#confess to a mild sense that this book while there's nothing WRONG with it needed a bit longer in the oven

[whetstonefires]

I really enjoyed Witch King and think it's Good but need to announce the ludicrous brass balls involved in the title.

Because it's named after the main character, who is known by that title, we establish that right out the gate.

Fairly soon after, we establish that he, like Dorothy, is not a witch at all. Although he is on good terms with them and uses some of their techniques.

Bit after that we learn that witches don't hold with kings, or indeed with governance. Kai says eventually that they don't have enough communal norms to even rebel against if you wanted to. Fascinating.

The flashback-to-origin-story half of the narrative terminates before we reach the point where people started calling Kai the Witch King.

We never find out how that happened! We never even really see anyone using the title except when he's being introduced to one major supporting character by another in the first or second chapter! It's wild. Witch King without Witch King. Garfield without Garfield.

This is so funny to me I can forgive the letdown, because to be quite honest by the middle of the book I was counting on the origin of the title as a sort of tying-together moment for the whole narrative, linking the end of the earlier timeslice to the beginning of the later one, and was astonished that it didn't come. It makes the novel feel weirdly unfinished to me, like Wells accidentally left off the last few chapters somehow.

I have been denied catharsis about the title of the book. 🤣

[littlefreya]

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl. 

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack. 

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”  

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.”  Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.  

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.  

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming  @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support. 

[imagine-nation20]

In The Rain

Summary:“Why are you suddenly saying stuff that doesn’t make any sense? Are you drunk?”

Requested By: Anon

Request: “Why are you suddenly saying stuff that doesn’t make any sense? Are you drunk?” Jaskier x reader (plot he's confessing but it happens that the reader is too oblivious )

A/N: Anyone, flirting with me: I like you

Me:Haha… nice joke :)

