straightened up again. Her fingers inched toward the knife, touching the hilt. I could just go for it... maybe he'll be so surprised he won't react? Or I'll just get shot in the face. Well, I'm dead either way. There was another loud crackle as his comm buzzed. and almost made her jerk. "Female. No facial markings." She heard the cop say. "Taking into custody. Will report at 0500." What..? She relaxed her fingers, retreating them from the hilt. Interesting.

***

Faldos can flay me for all I care. Castis holstered his gun and submitted his report verbally in his comm. "Female. No facial markings." Do things right or not at all. He walked over to his bag, laying where he had set it by an old pillar. He shuffled through it for a bit, though as usual, it was perfectly organized. He retrieved his handcuffs and turned. The suspect already had one leg up on the ledge and was in the process of climbing over. "Hey-! You- F-FREEZE!!" He dropped the cuffs, awkwardly grabbed for his holstered gun, and pointed it at her back. She froze accordingly. "Ugh, come on!" Slowly, she turned, hands begrudgingly in the air. She starred at him, seizing him up.

The first thing Cas noticed was her eyes. They were a piercing blue. He felt a strange pulling in his chest. She had no clan markings but had slight scarring on her left mandible. The way it traced up the side of her face was almost memorizing. She was tall, even for a turian, and her waist was - “Well?” she said suddenly, shaking him out of his thoughts  She sounded slightly amused.

Cas blinked and shook his head. What the hell was that!?  

"S...state your name!" He could feel his face grow hot in embarrassment.

She smirked and said nothing.

Castis blinked nervously but didn't relent. “You are trespassing. You are not authorized to be here. Show me identification now or I will take you into custody."

She shrugged her shoulders, the universal sign of indifference.

"Are you aware you attacked an officer of Fort Audax?" Cas said.

"Well yeah,' She shrugged again. 'I figured the uniform wasn't for show.”

Castis felt himself burn, "Excuse me?!"

She smirked again, seemingly excited she was able to get under his skin. He exploded, "Get on the ground now!!" Her smile faded. 'Well, I'll try." She visibly struggled to kneel on her left leg, glaring at him all the while. Castis felt a brief bout of shame wash over him. "Hey, uh...I'm sorry if I was too rough. it's okay, I have medi-gel if you need it.” She continued to glare "I’m fine." She tried to lean on one leg and winced.

"No, you're not. You're hurt." Castis stepped forward.

'Really? You kick my ass then offer to clean me up?" The suspect's eyes flashed. "Go ahead and give me two pops in the back of my head when I kneel, make it quick okay?"

Castis slowly lowered his gun to the ground. He took a few more steps forward and raised his hands. "I promise I'm not gonna hurt you."

The perp raised her eyebrow plates but said nothing.

"Do you...would you mind if I...?" Cas took a few more cautious steps forward. She paused for a second then extended her leg almost dramatically. 'By all means, admire your handiwork." He shuffled close to her and knelt by her outstretched leg. Dispensing some medi-gel, he began to apply a numbing agent to her upper thigh. He was uncomfortably close. Look forward, look forward look forward, don't be weird don't be weird - "Enjoying yourself?" His head snapped up to meet her gaze. "NO!" She was smirking again. His face burned as he hastily rubbed the rest of the medi-gel on her thigh as quickly as possible. He staggered to his feet rubbing the excess off his hands. "Alright, how does it feel now?" The suspect leaned on her leg gently, then gave a few light stomps. "Hrm, not bad." She took a few light steps toward him. "Do you make a habit of sensually patching up every girl you brutalize?"

Castis felt his face burn even hotter. "Y-you attacked me first!"

She shrugged, "Eh details...' Details?! "Either way, since you refuse to provide any form of identification - and you attacked me -” Castis glared, “ - I'm going to have to take you in." There was a long pause. She sighed then extended her wrists. Castis blinked. "Really?" "It's only fair, you patched me up." She looked off in the distance as though not wishing to engage in the situation. "Well....good!” Cas huffed a small sigh of relief. Finally, things are gonna stop being needlessly difficult. He approached her warily. "Now please extend your-" She's already doing that you WORTHLESS- "YEP just like that, uh, let me just-" He lifted his noticibly empty hands. Cuffs. YOU NEED CUFFS AAAAA- "Just.....one...second," Cas mumbled awkwardly. The suspect blinked lazily at him, seemingly bored. Castis ran awkwardly back to the pillar where the cuffs lay. He grabbed them and whirled around. "Okay! Now let me just-" She was gone. "HEY!!"

[anneshirlxy]

AWAE Fic Recs- Full List

Hi! Here is the full list of all the fics I recommend. I will post a more organized way to look at it later tonight, but for now, here are all the fics! On here you can find the author, rating, length (word count and chapter) and a summary directly from ao3. These fics are in no particular order, and everything in italics is my dumb comments! Also, I am hopefully going to keep updating this so please send me fic recs!

Rating Key- G: General Audience, T: Teen and up, M: Mature 

1. Still He Offers the Sea Shell  By: Chash (@ponyregrets) Rating: T Length: 5.1k- 1/1

Summary: Gilbert Blythe is back from his semester abroad, and he wants to meet this Anne Shirley he's heard so much about.

First fic I ever read. A classic modern au (book verse) 

2.Strangely Are Our Souls Constructed  By: Fandom_freakout, vocallywritten Rating: G Length: 8k-2/2

Summary: In a desperate attempt to get Charlie Sloane to leave her alone, Anne posts a notice of her own. Or,Anne and Gilbert abuse the Take Notice board, much to the amusement, and frustration of the people around them.

Best take notice fic ever! Anne and Gilbert get into a take notice board battle and at first, it’s snarky and sarcastic, but then they start complementing each other and it’s beautiful.

3.say my name, don't ever stop  By: anbethmarie Rating: G Length: 13.5k-5/5

Summary: The gossip in Avonlea is insidious, making Gilbert think it's a good idea to initiate a fake courtship of Anne. Anne makes him promise it won't affect their relationship (because, obviously, they're just friends).Plot twist: it affects their relationship.

Also has a sequel you can read it Here

4.Mistletoe Madness By: avonleaace Rating: G Length: 3k- 1/1

Summary: To bring a bit of fun to the classroom on Christmas Eve, Miss Stacey hangs up some mistletoe. Anne and Gilbert have a bet that Gilbert can make it through the day without getting kissed. Will he succeed? cuteness ensues

5.The Secret of Distance  By: Lil_Readhead (@royalcordelia) Rating: T Length: 26k- 7/?

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

I consider this fic canon. This is season 4. 

6.Avonlea's Summer of 1880 Great Game of Capture the Flag! By: christah88 (@christah88) Rating: G Length: 14k- 1/1

Summary: Moody Spurgeon has gathered all the boys in Avonlea between 12 and 18 at the softball diamond for a game of capture the flag. Subterfuge, reconnaissance, undercover missions, and just a dash of chicken-coop-climbing combine to make this a game they will not soon forget. Why? Because Anne Shirley-Cuthbert wants to play, of course, and she demands that the rest of the girls be allowed to play, too.

This one reads like it could be a part of the show. There is also a prequel that you can read Here

7.Limerence By: Ephemeral_Joy (@lydias--stiles) Rating: G Length: 12k- 2/2

Summary: Limerence (n) - The state of being infatuated with another person. Gilbert and Anne featuring paint, photography, mutual staring, glitter and a very supportive Diana Barry

8.truth or dare  By: thearkdelinquents Rating: NR Length: 7k-1/1

Summary: “Anne, truth or dare?” Josie smirked at Anne, a devious glint in her eye. Lifting her chin and looking Josie in the eye, Anne chose, “Dare.” She could take whatever Josie had to throw at her.The smirk on Josie’s face grew larger and Anne was sure she had picked the wrong thing. Without breaking eye contact or even taking a second the think about it, Josie said, “I dare you to go behind that door and kiss Gilbert Blythe. On the lips.”

I love the show New Girl with all my heart so I had to put this one.