In other words, I relate.

~~~

Working as a sellsword meant making friends with very strange people. This included the white wolf and the bard. Your travels had taken you many places, but despite the obvious danger, you had never been more happy than to work with the pair. Sometimes, the job only brought Geralt, but every so often, Jaskier would tag along as well. Those were always the best jobs.

If you were being honest, you were willing to take on almost any type of job, so long as the money was good and the person doing the hiring was honest about the type of job. Sometimes that meant doing things you weren’t proud of, but no one could ever claim complete innocence, and who were they to judge your choices. Geralt held a similar mindset, except with the requirement that the things he hunted were monsters.

Despite all this, Jaskier insisted on referring to you two as ‘heroes’. A title you felt, even with no guilt from your choices, was undeserving. Heroes existed in books and dreams of young children.

You stepped into the taver, tired from that day's hunt and promising Geralt you would retrieve the bard from where he had been performing. However, instead of loud singing, you were met with mild chatter.

A glance around the room had you picking the bard out of the crowd. Not that it was difficult. Even if Jaskier hadn’t been dressed in a bright purple jacket, you would’ve known him anywhere.

He was hunched over the table, hand loosely holding onto the mug of whatever drink he had gotten from the bar.

Walking over, Jaskier’s head perked up before you had even made it all the way to him. A melancholy smile stretched over his face, a look that made you swallow nervously.

“Jaskier, Geralt has sent me to collect you.”

“Ah,” Jaskier looked down, slumped awkwardly in his chair, “Has the mighty witcher commanded you to do so?”

You were shocked at his words, your mind kicking up to try to process what he had said.

“I sit here, waiting while you two go galavanting off to slay some monster, and you don’t have the decency to even realize how I feel.”

“Jaskier… why are you suddenly saying stuff that doesn’t make any sense? Are you drunk?” You sighed.

Jaskier had the audacity to look offended. He stood, surprisingly steady on his feet. His shiny brown hair stuck up in all directions, and you finally noticed the unkemptness of his dress. His jacket was undone, his shirt untied and partially open to reveal the top of his chest. Even in the dim light, you could see the red marks there.

Sorrow dug its way up your throat like the undead from their graves. A grotesque feeling a jealousy.

“Jaskier,” you could barely manage a whisper, “Let us return to the inn, please. You should get some sleep, lest you make your hangover worse.”

Jaskier scoffed, “Yes, yes,” he waved off, stepping around you and the table.

It was wet outside, the sky had opened up and drenched the world in a downpour. Puddles were forming on the ground. The thick leather of your long coat managed to keep most of the moisture off you, but the collar of your shirt and your pants were still dotted with droplets. Your hair began to soak, matting down onto your head, drops of rain rolling down your face.

Jaskier was worse off, a few paces ahead of you and looking like a drowned cat.

“Jaskier!” You called out, trying to beckon him towards the awnings that hung over a few of the buildings. The bard did not turn. “Jaskier!”

He stopped, his back to you. The rain was loud, drowning out most of the sound. Still, you could hear it.

“Perhaps I should return to my travels alone,” His tone was soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure of it himself, “I’ve been needing to write a new song, perhaps new scenery will help.”

You said nothing, standing only feet from him now. You saw his shoulders sag, head dropping. There was something wrong. He was too… normal.

Jaskier was not intoxicated.

“Don’t go,” you resolved.

His head shot up, still not turning to look at you. “What?”

“Stay, Jas,” you pleaded, “If you meant what you said in the tavern, then stay.”

“What for?”

You stepped forward, mud splashing up onto your boots. Taking his warm hand in yours, you pulled him off the street. The awning allowed for a haven from the cold weather, and a more clear view of Jaskier’s reddened eyes.

Signing your fate on the dotted line, you pulled him in and kissed him. There wasn’t a trace of alcohol on his breath, nor in the steady way he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you forward into him.

And in the rain, you promised to stay together.

[minart-was-taken]

Linkverse writing?? I guess??! It’s a tad simple and rough around the edges, but hey, isn’t everything if you look close enough? I’m proud enough of it to share, so that’s a win in my books!

Title: Tree Trekking Characters: Twilight, Sky, Time, and Wild No warnings for this one (Although highly vague twilight princess spoilers?) “Tags” First meetings - the start of bonding - Sky being a good boy - Time is a little bastard - Twilight is tired

Enjoy!

“Those look like rain clouds…” Link signed, dreading the thought.

“Ah- I think you’re right.” Feathers replied the same way.

Link winced, but gathered himself quickly after, making sure his adventure pouch was properly attached to his belt. They didn’t need a member of the group complaining AND also him having a loose adventure pouch.

...He sounded like a dork- Goddesses, he was panicking a little wasn’t he? Rain wasn’t a big problem, but on top of everything else it felt like a slap to the face.

He had been snapped to another world, teamed up with two strangers who were also him, apparently, and now it was going to rain.

The little guy had nothing to say either, but that wasn’t anything new.

Taking leading action, Link gathered himself, found his posture and signed to the Link whose Hyrule this apparently was. “Do you know anywhere we could find shelter?”

The little guy turned to look at him, with an expression that made it seem like he had insulted his entire family. “It’s just rain.”

Link sighed. “We don’t have much on us, a town with an inn and a shop to purchase a bedroll or two seems like a good idea.”

The little guy was quiet, before turning around and walking off. By this point Link knew that was his way of saying “follow me.”

He quickly checked Feathers, who with a slight stumble and a check on his items was on his way to follow as well.

With the small one in the lead, followed by Link and Feathers, the day continued like the past few had.

It had been strange, suddenly ending up here with a bunch of strangers like this. With Feathers it had been easy, the guy seemed to have a good heart. However with the little guy it was a different story. He seemed to speak the minimum possible, and didn’t especially want to stay as a group- Making it a daily battle to convince him to keep helping them navigate this hyrule.

Still, they were managing.

“We should probably try to get you a sword too.”

Feathers seemed taken back by this, before smiling awkwardly: “We’ve not run into anything, though, have we? Besides, you two seem quite used to wielding yours.”

“I don’t trust this situation.” Link confessed. “Something is bound to go wrong.”

Feathers gave him a sympathetic look.

“I’m serious.” He insisted. “The air doesn’t just crack and cause people to teleport through time and space. Something bad is in the air.”

Feathers seemed to want to say something to deny it, but couldn’t. He turned his head forwards again, facing where they were going. “I have other weapons.”

Link still felt unsure, but accepted it for now.

A bit more traveling, now down what seemed to be a dirt path, Link felt the silence beginning to grind on him. He clenched his hands to fists, and released them, repeating this action a few times to calm his nerves. When it wasn’t enough, though, he shook his head and fastened his walking pace.

This way he caught up to the small guide, and signed: “Can you share the route with me? I’d like a better understanding of what to expect.”

The kid looked annoyed again, but after a moment replied: “Kakariko is down this road, to the west until we reach a big rock, and then down the road next to it.”

“Thank you.” He said, breathing with purpose to calm himself, as he fell back behind to walk next to Feathers again.

It had been a long time since he had panicked like this last. It had been at a cell, in a strange body and shackled to the floor. It had been when Midna’s hold on his fur had weakened further as he tried to be faster despite the pain. It had…

Link sighed. He’d survived all of those, he had been hurt, but he survived. He could handle yet another journey to an unknown world. This is fine.

The little guy disappeared in that second.

Link blinked.

The kid had genuinely disappeared- One moment he was there, the next he wasn’t. 

This was not fine, actually.

“Where did he go?!” He signed frantically to Feathers.

“I don’t know!” Feathers responded, equally bewildered. “Did I see that right?! Did he-”

“Did he vanish…?” He signed as well, turning to look at the spot again.

“Maybe-” Feathers, panicking much more clearly than Link was: “Maybe he got sent to another world, like we were.”

“That beats him being dead.”

Feathers was shaken by that addition, but Link ignored it in favour of walking over to where the kid had been and looking around. It was of no use, of course, but he felt powerless and not doing anything felt wrong.

Not again- Not again-

There was a loud crack inside his ears, and the space between him and Feathers looked like it was cracked glass. This strange scene lasted as long as it took it to arrive, and in the next moment: instead of reality looking broken, there was another boy.

This new stranger took a hitched breath, taking a quick step backwards, Having immediately noticed Link. The step however lead him right into Feathers, which caused the stranger to yelp and manifest a blade twice his size from blue light.

Feathers threw his hands in the air, panic filled eyes looking between the armed boy and Link.

Link breathed in and out, as he moved to walk around the newcomer and next to Feathers, with his hands up in the air as well. He hoped that moving from behind the stranger would make him realize he didn’t care for that tactical advantage, and was looking for peace.

The stranger watched, the weapon still in hand, but took no action.

“Are you-” Link signed: “L-I-N-K?”

The stranger’s eyes grew suspicious with each letter, and Link figured he had made a mistake of some sorts.

Quickly trying to bridge the miscommunication, he added: “So are we.”

The stranger shook his head, which wasn’t ideal.

“No?” Link signed. “What do you mean no?”

To that the stranger didn’t seem to have an answer for. Simply shrugging like it was obvious.

“He’s being honest.” Feathers joined in. “We’re both Link, the hero of courage.”

After eyeing the two over like they had lost their minds, the stranger sighed. “I don’t believe you.” He signed. “But I’m also not sure where I am.”

“That’s fair.” Link supposed. “We’re willing to share our information.”

“Spill it, then.”

After explaining their understanding of how they got here, and what they were doing, the stranger sighed and agreed that going to a town would seem smart in his eyes as well.

However he chose to walk behind Feathers and Link, which Link couldn’t blame him for. He had his own fair share of paranoia of the situation, after all.

Besides, he’d know if the kid tried to approach with a blade in hand, he was awfully good at keeping an eye on his surroundings.