9.When the Sun Begins to Fall By: megs368 (@onedayiwillflyfree) Rating: G Length: 76k- 13/14

Summary: "Long time no see Carrots."After nine months of studying at The Sorbonne, Gilbert Blythe felt that he was ready for his upcoming graduation and wedding. That is until his brother arrives, informing him his childhood best friend is gravely ill.

this fic hurts you 

10.wishful thinking (mindless dreaming)By: bruadarxch  (@rootedbutfl0wing) Rating: G Length: 12k- 5/5

Summary: “She didn’t mean to, but a comment led to a friend of a friend’s profile and then she sees it. She sees him. Gilbert Blythe. Her old archnemesis turned friend turned... nothing.” Anne is bored for the first time in her life and falls down the Instagram rabbit hole. She finds a familiar face.

Anne finds Gilbert’s Instagram and they end up reconnecting at college and then drama ensues. It’s really cute then it gets kinda sad and angsty and then it’s really cute again. I love it.

11.wonderstruck By: bruadarxch ( @rootedbutfl0wing) Rating: G Length: 14k-4/4

Summary: Delphine Lacroix raves about Miss Shirley and her crazy lessons. Her uncle Gilbert thinks his niece surely has an overactive imagination, but one day he has to pick her up from school and a certain redhead covered in paint from head to toe crashes into him. OR: Gilbert Blythe puts his foot in it when he meets Anne in every universe. Luckily for him, she didn't have any heavy objects around in this one.

Modern au where Anne is Dellies teacher and Gilbert fall head over heels in love with her. Soooo cute, I love. Also, cue Diana berry being the best roommate ever. 

12.Imagining Something Worthwhile By: remylebae (@remylebub) Rating: T Length: 148k-3l/36

Summary: “Because when you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worthwhile”- Anne of Green Gables. 

Anne is struggling through her mid-twenties, living with her two best friends from high school and starting a new job as an eighth grade English teacher. Just as she's starting to figure this whole teaching thing out, she finds an unexpected someone thrust back into her life.

This is the boy I spent 7 hours reading. It’s a modern au where Anne is a struggling teacher and Gilbert is a struggling med student and they fall back in love. Honestly, the best part of the fic is the best friend relationship between Cole, Anne, and Diana. It’s some pretty wholesome and domestic stuff.

13.You're such a big mess (And I love you) By: gayrefrain (@gayrefrain) Rating: T Length: 6k-1/1

Summary: Anne and Jerry get arrested.

This is one of the first fics I ever read and I loved it so much I read it 2 more times. Modern au where Anne and Jerry get arrested, they bicker like siblings and Gilbert is so worried for her!!! It’s a pre-established relationship and it’s so fluffy and cute ahh. An all-time fave.

14.five days of Christmas  By: thearkdelinquents Rating: N/R Length: 4k-1/1

Summary: SHIRBERT SECRET SANTA!!!!

15.Drive Me Crazy By: serendipitous_rambles(@carrotsofavonlea) Rating: G 

Length: 18k-15/15

Summary: Anne Shirley Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe are next door neighbours, but they despise each other. It didn't used to always be this way, in fact at one time they were best friends. But things change following a personal tragedy for Gilbert, and by high school the two are practically strangers. Anne's life seemed to be going well: she was in charge of organising the school Centennial dance, she was accepted into college, and she was dating one of the most handsome boys in school: Roy Gardner. Only he breaks up with her mere weeks before the dance. When Gilbert's girlfriend Winifred also breaks up with him, Anne comes up with a crazy scheme to get their ex's back: pretend to date to make them jealous. Simple right? If only they don't kill each other first...

The modern fake dating au of your dreams. Includes an iconic scene from 10 things I hate about you. 

16.ours are the moments I play in the dark / wild and fluorescent / come home to my heart By: anbethmarie Rating: T Length: 8k-3/3

Summary: Avonlea, August 1914 – England declares war on Germany. Anne Shirley shows up rain-drenched on Gilbert Blythe’s doorstep and learns her fiancé is due to leave for the Western front in a week’s time.All Anne wanted was to have the memory of a few quiet moments alone with Gilbert. The fact that she would get wet through on the way to his house and have to wear his shirt while waiting for her clothes to dry did not enter into her calculations.

This one is basically an episode of a drama tv show and I’m not complaining.  Anne ends up pregnant with Gilbert’s baby and then he goes to war and they lose touch and he doesn’t know he has a child. It’s a whole thing. It’s mostly angst but reunions are chef's kiss (especially ones when they find out their father). 

17.Trippingly, on the tongue By: meals Rating:G Length: 8k-1/1

Summary: Gilbert goes to Paris, Anne goes to Queens, and years later they both return to Avonlea and meet again. They should be older and wiser, but when neither of ever admits to their mistakes and misunderstandings, will they ever sort themselves out?

Such a good season three “what if” fic. I’ve read it so many times and I can’t get tired of it. 

18.shy daydreams & stardust By: Lil_Redhead (@royalcordelia) Rating: G Length: 16k-3/3

Summary: She can't help how he makes her magic spiral out of control whenever he's around, but maybe she can help him when his own abilities bloom out of nowhere like a lily pad in a teacup. Magic AU!

Anne and Gilbert are both magic and she teaches him about his powers. Very cute!

19.The Post-Exam Ritual of Merriment and Ridiculousness By: wanderinginthewoods  Rating: G Length: 2k-1/1

Summary: Anne, still slightly tipsy, tries to focus as she runs after Gilbert to give him a piece of her mind--but that's not the easiest thing to do when she can barely get her own thoughts in order.

The characterization of Anne drunk is so good and the funniest thing

20.I Belong to You  By: hoddypeak (@shirbertndisney) Rating: T Length: 30k-12/?

Summary: Arranged marriage AU. Anne always wanted to have her own love story, but not one that's decided for her. She doesn't want to fall in love with Gilbert, but after being thrown into many awkward situations with him, the walls around her begin to tumble down. It certainly isn't an easy ride for either of them.

21.Little White Lies… By: writingshirbert Rating: G Length: 16k-10/?

Summary: When Anne agrees to doing Gilbert a favor, she has no idea what she's getting herself into...

A modern fake dating au where Anne and Gilbert are best friends and college roommates that have to pretend to date. Mostly angst so far, but well written. Also, Gilbert seems like a bit of a douche but we will look past that. 

22.All my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling By: moonlightconstellations (@leiaslightsaber) Rating: T Length: 3k-1/1

Summary: Anne realizes she's in love with Gilbert. In typical Anne fashion, she reacts by yelling.

I just really love Anne yelling at Gilbert

 23.Anne of Hogwarts By: serendipitous_rambles (@carrotsofavonlea) Rating: G Length: 24k- 14/14

Summary: Muggleborn Anne couldn't believe her luck when at 11 she is adopted by the Cuthberts, who introduce her to the world of magic and Hogwarts.Her wild imagination gets her into trouble more often than not, but she doesn't let that stop her. She sparks up an academic rivalry with classmate Gilbert Blythe, and finds a kindred spirit in Diana Barry.However it's not all smooth sailing, with trials and tribulations throughout the years as Anne seeks to discover everything Hogwarts has to offer. It may not always be easy, but life at Hogwarts becomes the greatest adventure of Anne's life.

As a potterhead I am required to put one of the best Harry Potter x AWAE fics on here. Also the only one that (in my opinion) gets the sorting right (gryffindor!Anne, Hufflepuff!Gilbert). 

24.This Home is Vast By: Lil_Redhead (@royalcordeila) Rating: G Length: 6k-1/1

Summary: Delphine Lacroix wants to write a tale of adventure and romance, so naturally she writes the story of how Uncle Gil and Aunt Anne fell in love.

This one is so creative! Fics starring Dellie? Sign me up 

25.i picture it, soft, and i ache By: boos (@boosfic) Rating: G Length: 12k-1/1

Summary: Anne and Gilbert accidentally end up snowed in at Green Gables

Pure and perfect fluff 

26.the world is brighter than the sun (now that you're here) By: blujamas (@kyleslei) Rating: G Length: 12k-1/1

Summary:  Long-lost family offers Anne Shirley-Cuthbert a chance at education in a prestigious university across the sea. Before she can go, however, there is one last loose end to tie up: Gilbert Blythe.

27.more myself than I am (whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same) By: anbethmarie Rating: G Length: 6k- 2/2

Summary: Anne and Gilbert have not seen each other since the fateful night of the Queen's entrance exams. She assumes he must by now be engaged to Winifred. He still assumes her drunken babbling meant she doesn't care. A chance encounter forces them to revise the truth of these assumptions.

28.a ridge of lighted heath By: peterstank (@peter-stank) Rating: T Length: 3k-1/1

Summary: He’d overheard her talking once with Diana Barry. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but it couldn’t be helped given their proximity. He’d heard it, the bride of adventure, the wife of nature. And how fitting is it that she who has chosen nature as her most fitting suitor is more beautiful than any earthly thing he’s ever known? The freckles on her face are fit to rival all the stars in the sky. Her eyes are oceans overflowing, they are rippling streams and shining waters. She could torch him with her hair and he would happily turn to ashes, to be the Earth, to be loved by her just once.

29.One Iced Green Tea Latte for Ann  By: rosesonraindrops Rating: G Length: 6k-2/2 

Summary: Anne Shirley Cuthbert lives for three things: her family, Diana Barry, and Iced Green Tea Lattes. However, Gilbert Blythe, the barista at Anne and Diana's favorite coffee shop, never seems to spell her name correctly, no matter how many times she's told him the right way to spell it. Or, Diana and Anne get coffee, and Gilbert tries his very best to charm Anne with his latte-making skills.

30,but when he walks in i am loved - i am loved By: nosecoffee (@nose-coffee) Rating: T Length: 24k- 1/1

Summary:“Marry me.” Anne drops a plate. She barely reacts to that - Marilla can berate her later, for now Anne has a very good reason to have broken her expensive china. She whirls on him. Gilbert’s not kneeling or anything. He's just standing there, in her kitchen doorway, with a painfully earnest look on his face. “Are you kidding?” She says, laughing nervously. He shakes his head. 

Fun story: I once spent hours looking for this fic and almost started crying when I didn’t think I could find it. So you know it’s good. 

31. from friends to this (you're the one i want) By: cressisaqueen (@cressisaqueen) Rating: T Length: 4k- 1/1

Summary: new message from 1 (489) 5987 - 2351 

1 (489) 5987 - 2351 [3:29 pm]: hey, it's gilbert blythe from professor stacy's class 

GiLbErT bLyThE [3:30 pm]: when should we meet up to work on the project?

A fic told entirely through text messages! Really creative and good. Paper Rings is my favorite Taylor Swift song, so that also helps. It also has a sequel where Anne and Gilbert get married that you can read Here 

32.Anne of Nova Scotia By: coffee666 (@frappuccinio) Rating: G Length: 32k- 5/?

Summary: In an alternate life, neither Anne nor Gilbert were orphaned. Yet, they still found their way to one another.

I’ve never seen a tag better than “I’m not claiming to know how boats work” 

33.If the Sea Should Part  By: Lil_Redhead (@royalcordelia) Rating: G Length: 35k-6/6

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert's life and estate, she realizes there's nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

34.charity (who is helping who?) By: antspaul Rating: T Length: 10k- 1/1 

Summary: AU in which Anne is a little more poor but just as vivacious while Gilbert is a lot more wealthy and a little more cowardly. 

Kind of a sugar daddy au, but not really. Told through letters which is really cool.

35.i found my voice (in her sweet melodies) By: Lil_Redhead (@royalcordelia) Rating: G Length: 2k- 1/1 

Summary: Christmas with Gilbert has never been traditional, but it always manages to steal Anne's breath away.

36.Welcome to Toronto By: simonsjumpers Rating: G Length: 13k- 4/4   

Summary: Anne visits Toronto, buys trousers, charms everyone she meets and engages in a book-duel with Gilbert... And Gilbert can't help but, kind-of, accidentally, propose.

A very good awae after season 3 continuation fic. Anne is a complete badass and Gilbert is hopelessly in love with her. 

37.it goes on and on  By: morebooksplease Rating: G  Length: 3k- 1/1 

Summary: in which Gilbert lists all the reasons he loves Anne.

38.bless the broken road (that led me straight to you) By: cornerinthepouringrain Rating: G Length: 3k- 1/1 

Summary: She said she’s never been to the coast, and he volunteered to take her, because he’s an idiot with no filter and because he selfishly, despicably, wants (needs) all of her firsts to be with him. Or Gilbert Blythe decides to take Anne Shirley on a road trip, and hates himself for it.

ON GOD I love this one shot so much!! It’s just Anne and Gilbert on a road trip. It’s Gilbert POV and my man is whipped. After I read this I immediately read it again I love it! 

39.your glow (against the burning embers of my fiery soul) By: abigaylefayth (@pterparkcr) Rating: T Length: 13k- 2/2 

Summary: the enemies to lovers fake dating shirbert au nobody asked for  

Another really good modern fake dating au!!! This author also wrote one of the best awae twitter aus, that you can read Here 

40.Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same By: Ephemeral_Joy (@lydias--stiles) Rating: T Length: 1k- 1/1 

Summary: Look, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert wasn't heartbroken. She was, for like a day, but then she had mustered all the power a Marilla glare could contain and got over it. Did she still love Gilbert? Sure. But alas, she was a summer storm, and he a winter sun. In which Anne tries to move on, but a certain hazel eyed boy won't let her.

41.the road not taken By: melissa13 (@annesurelyblythe) Rating: G Length: 2k-1/1

Summary: Years after the events of Season 3, a chance encounter in a bookstore brings Gilbert face-to-face with an old flame causing him to reflect on his new marriage. Features Anne and Gilbert being adorable newlyweds.

Winnies a darling and Gilbert is such a proud husband. When Winfred says “love looks good on you Blythe” l lose my mind 

42.Maybe The Universe Has Other Plans By: Cones_McMurphy Rating: G Length: 2k- 1/1 

Summary: Four times Gilbert Blythe tries to propose to Anne Shirley and fails, and the one time he doesn't try and succeed

This one is actually green gables fables which is a modern au told through vlogs and social media that you can watch on YouTube right now! Anyway, even though it’s not Anne with an e it’s just Gilbert trying to propose to Anne and it’s very cute! 

43.be still my foolish heart (don't ruin this on me)  By: theatrythms (@fairrobb, @smearclouds) Rating: G Length: 5k- 1/1

Summary: (The idea was always, always, always a bad one, but it sounded so romantical, so whimsical; to throw a stunt for all of her friends and get to spend time with Gilbert in the process.) Or; fake-dating, and the aftermath.

44.one look in your eyes and i found my favourite colour  By:  simonsjumper  Rating: G Length: 5k- 3/? 

Summary: au where everyone can only see in black and white until a moment between them and their soulmate triggers colour gradually appearing into both of their worlds (and yes, it happens during dance practice)

45.Of Tongue and Pen By: piperholmes Rating: G Length: 5k- 2/2 

Summary: When Gilbert returns Anne’s pen, he is reminded of what’s important and what it means to live a passionate life. He finally understands he needs to ask the right questions. Now featuring an epilogue!

46.this, and my heart beside By: fruitwhirl (@ametroepya) Rating: G Length: 6k- 1/2 

Summary: It’s three months in Toronto before she runs into him. Or rather, he runs into her. Well, okay, there is very little running involved at all.

Gilbert and Anne becoming friends in Toronto together!