Not good enough, though. Despite following the route the first angry kid had given: they somehow got lost anyway. Sure they found a big rock, but there was no path near it that led to anywhere other than more wilderness.

“Did we misunderstand?” Feathers asked him.

Link furrowed his brow, unsure of the answer. He was quite sure they had gone the exact route the kid described.

The newcomer whistled suddenly, causing the two older to turn and look at him.

He seemed annoyed, and signed: “Is this a trap?”

“I mean, if it was we wouldn’t tell you.” Feathers signed back, at which Link elbowed him.

“It’s not a trap. This is neither of our Hyrule, so we don’t know where things are. The person who gave us instructions either forgot something or we failed to follow it right.”

The stranger crossed his arms, and pouted. Suspicious.

Link, wanting to hit his head against the trees until he could disappear from this situation, tried to breathe in and out and figure this situation out before anything worse happened. “We can probably try and find it on our own.”

“Oh, true.” Feathers replied, smiling again.

“Alright.” The newcomer accepted, still tense.

“Great.” Link responded, tired. “What does everyone here know about scouting?”

Feathers looked a bit flustered, and admitted: “I spent most of my life on a single island- In the sky.”

“Ok.” was all Link could muster.

“I’m okay at it.” The newcomer said, looking a bit less confident than before. “I know what signs to keep an eye out for.”

Link nodded at this. Back in the day he could’ve asked Midna to change his form so he could simply smell the strange scent that towns had, but that stopped being an option a long time ago.

He could still manage with human senses. He had done so for the majority of his life.

So after they pooled their knowledge of what to look out for, they began trekking forwards. Although it was more the two actually experienced people describing some basic things to the one from the sky.

After one man-made path diverged into two, the tired air of the group only grew worse.

“So- Which way?” Feathers asked, trying to not cause anymore tension with the question, by smiling gently.

The newcomer lifted the strange slate he had on his belt, and used it to get a better look forward. It wasn’t enough, though: “The foliage is too thick, I can’t see where either of them leads.”

Feathers pouted.

Link, quite frustrated at this point, signed simply: “Just one thing we can do, then.” And proceeded to scan the area for the tallest tree.

Feathers looked in mild curiosity as Link walked up to an alright specimen, and proceeded to climb it with almost no trouble. Branch to branch, and a good grip on the wood while still being mindful of it’s well being.

From high up he could take a far better look around the area, and found his nerves eased as he spotted smoke from further on and down the right path, as well as the gentle breeze that flowed freely up there. He smiled, despite himself, and climbed back down.

Once he landed with a gentle thud, he let Feathers know what he had seen, before turning to look at the newcomer.

He had stayed by the path, unlike Feathers who had gone to wait for him at the trunk of the tree, and was looking at him with what Link would describe as surprise.

“I was raised on a farm.” Link stated, feeling actually a little up for joking, before he started walking down the right path.

The journey went alright, and although the smoke turned out to be from but a small cottage, it meant they weren’t entirely on the wrong track. Someone was able to live here, so it would mean a town could exist nearby as well.

The newcomer, who hadn’t said much, spoke up another few minutes into the walk, as they tried to decide between three paths this time. “I could climb this time?”

Link was a little surprised, but nodded and gave him a supportive smile. “Go for it.” It was nice seeing the hostility gone, and in its place a want to help.

What he saw then, was… Unexpected. The newcomer proceeded to pick a tree at ease, and then climb at a speed Link had never seen before. It was extremely impressive, and somewhat terrifying.

“Woah.” Said feathers.

Link nodded, slow and stunned.

When the kid returned to ground level- With a thud and an expert landing to boot -he explained that with the zoom on his slate he was able to spot a town. He wasn’t sure which path would lead to it, but if the rest were fine with just going to that general direction until they got to it, he’d be able to lead them.

Feathers and Link approved of the plan, and now followed after the newcomer who was walking forth, at times checking the slate.

Feathers began to talk to him about beacons, apparently something on the slate reminded him of his adventure. Link tuned it out due to not really getting it, and breathed in the forest air.

This was all very strange, but it was nice that no-one was being a grump for once.

At sunset they reached the town, and having moved along with the rain cloud, it only caught up to them at the village gates.

Link gave the newcomer a pat on the shoulder, which surprised him. “Good work.” He signed before heading forward to look for an inn.

The rain only caught them when they had a roof above their heads, as they had moved in the same direction as it had been heading.

Sitting in a shared room, there was that strange snap-crack again, and the other kid was back. Strange face markings as clear on the face of annoyance as always.

The newcomer didn’t disappear, so their three person room had just become crowded.

“Oh.” The kid commented, looking at them all, including the newcomer. “You made it.”

“...Were we not supposed to?” Link asked.

“I gave you the wrong directions.”