47.Those With Wit and Learning Will Always Find Their Kind(red spirits)

By: WideScopeofImagination Rating: G Length: 126k- 5/7 

Summary: Anne Shirley thinks its a dream beyond her wildest imagination come true when she learns she's a witch and can attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.There are still challenges, of course.Or: How Anne has to keep solving magical disasters with muggle common sense, and finds her kindred spirits along the way

48.all of the dreams that get harder, all of the things that I offer you By: anbethmarie Rating: G Length: 7k-3/3 

Summary: Anne receives proposals of marriage from various and undesirable quarters. Gilbert Blythe naturally happens to stumble upon her immediately afterwards every time.

49.Time and Tide  By: jacksparrow589 (@js589) Rating: G-M Length: 35k- 8 works 

Summary: The Modern AU that nobody wanted and nobody asked for that just keeps on spawning new tales.

This is a series of 8 works (all fantastic) so i just put the entire thing here. Modern au set in college. Check the author's recommended reading order! 

50.a rose amongst thorns  By: not_so_weary_pilgrim Rating: G Length: 7k-3/3 

Summary: Anne swallows, so hard that it hurts. His head is bent over her hand, and she suddenly realizes that with all the growing he’s done in the past year or so the top of his head is an uncommon sight for her. In fact, the last time she saw those dark curls from this vantage point was when he bowed after their dance practice at school.She nearly flinches away from memories of that golden afternoon, when Gilbert’s eyes never left hers, when she was only vaguely aware of anyone else being in the room, when he pulled her closer than the dance required but it still wasn’t close enough.

Anne gets hit on the face and doctor gilbert in action!!!! He is way too worried about her but it’s very cute and well written. 

51.doctor's visit  By: seashel  Rating: G  Length: 1k-1/1 

Summary: turns out, gilbert isn't the only one afraid of needles.

Short modern au where Gilbert takes Anne to the doctors. High key the main reason this fic is on here is because he calls her baby. 

52.Takes the Cake By: bookwormforalways (@bookwormforalways) Rating: T Length: 2k-1/1

Summary: Anne and Gilbert, finally happily married, bake a cake to celebrate two months of being married.

53.to look in somebody's eyes, to light up the skies (to open the world and send it reeling)  By: lovishq Rating: G Length: 3k-1/1 

Summary: Anne Shirley's imaginary friends, fanciful names and women carved out of magic and fairytales are remnants of past lives, and they are all drawn to every Gilbert Blythe like moth to a flame. 

Ok, this one is like really cool. It’s this whole idea where Anne and Gilbert keep falling in love in different lifetimes but it’s always tragic until it isn’t. It’s really well written and just cool.

54.I don't have a choice (but I'd still choose you)  By: writergirl8 Rating: T  Length: 6k-1/1 

Summary: Anne knows now what it feels like to have someone looking at you like you are the most beautiful thing in the world.

I had to shorten the summary because its just so long, but basically this is a beautifully written fic that's just shirbert being fluff after season 3

55.everything you wanted, everything you don't  By: theystayalive Rating: G  Length: 2k-1/1  

Summary: And finally, when everything in his life quieted for just a moment, his heart molded his million thoughts into one word: Anne. In which Gilbert finds his way home.

56.that's the kindof love (i've been dreaming of) By: metsuryuogi (@natsujpg) Rating: G Length: 12k-1/1 

Summary: In which Anne and Gilbert spend their first year together, and apart. 

A really cute post season three fic! It also has a sequel that you can read Here

57.A Very Tragic, Romantical Secret (Understanding of a Pre-) Engagement  By: christah8 Rating: G Length: 5k, 1/1 

Summary: Post 3x08 AU where Gilbert avoids Anne for the summer and attends Queens College in the fall.

It's got a scavenger hunt and they are just so cute!

58.A Christmas gift By: writingshirbert Rating: G Length: 2k-1/1  

Summary: Gilbert comes home for Christmas. Set after season 3.

59.The reality of baking Christmas cookies  By: writingshirbert Rating: G Length: 3k-1/1 

Summary: Anne really wants to win the neighbourhood competition over who has the best Christmas decorations, however her neighbour is making it really hard for her to do so. 

60.the one person who makes me feel like i can take a fucking breath ( i can't have without completely destroying you ) By: softmullen Rating: NR Length: 5k-1/1 

Summary: IF THERE WAS ONE thing you needed to know about the cuthbert-baynard family, it was that the two and only children did not get along. and it wasn't the 'not getting along' like constantly arguing, no, they just didn't speak. it was like they absolutely hated each other and no one quite knew why. especially gilbert blythe, who had been best friends with jerry since before he could remember. it's always just been the two of them, until jerry's father remarried, moving them three streets down in a rather large house.

An “Edge of 17” au. Anne and Jerry being siblings- 10/10

61,you're already home where you feel loved By: c19 Rating: G Length: 11k-1/1 

Summary: Soulmate marks were only for special people, everyone kept telling them, but Anne and Gilbert both felt decidedly unspecial. Soulmate AU where the soulmate part isn't all that important.

62.The Language of My Unwavering Heart  By: bravebatgirl (@bravebatgorl) Rating: T Length: 70k- 7/15 

Summary:Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is attending college, exploring the excitement of entering womanhood beside her friends, and has even achieved a not-so-tragical romance. Everything is finally settling into place for the bride of adventure, but there are others still in dire straits. How is it that so much pain can be caused in a world about to turn a new century? 

63.I'll See You in the Orchard By: wanderinginthewoods Rating: T Length: 20k-3/3 

Summary: An alternate final, where Gilbert has to leave for Toronto later on, and doesn't bump into Diana. Meanwhile Anne--after meeting Winifred--finds herself on a spontaneous journey to Avonlea to confront him for not telling her about his lack of engagement--amongst other things. 

64.The Many Faces of Gilbert Blythe By: Purple_Slippers_18  Rating: T  Length: 50k-10/10 

Summary: Anne was looking forward to meeting Avonlea's new schoolmaster, and if she could only stop herself from being distracted by the memory of a tall, dark, handsome stranger that she knows she'll never meet again, she was sure she would make an excellent impression on the new teacher, no matter what Minnie May had to say

65.Into the Sun By: goldinavonlea (@goldinavonlea) Rating: T  Length: 5k-1/1  

Summary: Summer had arrived in Avonlea. In all truth, summer had arrived in Avonlea several weeks earlier, but the inclement internal weather of Anne’s life of late had rendered the view rather cloudy from her window for a while there, and so perhaps it was better to say that summer had arrived—finally—in Anne. And what a summer it was. Or, Anne and Gilbert spend 5000 words ignoring all rules of Victorian propriety in favour of becoming the human embodiments of warm syrup.

Pure fluff, and written so well!

66.life is momentous, indeed  By: bruadarxch (@rootedbutfl0wing)  Rating: G Length: 2k-1/1 

Summary: "She turns around trying to wipe off her tears and there he is, galloping down Lovers’ Lane in his horse, like a brooding hero in a romance novel. Bastard."Anne mopes and Gilbert finally does what he has to do.

67.something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue By: lxstdreams Rating: NR  Length: 1k-1/1 

Summary: how to propose to someone the moody spurgeon style(ruby x moody) 

One of the very few not shirbert centric fics, but sooo cute! 

68.oh i swear to you (i'll be there for you) By: cornerinthepouringrain Rating: T Length: 9k- 1/1 

Summary: They sort of become a family, her and Jerry and Ruby and Gilbert (after she forgave him for the thing they don’t speak about), and they were annoying little shits who ate all her food and trashed her apartment, but... she was happy. It was a slow realization, one that didn’t really strike her until she was sitting on the floor in her pajamas, watching Ruby smack Jerry repeatedly after catching the boy stealing her Monopoly money as Gilbert rolled around in tears clutching his stomach. 

Friends Au! I just love it so much

69.you don't have to say nothing - you don't have to say you're mine By: goddessbeltane Rating: M (warning: rape/non-con) Length: 27k-1/1 

Summary: I hate this asshole. Asshole! The nerve! Anne rose from her chair abruptly, striding over to the counter to meet an obviously frightened Gilbert – though she couldn’t blame him for being scared, the last time she looked at him like that was about five seconds before he was violently doused - before folding her arms across her chest. “And just what would you know about soulmates, Blythe?”