Link blinked. He was stunned, having trouble processing the situation. Not because it was so unexpected, but because he hadn’t seen it coming despite how obvious it was this kid wouldn’t help them properly.

“Why?!”

“I didn’t want you to find the town.”

“Again, why?”

“I don’t trust you.” The response was instant.

Link sighed, it wasn’t a reason he could exactly fight.

Giving up, he sat down on one of the beds. This was going to be a stressful adventure, wasn’t it? He lent back a bit, looking at the ceiling. He couldn’t deny the truth of that question, but a part of him wasn’t entirely bothered. It had been a while since he’d slept in a room with another living being.

[lanuvolanera]

Sept 19th - Confession

Chapter 3 - end

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

Powered up from their meals earlier, the four gather in the Fenton lab, all ingredients for the trap and scripts for the ritual ready for use. They head for the warehouse.

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

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I don't think we have a choice."

"Should we go over the plan one last time?"

"Okay, so, Danny and Tucker, you two scout around the warehouse while me and Jazz set up the trap in the centre." Sam says while sorting through her books in her lap.

"Tucker, if you can hack into the old security system while I get an aerial view, we should be able to cover more ground that way."

"Don't worry, I'm way ahead of you." Tucker says with a grin and a handful of wires sticking out from one of his pockets.

"Do you think this'll work?" Jazz questioned without glancing away from the road.

"It has to. The wails can be heard in a miles radius. If we can't tackle it, then maybe mom and dad might be able to, instead." Danny says in the passenger seat.

They near the warehouse and Jazz pulls the car to a stop. Clambering out of the car, Jazz and Sam begun unloading all of the gear.

"Danny, there's a second floor office that has the security system on the south side of the building." Tucker says this as Jazz and Sam finish collecting everything they need. Looks like everyone's ready.

Danny transforms.

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

Tucker's feet lightly land on the wood floor of the second story office, and got to work on the computer sitting all alone on the desk.

Phantom took his que to phase through the wall to reach the warehouses main room.

From the corner of his eye, he spots Sam and Jazz making their way through the main entrance and start setting the trap in the middle of the large clearning at the front of the building.

So far, he hasn't sensed any presence of ectoplasm, nothing seems out of place.

He sinks to the ground.

Steady bleeps could be heard from the small handheld machines in Jazz's hands, and soft whirs coming from various Fenton weapons from Sam's. The soft noises breaking the eerie silence of the warehouse, drumming around in his head along with his heatbeat.

"Testing. Testing. Are these things on?"

"Jesus, Tucker!" Danny nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Oh sorry, did I just scare you?" Tucker asks with slight amusement in his staticy voice, filtering thought the Fenton phones.

"Uh, no." Danny scoffs.

"Don't worry, Danny, I got spooked too." Jazz says, sympathetically.

"Does anyone have a visual?" Sam asks, taking the focus away from Danny's panic. Thank you, Sam!

"I've managed to get into the cctv, there's nothing on the live feed so far. I've just looked at yesterday's footage and it shows our ghost roaming the southwestern corner of the room. You might wanna check there."

"I'm on my way."

Taking light steps, Danny peeks around the corners of the large shelving before deciding its clear to proceed. He soon finds himself against the back wall.

There's nothing here.

What the hell?

Phasing through the wall, he takes a look at the outside area. Still nothing.

Floating up to the roof, and still nothing.

"Is anyone else having any luck?"

"Uh, Danny?"

It's Tucker. Danny, in his mild panic, quickly phases though the roof into the office he'd left Tucker in. He spots him taking cover behind the desk and floats over.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Have you seen anything?" Questions of concern spilling from Danny's mouth.

Tucker slowly raises a shaking hand and points a finger to the area facing Danny's back.

Dread sunk lower and heavier in Danny's stomach, his already pale face beginning to drip with a cold sweat. He turns around.

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

Arranged neatly on the floor are the crystals Sam brought, sitting in a circle and ready to be sprung. So long as Danny doesn't get caught in the crossfire, everything should go according to plan.

Grabbing a torch and the ritual book, Sam quickly gets to the dogeared page and skims through the text.

Meanwhile Jazz prepares the handful of fenton weapons, keeping a close eye on her surroundings.

It's more quiet than she's anticipated, surely they would've seen this ghost by now.

A loud crash echoes through the large room, both Sam and Jazz snap their heads up in the direction of the upper floor office. Sam can't leave the trap unattended, otherwise she'd shoot up the staircase and assess the situation. A glance at Jazz was all that was needed, Jazz read the unspoken words and ran across the clearing.

And that's when Jazz sees it.

The black teeth, the sludge-like blood, the holes and tears. No wonder Danny looked so spooked. Jazz stood halfway up the staircase, frozen in fear.

They were right. This creature is something else.

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

Looming over Danny, the ghost screeched in his face as he tried to scramble away. Having been slammed into the maze of shelves, Danny regained control over his mind and body. The ghost seems to be dampening his rational thought, striking fear into all who take sight.

So long as Tucker is safe, all that matters is keeping his friends away from harm.

With that thought, Danny manifests ecto-energy into his palms and fires. Swooping around the room, doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops. The ghost takes chase, leaving scorch marks on the walls and shelves.

Jazz and Tucker take aim. They're unable to fire when Danny leads the ghost though the roof and into the night sky. And so they too give chase.

Left alone in the clearing, all sound of the ghost fight muffled through the walls, Sam waits with baited breath.

-------‐------------------------------------------------------------

Danny has a plan.

Well, sort of.

This ghost shows no sign of slowing down, hot on Danny's heels. High above the warehouse in the night sky, Danny takes to a dive.

"Sam, get ready, I'm leading the ghost into the trap in 5."

The ghost is catching up, the fear and dread oozing from its aura has little affect on Danny at that speed.

"4."

Sam remains alert, her hands tightening around the open book, the ritual ready and waiting, her nerves fried.

"3."

Jazz and Tucker sprint back to the entrance of the warehouse, weary of the ectoblasts falling from the sky.

"2."

Danny nears the ground, so he begins to level, aiming for the wall of the warehouse and estimating the location of the trap.

Phasing through the wall, a flash of light brightens up the room, and Danny Fenton tumbles to a sophisticated roll on the opposite side of the trap, coming to a stop with that classic superhero pose.

It worked.

The trap was a success.

The four gather a round the trap, holding the ghost frozen in the air like a prehistoric creature trapped in Amber.

Sam gets to work.

Words spilling out of her mouth in quick succession, all in an unfamiliar language. Word after word, sentence after sentence, the spell begins to take affect.

The ghost begins to sink to the ground within the trap, the glow of the stones encasing the figure within.

Sam's voice gets louder and louder to accommodate the loud shrieking tearing through the creatures throat.

Jazz and Tucker have the smudge sticks lit in their hands, whether they work or not, who knows? More protection, the better.

Soon the floor begins to crack, billowing hot smoke from in-between. The screeching intensifies and the feeling of dread weighs down on their shoulders.

It seems like forever, but in a matter of seconds, the deed is done. The crack in the floor widened into a deep chasm, blowing smoke and hellfire onto the figure above, burning it to a crisp. The ashes gently fluttered down into the pit despite the violent thrashing of the ghost. The trap is weakening.

And then, it's all over. Nothing remains other than the stench of the smoke. No one dared move. No one dared breathe.

"Is it gone?"

"I think so."

Simultaneous sighs of relief filled the room, tension released from their shoulders. The four started clearing up their things.

Tucker and Jazz make a start towards the exit, Sam lags behind and gently rests her hand on Danny's arm.

"Hey, Danny? You did great." Sam says to him in a hushed tone.

"You too, Sam. What you did was amazing." The wide smile on Danny's face told her everything. The relief, the happiness, she finds comfort in that smile. A wide smile begins to spread on her own face.

Tucker not so subtly clears his throat by the entrance. What a sight the pair must look, standing there oogling into each others eyes. The pair start to blush, they glance away, Danny rubs the back of his neck. They head for the exit.

Piling into Jazz's car, they make their way back to Fentonworks.

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

The next morning, the trio make their way to school, although not the traditional way.

Soaring high in the sky, Danny's arms wrapped around Tucker's and Sam's waist, feeling the wind blow into their hair, feeling weightless.

It's a short lived feeling, because now they've arrived.

Landing on the school roof, Danny transforms and gently sets his friends down, releasing them from his grasp.

"Thanks for the ride, man. C'mon, we don't wanna be late." Tucker says while making a beeline for the rooftops exit.

"You go on ahead, Tuck. We won't be a minute." Sam says. Tucker nods and dissappears from view.

Sam turns back to Danny and wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him forward. Danny returns the gesture, wrapping his own arms around her waist, bringing them together into a warm hug.

"Thanks for trusting me, Danny."

"There's no need to thank me, you're my best friend. What would I do without you?"

They remain in the embrace for a short while. Danny leaves a sweet kiss on Sam's cheek before breaking apart. Hand in hand, they make their way to their first class of a brand new day.

[inadaydream99]

Hey! Can I request a Juyeon best friends to lovers imagine? They could be in love with each other but are scared to confess to each other so the members help them secretly... I didn't think much about it, I hope this is enough, thanks!

Hi thanks for requesting! I loved writing this and I got a bit carried away so it took a while 😂 I wanted to try and parallel the whole cliché falling in love with your best friend romance film trope with (Y/N). I hope you enjoy!

Lost (and found)

I was lost until I found you. You wipe the stray tears running down your cheeks. Damn your love for cheesy romcoms and your inability to refrain from crying. The sleeve of your light grey sweater is now darkened and damp as you gently wipe it over your eyes. You want to find an endless love like the couple in the movie. They were best friends, deeply in love with each other from the moment they met. It’s almost scary how relatable you find the whole scenario, being in love with your best friend too. Except, unlike the fictional world of the movie, your love can’t be expressed or reciprocated.