The Office Au! If you can't tell, I love sitcom aus. Mentions of rape (not graphic)  

70.If You're Wondering If I Want You To  By: teal_always Rating: T Length: 16k-1/1 

Summary:  Princess Cordelia cordially invites Princess Delphine to join her on the playground to witness Sir Gilbert's courting of Princess Cordelia's mother, Queen Anne. Or Gilbert Blythe will piss off Anne Shirley-Cuthbert upon meeting her in any and all universes.

Single parent au! Just so good!

71.A Little Crazy By: YumKiwiDelicious Rating: NR Length: 3k-1/1

Summary: They’re eight and she’s got the knobbiest knees Gilbert has ever seen. || 5 times Anne tells Gilbert she loves him +1 time he actually takes her seriously||

72. we can leave the christmas lights up till januaryBy: Alice_Prongs Rating: T Length: 17k-3/3

Summary: the boys are throwing a christmas party before they leave for the holidays. that's fine. it's fine, really. all anne needs to do is stay sober throughout it and nothing will go wrong. like, you know, blurting out all of her feelings for gilbert blythe in front of him.

Modern + Christmas + Angst = a fantastic fic! (also sequel Here)

73.silence is the blood whose flesh is singing By: ashleykay Rating: NR Length: 4k-1/1  

Summary: Anne Shirley does not believe in soulmates. And she will not be swayed otherwise. She believes only in love freely given. Soulmate AU. Timers.

74.The 10 Rules of Anne and Gilbert's Fake Relationship By: anexistence Rating: G Length: 18k-4/11 

Summary: She’s kissing Gilbert Blythe, who is surprisingly eagerly kissing her back. Ew, she’s kissing Gilbert Blythe. Anne pulls away, and masks her horror by smiling sweetly up at him. He has that warm yet bemused look on his face. “Hey, there” he smirks, and Anne wishes she could just wipe the smirk away. “A favour for a favour,” she whispers. “You owe me some brownies, Carrots.”

75.thin ice  By: antspaul Rating: T (warning- eating disorder)  Length: 30k-7/7  

Summary: "She still has a long way to go. Frustration builds in her throat and she wishes she could eat what she wanted and still stay slim and beautiful and perfect like Anne or Ruby. But things are the way things are. Nothing can be done about that. Diana will be beautiful. She just has to stay in control." When her world seems to be falling apart at the seams, Diana Barry finds power in the strict regulation of food. At the same time, her friendship with the Cuthbert's farm boy grows into more than she could have expected. And so she spirals.

The other not shirbert centric fic (but they are mentioned). Whether or not you like Diana x Jerry it's still really interesting to see a fic from Diana's perspective. Mentions of eating disorders are VERY graphic. Stay safe kids. There's also an (uncompleted) sequel Here

76.All This Time, I Was Waiting For You  By: MeggieB Rating: M Length: 2k-1/1 

Summary: Five Times Gilbert Blythe says "Carrots"

Pure fluff! Includes young shirbert and married shirbert! 

77.Dream a Little Dream of Me  By: PhoebeDillard (@gilbvrtblythe) Rating: G Length: 8k-1/1  

Summary: Anne Shirley had been fascinated by the very idea of a dream her entire life. So imagine her surprise when she finally has hers and in it appears a prince that looks suspiciously similar to Gilbert Blythe. A Soulmate AU where everyone has one dream their entire life, and in it they see the face of their true love.

78.real or not real By: thearkdelinquents Rating: NR Length: 11k-1/1 

Summary: a fake dating fic but it's basically just a shirbert To All The Boys I Loved Before au.

79.Flowers in His Heart By:  Ephemeral_Joy (@lydias--stiles) Rating: G Length: 1k-1/1

Summary: ‘Don’t be,’ he said, shaking him head, ‘I was dreaming.’ Anne carefully smiled, placing her chin on her palm. ‘About?’ Gilbert paused for a moment. How could he reply to that? (“I dreamt about pinning you against the grass and kissing you”, wasn’t exactly an acceptable answer.) Or, he weighed the option, he could work with it. (or: Gilbert and Anne hang out and they definitely do not like each other. At all.)

80.Strawberry Tarts By: carrotsblythe Rating: G Length: 3k-1/1

Summary: Anne refuses to take part in another game of Spin the Bottle. And naturally, so does Gilbert.

81.Pretty Injuries  By: novahainn Rating: G (warning: PTSD, child abuse) Length: 5k-1/1 

Summary: Gilbert spent his childhood covered in flowers. Anne spent her childhood covered in some injury or other. Their meeting involves both. Soulmate AU where flowers appear on a person's soulmate when the person is injured.

82.From Red to Green With Love Between By: PhoebeDillard (@gilbvrtblythe) Rating: G Length: 7k-1/1

Summary: Gilbert Blythe was born with a tuft of red hair sticking out from amidst his unruly dark curls... until the day it turned green. A Soulmate AU where everyone has a streak of hair that matches the color of their true love.

 83.you belong somewhere close to me By: georgiestauffenberg Rating: G (warning: mentions of child abuse)  Length: 20k-1/1

Summary: “I know, son. I know. But if you feel what your soulmate feels, it is likely that she feels what you feel.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand? If you are happy, she will be happy, too. Do you think you can be happy for her?” He nodded. “Yes.” He would think happy thoughts every possible moment if he must. AU. Gilbert is one of those rare, lucky souls who has a soulmate.

84. Shirbert One Shot + Drabble Collection By: Lil_Redhead (@royalcordeila) Rating: G-T Length: 43k’

I could have individually put every single fic on this list, but I thought it would be better to put the entire collection. You can find everything you're looking for here. I recommend them all but here are my personal favorites 

In the Blue Haze, The Peace, The Storm, She Has Brains Enough for Two , A Sweet Heart Won, Take Notice, Here is the Echo of a Sound I Wanted, things that fall (i, for you), Lifemate,when the sun goes to sleep

85. Time Turns to Amber By: Lil_Redhead (@royalcordeila) Rating: T Length: 42k-7/?

Summary: The line between universes is blurred when Anne Shirley of Green Gables suddenly switches lives with Ann Cuthbert, a university student living in the contemporary world. Suddenly Anne must learn how to navigate the modern world, one which contains a boyfriend, a part time job, and another year of university. Meanwhile, Ann struggles to tackle corsets, farming, and a world without electricity. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but most people can't tell the difference between the redhead they know and the girl who replaced her. Anne (and Ann) have to learn to live as the other and try to find a way back to their own homes.

[sohin-ace]

Dio - Feed

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

Sick. You felt sick.

You were currently laid on your side on the bed you shared with Dio. It was like your body was dying. You spent your days like this, unable to move, restless and with no strength to do anything.

You only stayed like this, lips and throat dry, skin pale, breath heavy, eyes stinging. From any exterior perspective, it would just look like you had a fever, or a bad case of the flu.

But it wasn't even close to that.

After protesting for so long, Dio turned you into a vampire to live eternity with him. You loved the man, but you didn't want nor were you ready to give up your humanity yet.

You were forced into this new life and you couldn't bear it. No matter what you did or what he told you, you just couldn't feed on humans, as you still felt like you were human yourself.

Vampires couldn't die, or at least, not easily. But depriving themselves of blood stopped the process of regeneration, thus explaining your current state.

You were dying, but you wouldn't die.

Dio did everything he could to make you eat, but everytime he brought someone to feed on, you just couldn't.

He brought men, women, children, criminals, old folks, sick people, dead people, anyone to make you feel better about feeding on humans. But in vain.

The blonde man entered your bedroom and came towards you. He leaned over the bed a put one hand over your covered figure.

"How do you feel today, my love?" He softly asked the same question he asked everyday.

"... A little bit tired..." you hoarsely whispered, barely able to look up at him.

You heard him sigh in desperation. You didn't want to feel like this either. You knew you were a burden to Dio, but Dio brought this burden to yourself too. It was a vicious circle of blaming each other.