You’d known Juyeon for exactly two years, one month and eighteen days. Not that you’re counting or anything... And you’ve been in love with him for just as long. But everytime you’ve built up enough courage to finally tell him how you feel, something has gotten in the way. Last time the words were right on the tip of your tounge, but at the very second you’d opened your mouth, Juyeon had gotten an important call and had to rush off to work.

Come to think of it, its odd how much this romcom resembles your own life. Just like the female lead you’d had little luck in love. You’d also been mistaken for a couple numerous times when on ‘best friend dates’ with Juyeon and don’t get me started on waking up in the same bed after one drunken night. Though as it turns out nothing happened other than actually sleeping.

The only difference in the movie and reality is that her best friend had also been madly in love with her.

And that’s how you ended up balling your eyes out.

“(Y/N) what’s wrong?” Juyeon rushes over to you the second he finds you crying alone in the darkened room. Worry shoots through him when you fail to respond, the sounds of your blubbering making his heart ache.

Your attempt at explaining anything at all is ruined when you peak up and meet Juyeon’s gaze. It’s so sympathetic and filled with such worry that you can’t bring yourself to say a word. And anyway, how could you tell him the reason for your sadness now? That’d go down as the worst way in history to ever confess how you feel to someone.

“Just the movie.” You manage, bringing your sweater covered hands up to your face and brushing away any tears steaming down your cheeks.

“You had me worried just then!” Juyeon throws his head back, laughing as relief floods him.

“Sorry.” You half heartedly chuckle, feeling embarrassed by the whole situation.

You watch as Juyeon focuses back on you, silence surrounding you both as you stare at each other. You notice how Juyeon’s face becomes deep in thought. It almost feels like his eyes are taking in every part of your face, trying to remeber each feature. Though it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest. It’s how you see him look at the people he admires and that thought alone is enough you make your heart skip a beat.

“I just care about you a lot.” He whispers, his hand carefully reaching out to tuck the few loose strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face back behind your ear. The action carries a level of intimacy that makes you softly gasp. Juyeon’s gaze shifting back to meet yours when he notices your reaction.

There’s a brief moment between you where everything stands still. His hand paused by your ear, mid action. It’s like something changes between you, a spark igniting. But the sound of crashing ruins it all, both of your attentions drawn onto the noise coming from the next room.

“I’m ok!” You hear what sounds like Younghoon call after a few seconds, laughter bubbling up inside of you as you shake your head in disbelief.

“How is he so clumsy?” Juyeon jokes, retracting his hand away from your ear and awkwardly stuffing it into his pocket.

He stands back up from his crouching position, looking down at you with a subtle smile. You can tell he doesn’t want to leave, but he also can’t find an excuse to stay.

“Do you want to join?” You stupidly ask. It’s the only thing you could think of asking even though you’re pretty sure you already know the answer.

“I would but I just got called into practice... maybe next time?” He regretfully informs. You nod, trying to hide you disappointment but Juyeon can read you like a book so it’s not to much use.

“Maybe next time...” You trail off, voice hushed and disheartened as you watch Juyeon grab his bag and leave.

~

“Everything will go fine, just be confident.” Jacob encourages you, giving you a light nudge in Juyeon’s direction.

You’d roped Jacob into helping you ask Juyeon out because you were freaking out over the idea and needed some guidance and reassurance.

That’s how you’ve ended up purposefully trying to bump into Juyeon so you can causally ask him out.

Admiring from afar, you can’t help but feel flustered by how breathtaking he truly is. He’s engrossed in the books he’s reading, sat outside the small cafe just at the end of the block.

“Ok I’m going...” You cast a quick, unsure gaze behind you towards Jacob as he tries to keep hidden from Juyeon’s view.

“Go!” He whisper shouts through a laugh, finding your shyness incredibly endearing.

You finally take the first step, about to cross the busy road.

“Oh, hey Juyeon!” You smile and send a little wave over to him as you pretend to be surprised to see him.

“(Y/N), I didn’t know you came here?” He returns the warm smile, placing his book down carefully so he doesn’t lose his page.

“Oh yeah, they sell the best coffee here.” You bashfully laugh, trying to hide your nervousness.

“Well, there’s a free seat with me if u want to join?” Juyeon asks, a hopeful glint in his tone as he slightly raises his brow in question.

“Sounds great.” You smile.

~

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think it was.” Jacob tries and fails to hide his laughter. You cringe at yourself. You’re officially the most awkward person to ever exist.

After accepting Juyeon’s offer to join him for coffee, you’d spend ages talking and laughing together. But you hadn’t managed to ask him out. You were going to, but just as you were about to utter the words the most embarrassing thing happened to you.

“Jacob, a bird literally pooped on me.” You whine, flopping over into the cushions of the sofa. “How could I have possibly redeemed myself after that?” You exasperatedly cry.