"Dio... Please kill me already... I can't take this anymore..."

The man flinched at your attrocious words. Kill you? The love of his life? That wasn't even an option. He swore to find a way to make you accept your newfound lifestyle, even if it took centuries.

"In no way in hell am I killing you Y/N. You know this."

"Dio..." you weakly said "I can't bring myself to do it... I am human..." your breathing was more and more laboured as you spoke and Dio noticed.

He sat at the edge of the bed and pushed your shoulders slightly to make you lie down on your back and look at him.

"Y/N, weither you want it or not, you are not human anymore. You are way more than that. We are better than that. We are another form of life, way stronger than humans."

You closed your eyes. He was right, and you believed him, but you still felt your humanity deep inside you, blocking you.

He took your hand in his and pulled the covers off of your body.

"Get up, I brought you someone else today."

You weren't confident at all, you knew you wouldn't be able to do it either today, but you felt bad that Dio tried so hard to help you, so you didn't fight and got up, but not without difficulty as your lover helped you up.

He put his arm around your shoulders in support and slowly lead you to another room where a young woman was waiting, kneeled down next to Vanilla Ice.

"Thank you Ice. You can go." Dio ordered.

The loyal man bowed to his master, and went on his way, leaving you three alone and closing the door behind him.

You stared at the woman in front of you with sad empathy. Dio put you in front of the woman, pressing slightly on your shoulders in an attempt to relax you.

"This one is a bit different. I asked of Vanilla Ice to look for someone who actually desired to be bitten by a vampire. You don't have to kill her, but even if you do, she wouldn't mind. Isn't that right, Melissa?"

"That's right, Lord Dio! I don't mind at all! It's always been my wildest dream to be bitten by a real vampire! I don't care if I die if it's by you Milady Y/N!" The woman squealed with stars in her eyes.

You weren't completely convinced, but you thought about how much trouble it must have been to find such a specific person for you to feed on. What were the odds of finding a person who actually wanted to be bitten by a vampire.

You walked towards the woman and kneeled in front of her, taking in her features. She seemed lost in your vampiric red eyes, almost eager to what was going to happen next.

Dio was confident. This time, it would work, you would finally feed on someone and get some well deserved energy.

You were nervous, scared even. You couldn't look at the woman's eyes in shame, and only stared at the exposed skin of her neck and chest.

Your heart beat faster inside your ribcage and your throat felt even drier by the second. Your natural instincts started to kick in.

'It's okay,' you thought to reassure yourself. 'She wants it, and you need it. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong at all.'

You slowly leaned over her neck, resting one cold hand on her shoulder, and the other at the base of her jawline. With sharpened senses, you could smell and hear her warm blood pumping through her veins and you gulped.

You felt your stomach churn, almost nauseous at the sheer craving. Your hands were shaky and your fangs were out and ready to destroy any piece of flesh that came in the way of your longed meal.

You leaned even closer to her neck, and before you could finally give in, you whispered against her ear.

"...It's going to hurt... Are you sure?" you asked, secretely wanting her to protest and flee.

But she only put her chained hands over your front and clung to you, shaking slightly. You paused at this. Feeling her breathing quicken and the way she gripped on your chest for dear life.

You abruptly let go of her and got up, running to Dio's chest, yet again disgusted with yourself. You wanted to throw up.

"My head hurts Dio, I can't do it, If I start I won't stop, I won't hold back, this is driving me crazy I-" you shrieked through heavy breaths, hasty and panicked, but the man in front of you cut you off by grabbing your arms.

"Y/N, calm down! Look at me." You stopped yourself and looked up at his handsome features.

As intimidating as he looked, his charming expression calmed your nerves and you felt sad and disappointed. Again, after all he went through for you, you couldn't give in to your vampire instincts.

Tears welled up in your eyes. This was just not possible. You couldn't be a vampire. You couldn't force it inside you.

"Please Dio, end this. I know you're tired of it, I have no self-control, I'm not strong like you. I love you but-"

"Melissa, we'll get back to you later. For now, you can retire."

The woman got up and went out, joining Vanilla Ice and letting you alone. A deafening silence set itself in the room as you looked down in shame.

You expected Dio to yell and show his impatience. Even you were tired of yourself. And you were tired of living like this. As the pressure of his silence was starting to get unbearable, he said.

"Just as all things, the hardest part is the start. Do it once, and all the following times will feel natural." he spoke surprisingly softly. You looked up at him.

"The first time is the hardest...?"

He caressed your hair gently and it put you at ease. As bad as he could be, you didn't deserve him, or deserved to be treated this nicely by him.

"I have a solution, but I wanted to keep it as a last resort. Y/N, do you trust me?"

You looked into his deep amber eyes with confusion. There was a solution? You nodded, telling him that you of course, trusted him. His lips curled upwards.

"I actually, wanted to keep this for the bedroom, but you are hardly giving us any choice."

He leaned down to your level and cupped your chin in his huge hand. You blushed at the sudden contact.

"My poor Y/N, look at you, so frail, and ill, and so delicate..." he paused and leaned close to your ear, proudly exposing his powerful neck to you.

"Do it." he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your eyes widened, and before you could answer in any way, he wrapped his strong arms around you, locking you into place.

"If you won't feed on any humans, at least for your first time, I will allow you to use me. You won't kill me, and I am not just anyone to you."

"I-is this okay...? You... Want to?" You hesitated, not believing his words.

That was it. Dio was the only one you trusted with this decision. If it was him, you could do it, at least this once. Maybe after this, you'll be able to control your thirst, not kill humans, and accept your fate as an eternal being.

"This is the most intimate way to show a vampire's love besides intercourse, so this is why I wanted to wait for a more appropriate time, when you felt better but..." he planted a soft kiss on your jawline. "It seems nothing else will unlatch you."

You melted in his embrace and nuzzled his neck sighing, taking in his scent.

"Thank you, Dio. What would I do without you?" you softly breathed against his skin and he shuddered.

Finally you felt ready. You brought your hands upwards, caressing him from his chest to his neck where you finally rested them. You peppered his neck with butterfly kisses to which he chuckled.

What you lacked with the human strangers he brought you was the passion. If it was with Dio, you could do anything. Right now you could only feel love and gratitude towards the man, not nausea or animalistic hunger like earlier.

You opened your mouth and ran your warm tongue over his skin in order to prep him.

"Higher." he huskily ordered as he shivered at the pleasurable feeling and laid one hand behind your head.

"This is where you'll get the most of it. Remember this." You complied, listening to him as he guided you towards the perfect spot. "Good."

You stopped yourself before you planted your sharp fangs in his smooth skin to whisper.

"I love you."

I'm sorry if your name is melissa lol

[scarlettlawyer]

I posted this short little fic on AO3 a few months ago, and have now made some slight edits and am posting it here. Post-Dual Destinies, characters featured are the phantom, Simon and Athena. No pairings, 1094 words. They’re nothing but one act after another...

-----

In the performance that constitutes their life, “the phantom” will serve to be their final role.

It is the only role they have left now, and they have every intention of playing the part up until the very end. It’s not them, because they aren’t anyone or anything. It’s just another mask of sorts, a new persona to slip into, one gracefully bestowed upon them by one Prosecutor Simon Blackquill.

It was only once all the physical masks were gone, taken away from them, that they were able to truly take into account this last remaining “mask” they had in their possession. Even if it wasn’t one they could cover their face with, it could still serve as the guideline that they so desperately needed, for without a persona or a role to act out, they’d be nothing.

Prosecutor Blackquill’s attempts to label them and analyse “the phantom” had been a fundamentally misguided endeavour from the very start. There was, after all, nothing to label or assign an essence to, and therefore anything born from his attempts at classification would be inevitably misconstruing reality.

It was precisely this that had allowed a new persona of sorts to take shape for them to inhabit. It still wasn’t them, because they had no self to be, but it didn’t matter. Everyone around them had conjured up an idea of what “the phantom” was like, and those guidelines were all that was needed. It was more concept than persona, restricting and ill-defined, as any vague and illusory projection would inevitably be, but it was enough.

They would become a perfect reflection of whatever Blackquill expected to see.

There was just one thing that was out of place… Blackquill asked them why they were crying. They didn't know they were, but touching their hand to the wetness on their face was enough to confirm it. It's just something that happens - as for why, they couldn't say. It comes and goes. They'd never had this issue before, but ever since their breakdown in court, the silent tears would leak from their eyes every so often, and without warning. It made little sense, as they could perceive no difference in their internal state compared to when the tears flowed and when they were absent.

As far as they could tell, they were mostly back to “normal” in terms of blankness and emptiness – a very good resemblance to how they were before all of this happened, even though something had been a little different ever since their cover had been blown. Something about them seemed to have become fundamentally damaged ever since the breakdown… This much, they could surmise. Perhaps that was the source of the silent bouts of tears that streamed from their eyes. But whatever was broken, whatever the source, there was no use pondering it, as it hardly mattered now - their career was at an end, and soon their life would follow suit.

At some point, even the Cykes girl came to see them. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that she came not to see them, but instead to listen to whatever signals the nothingness contained within them may be giving off. Why bother at all? What was the point? It was likely that Prosecutor Blackquill selfishly wanted to try and bring them into a state where they would be more likely to talk, to provide names and information, which would first require some kind of assessment of how they were at present.

Cykes’ diagnosis, as she gazed upon the Mood Matrix that they certainly didn’t ask her to pull up, was that they were “scared”. If they knew anything at all, it was that this conclusion was not quite right. Death was coming for them in one form or another as things currently were, and they were faced with it from every angle, so the intense fear for their life that they’d felt during the trial had long since lost its novelty. They knew what fear was because it was what they’d felt back then, and what they also knew was that it was not what they were experiencing now. Fear makes sense when there might be chance of escape, when all is not yet lost. But when the worst seems to have already come to pass, what is left is acceptance. What was the point of fearing death now when it was just a matter of waiting for the inevitable to come? There was nothing left for them and their hollow existence beyond going through the motions until the curtains finally drew to a close on said existence.

Cykes had other little theories, too. She and Blackquill would sometimes speak about them as if they were not there. After all, they never said much, only spoke very rarely, and usually didn’t respond to words directly addressed to them.

“I think the phantom… went so long without experiencing any emotions. But then, in the trial… they experienced so much emotion all at once. So, what if it can no longer be stopped entirely? Even if the emotions aren’t being felt on a conscious level… maybe they’d find another way out, and that’s the cause of the crying?”

It didn’t matter.

“Ah!” she had also exclaimed, at some point. When pressed by Blackquill, she’d spoken again. “It’s always been especially hard to use my Mood Matrix on the phantom because, you know… But. I think I got something wrong.”

“Something wrong?” Blackquill had repeated.

“Yeah. The phantom – they’re not afraid.”

Only their eyes moved, looking over at the two of them upon hearing that. Blackquill was frowning, and didn’t hesitate to voice his confusion. "Not afraid? But it is evident to the eye that the Mood Matrix is registering just that, unless my eyes deceive me. Or perhaps you mean to say that there is some sort of fault with its interface?"

“Is it an issue with the Mood Matrix’s display? Yes and no,” Athena replied. “I guess… It’s a little oversimplified, sometimes, and that can be an issue. Usually my hearing helps make up for that and distinguish when need be, but in this case it’s so hard to hear anything clear… The problem isn’t that it’s displaying incorrectly. The problem is how simplified the interface is. I don’t think they’re afraid, I think they’re sad. Sadness and fear are both represented by the same section, so it’ll light up regardless of whichever emotion is being felt. In this case, I may have mistaken one for the other…”

They closed their eyes. It didn’t matter.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 20--Zexion

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo continues to play into Xehanort's hands, and finds an old ally in the process.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It took time to earn Xehanort’s trust--perhaps too much. But then again, considering Ienzo had suffered “twelve years of indoctrination with propaganda”, it was surprising the man began to trust him at all.

Two weeks after his initial arrival at the castle, his milk dried up completely, an ache so intense he felt it inside of his still-deadened magic. Amalia would be six weeks old. His arms felt so empty without her. He hoped that she was safe, healthy, that Demyx was with her. He had to believe this for his sanity.

Ienzo had to be clever. He was shocked at how easily deception came to him--deception that had never been used to do anything more than hide when Even sought him. He pretended to take an intense interest in “Ansem”’s research. And to be honest, he was interested, but not in the way he let on.

“Darkness is intrinsic in every heart,” the man told him. Ienzo was joining them for meals now. “If we can draw out that darkness… we can give people power. Help them shed their bonds of tyranny.”

“But it seems there’s some kind of transmutative property to darkness which is mostly unpredictable,” Ienzo said carefully. “How do you plan on controlling that?”

“I have several tests running which may illuminate such things,” Ansem said, and elaborated no more.

Ienzo swallowed. “I see. Perhaps you may… let me see some of this research. I wonder if my power might provide some sort of… insight.” He continued to eat, as casually as possible.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I’m sure its absence must make you feel blind. You do understand why we had to do things this way, yes?”

Ienzo smiled. “Of course. Were I in your shoes I’m sure I would’ve done the same.” He decided to take the risk. “What… did you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Ansem grinned back. “Placed a limiter upon you,” he said. “A self-replicating injectable. Given time… I’m sure my father would consent for you to receive its antidote.”

Ienzo tried not to show his horror. “Quite.”

Once a week or so, Xehanort requested an “audience” with Ienzo. He seemed to be selecting places he thought would be most important to Ienzo; the gardens, the main library, his father’s study. And they were; seeing how they had been perverted seemed like a personal slight. But Ienzo had to be cordial, polite, accommodating. Instead he forced himself to thank him for allowing him this much “freedom.”

They were being served tea in the rose garden one afternoon. It was a bit too cold to be outside, and Ienzo hadn’t been given a coat, just a sweater. There were two heaters hovering around, but they didn’t do much.

“I must thank you for your patience,” Xehanort said smoothly. “I know this must not be easy for you, to be treated a prisoner in your own home.”

“I thought I was a…” He took a deliberate pause here. “Guest.”

Xehanort chuckled. “A guest in a locked, warded walk-in closet?”

“...Your words, not mine.”

He picked up his cup. True to Lydia’s word, all of his family preferred things dark, sour, and bitter; Ienzo wondered if they could not taste well due to the darkness. “I would like nothing more than to allow you run of the castle, to give you quarters more… suitable for someone of your status.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

“My sons don’t trust you,” Xehanort said. “ I think you were a little boy misled by people who supposedly cared about you. No. You have been nothing but tolerant of how we’ve treated you, questioning nothing.”

“Over the intervening years… I’ve been treated worse,” he said pleasantly. It was time to lie, and lie big.

This got his attention. “Have you, my dear prince?”

“Oh, yes. Quite often we’ve stayed in… places of ill repute, in cities crawling with danger. My guardians… coddled me endlessly, would not allow me the freedom to make my own choices. They said it was for my safety.” He tutted. “But do they truly wish for me to be king, if I am not allowed to make choices? Or am I… a puppet?”

Xehanort’s face organized itself into something he must’ve thought pity. “What would you have chosen, then?” he asked. “Xemnas said you were rather distraught, that night, when Even was injured.”

“Isn’t any child distraught when seeing violence for the first time? I did care about him then,  I won’t lie.”

“Do you, now?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’m sure your son must have told you stories of their years working together. Even is… hard to read. It’s hard to tell what he wants, what his intentions truly are. He is quite a master manipulator, Xehanort. I don’t know what I should believe.”

Xehanort smiled widely. “I think you’re allowed to decide what you believe now, child.”

Hook, line, sinker.

---

Soon after, Ienzo was moved from that small, enclosed room to his old bedroom. Seeing it was like a small gut-punch of memory. Had this space always been so open, the bed so exposed? It was smaller than he remembered, but larger than anywhere else he’d stayed in all this time. The bed was a king, four-poster, neatly made in violet silk, thin curtains tied back to each post. There was a large white marble fireplace with flowers carved all along it, a small chaise nearby. A sitting room adjoined this space, with a writing desk, a table to take his meals, three of the walls lined with bookshelves and storage; the fourth was mostly windowed. The bathroom, too, seemed large and exposed, too much light. Admittedly it was much more comfortable to wait in these rooms. At least he had the luxury of pacing, of books.

As much as he could, Ienzo researched. It seemed like a lot of the textbooks his father had given him had been removed, leaving spaces like missing teeth. Books about the science and theory behind magic… the fairy tales.

Time was passing.

His longing for his daughter and Demyx only seemed to be getting stronger. He knew he was missing the small moments, the important ones, moments crucial to her development. He didn’t even have the peace of his pendant, considering he’d taken it off that evening before bed. Being polite, kind to them--especially the youngest--was wearing. More than once he cried in the shower, and now and again there was the fleeting thought of what it might feel like to “fall” out the window. But it was never more than a passing impulse. He would see Amalia again, even if it killed him. He repeated it to himself, constantly, a manta. He would hold her, smell her. Play with her.

But Ienzo played into their palms wonderfully. He expressed curiosity about darkness, he yes’ed them to death when it came to their ideals. He complimented “Ansem”. When Xehanort offered him the new “name,” he knew it was a major sign of trust. Still, hearing that clunky X thrown into the name he had chosen so carefully felt like another stab to the self.

He needed to get down to the lab, desperately, but the few times he asked he was so politely told no. Ienzo took vociferous notes of whatever he was told, carving them between the lines of his storybooks. He left thin pencil leads among the spines to see if anyone was snooping through his things; it seemed like they weren’t, as they never broke.

He needed his power back. If he had his power, he could sneak down into the lab. There were no other computers connected to the OS that had Tron; he checked as soon as he was allowed to, but the computers Ienzo could access just had the basic office programs, editing programs, things of that ilk, as well as the Internet. Using that, too, was just about useless; he knew that Even had likely taken them off the grid again. And all social media was blocked, preventing him from getting any messages to any of his other friends. He wondered about physical letters. Maybe Lydia might pass something on for him? But he didn’t quite trust her yet, either, despite the fact that she seemed to be his devoted maid, and she hadn't exposed the fact he'd had a child. If he had the power, he could sense her intentions. Everything hinged on performing well enough to get the magic back.

Fall deepened into winter. He’d forgotten what these coastal winters were like, wind howling against the windows, making every room freezing despite the double-paned windows and the fireplaces.

Every now and again Xehanort, or one of his sons, would not-so-subtly pry for information about Ansem, about the resistance. Ienzo told them the rare truth in this case; he had no idea where Ansem was or what he was up to. He also said that Even had refused to tell him anything about the resistance. He kept his answers as consistent as possible, fully aware this was why they kept asking.

It seemed that several things happened in quick succession. “Ansem” deigned to give him his power back; Xehanort wanted to reintroduce him to the public; and someone else he’d nearly forgotten entered his life.

“You’ve been gracious,” Ansem told him. “My father agrees that there’s no point in suppressing your power further, lest we cause it undue harm.”

So Ienzo was led downstairs, so temptingly close to that lab, was laid onto a narrow gurney and strapped down. “What are--”

Ansem started an IV. “The serum works theoretically . But I don’t know for sure how it reacts inside a human body. This is… mostly for your own safety. Can’t have you falling and hitting that precious head of yours.”

Was that sarcasm?

“Don’t you trust me, Zexion?” Ansem purred. “There. Now be a good boy and try not to move.”

Something cold and stinging entered the port Ansem had placed in his hand; it felt like ice water being injected inside Ienzo’s veins. He jerked without meaning to.

“Stillness, boy.”

The cold crept down all along his body, a sharp shattering pain. Ienzo wondered briefly if he were simply being poisoned before he felt a heaviness in the pit of his being, something being lifted and dragged out of him. The serum made his muscles spasm, and he found himself grateful for the restraints. A pained noise left him.

“There, there, Zexion. Not much farther.”

The coldness worsened. He felt as though he could barely breathe, his magic straining against the limiter in his body, breaking it apart. Ienzo could feel dampness and realized it was his own sweat. He felt a mask being placed against his face and jumped before he realized it was just oxygen.

He thought he might shatter, his back arching against the bed. The magic bled back into his body, nearly as painful as when Amalia had separated from him. The pain peaked suddenly, and he blacked out.

---

Ienzo woke slowly.

He was in the infirmary of the castle. Something felt… off, about his body, and he realized it was because the heavy dead wrongness he’d carried all these months was gone. The magic sat under his skin, pregnantly. The serum had worked. There was still an oxygen mask on his face, an IV in his hand. It hurt to move; every bit of him was sore.

“...Why don’t you be a good little boy and rest?”

Ienzo jerked. He recognized the feel of this person, his voice. He tried to speak.

The man came into the range of his sighted eye. “Easy,” he said softly. “Easy, Zexion. ”

Ienzo swallowed. His mouth was so dry. In front of him was “...Braig.” No more than a whisper.

“These days I go by Xigbar, but whatever floats your boat.” He sat on the plastic chair near the bed.

“You look…”

He chuckled. “Like shit?”

“...Different.” He did. His hair was much longer, half-streaked through with white; Ienzo could not tell if he’d aged prematurely, or if it were something else. But then he saw his gold eye, his pointed ears. The eyepatch. “This whole time you’ve been… here?”

“Past thirteen years, kiddo.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Good help is hard to come by. All I had to do was swear allegiance to the old man. Would you believe he let me? But after all, I was around you, your old man for years. Figured I’d have to know something.”

Xigbar was hard to read. “So you decided to pay my sickbed a visit?”

“Soon as I heard. They’ve kept word of you being here hush-hush. But there’s a sweet little old lady who thought I’d like to know.”

Lydia. Ienzo swallowed.

“Don’t know what you’re trying to get at. Don’t know that I need to know, either.” He leaned forward a little. “Aren’t you handsome now? Just like your daddy.” A pause. “I guard the old man too.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Come on, kid. You and me were always pot-stirrers.” A laugh. “I don’t believe that’s changed. Not one bit.”

“Why not sell me out, then?”

“Bluntly? Because I don’t think anything’s going to get accomplished here, in the long run. Not by him. I’ve heard that darkness is affecting the farmland. Meaning food. Meaning the planet itself.” His expression became serious. “I don’t know about you, but I like to eat.”

Ienzo furrowed his brows.

“Look, if you need something, I can probably get it to you,” he continued.

“Why should I trust you haven’t been converted, too?”

“Come on, princey. Can’t you feel I’m telling the truth, or whatever?”

He could.

“Besides, according to the old tales… too much darkness, and the planet cracks like an egg.” He clutched his fist. “Don’t want to be there for that, either.”

“...I see.”

A substantial pause. Ienzo knew his cover had been blown at this point. “There’s something else.”

“And that is?”

A slow smile. “A little birdie told me that your family’s trying to find you. So I did some seeking of my own.”

Ienzo tried to hide the surprise on his face.

“They were hard to find. It took me months. Even’s still one clever bastard. I was playing poker one night in some dive bar when someone recognized me… and thought I might like to know you were still alive. He told me all about your little love story. Mazel tov, by the way. She's a cute kid.”

The words exploded from him. “They’re alive?”

“Alive and well.”

A relief he hadn’t quite let himself feel washed through him. “You’ll help me?”

“I’d love to wipe the stupid smirk off Junior’s face. It was his fault this happened to me.” He pointed to his eye. “They used us as experiments.”

“...They just used me as one. But it was necessary.” He sat up slowly. “Could you tell my family…” He hesitated. “Tell them to trust me. ”

Xigbar’s grin was wicked.