“You had a minor set back and didn’t ask him out, so what. There’s always next time.” Jacob tires to console you.

You let out a “pft.” at his statement. Next time, there’ll never be a next time.

~

“I was just about to ask (Y/N) out and then bird poo splattered right across her clothes.” Juyeon relays the events to Eric, who bursts into uncontrollable laughter at the thought of being pooed on.

Although Juyeon thought it was funny, he could sense your embarrassment at the time and refrained from making any jokes about it. Even now as he watches Eric laugh he doesn’t join in, simply just watching the younger in mild amusement.

“So what do you want me to do about it?” Eric continues to laugh, having caught the giggles badly.

“I need you to help me ask (Y/N) out, where there’s no possibly of something disrupting it.” Juyeon pleas, watching as Eric calms himself down and becomes deep in thought.

“Ok sure, but I’m gonna need a few favours to get this set up.” He devilishly smirks. It’s the expression he always pulls when he has a plan and it always seems to unnerve Juyeon a little.

~

The plan was all set up and full proof, or according to Eric, poo proof.

You’d received a text from Juyeon to meet him at the dorms urgently, which sent you into a spiral of panic. It’s the quickest you’ve ever managed to get to the Boyz dorms from your apartment, and although you are completely out of breath, you are quite proud of yourself.

The door swings open to reveal Jacob holding a bowl of cereal and staring at you in confusion.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here and why are you so out of breath?” He questions, eyeing you worriedly as you walk into their apartment before turning around to face him again.

“Juyeon said there was an emergency and to get here quick...” you inform, trailing off at the end when you notice Jacob’s suddenly contrasting expression. He’d manage to go from confused to looking like he knows something you don’t in half a second. Almost like he’s had some kind of realisation.

You don’t notice Eric signaling to Jacob from behind you, mouthing and pointing for him to play along and guide you into the living room.

“Oh yeah... in the living room.” You squint your eyes at Jacob, finding his sly behaviour out of character.

“Okay...” you trail off, slowly heading in the direction of the living room.

You gasp when you turn the corner. The room had practically been turned upside down. Instead of the usual sofa and small table, there was now a picnic blanket sprawled out across the floor. Everything had been set up like a typical picnic, just indoors and with a tv.

“Did you do all this?” You gush, your eyes finally landing on Juyeon who has been standing on the opposite side of the room anxiously waiting for you to arrive.

“Yeah...” He awkwardly chuckles, rubbing his hand behind his neck as he shyly smiles at you.

“It’s incredible.” You beam, beginning to walk across the dimly lit room. You can’t help the butterfly’s that flutter in your stomach. Just the thought that Juyeon went to all of this effort for you is so touching you could burst into tears. Happy tears of course.

“So, will you join me?” He musters up the courage to finally ask you. Seeing your overjoyed reaction had given him a little bit of a confidence boost.

“I’d love to.” You giggle, accepting Juyeon’s hand as he offers it for you to take, leading you over towards the blanket and, finally, sitting opposite.

“I wanted to ask you out the other day but I got interrupted.” You both chuckle at reminiscing about the funny turn of events.

“I was actually hoping to do the same... if it wasn’t for that bird.” You joke, heat raising up your face as you become flustered under Juyeon’s affectionate gaze.

“Hey, if that hadn’t of happened we wouldn’t be here right now.” Juyeon states, shrugging his shoulders and grinning cheekily. “And besides, that was kind of like our first date...” He smirks, gradually closing the space between you until your a few inches apart.

You hadn’t initially noticed how close you were sitting, but now, as you look up at Juyeon, you can’t tear your eyes away from his.

“Very true...” You agree, your voice so light you’re sure he can’t of heard you.

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his hand on your waist, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. As you pull away, grinning at each other like two idiots in love, you know it’s the beginning of a new chapter with Juyeon.

Regardless of all the failed attempts and embrassaing moments, you’re glad it hadn’t stopped Juyeon from making his move. And just like the movie, you realise that you are no longer lost in the world, because your world is sitting right in front of you.

[capevans3000]

Love triangle - Part 4

Summary: You and Chris had always have feelings for each other, but were too afraid to let each other know. That was until Sebastian came along and a love triangle was quickly formed.

Featuring: Chris x Reader x Sebastian Stan

Warning: Maybe some mild form of angst.

Note: This is the second last part of Love Triangle! Please let me know what you think! Comments/feedback are always, always, super appreciated. Thank you! Please pardon any grammar error this part may have. Let me know too if you’d like to be tagged. Stay safe! <3

(Photo not mine!)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Unbeknownst to you, Chris was just about to enter the deck when he saw the whole scene unfolded in front of him. How Sebastian had taken you for a dance and a close embrace that even he hadn’t had a chance to have with you. In that moment, he saw red. He was not usually the angry jealous type because he trusted every one of his ex-girlfriends. He never had to feel jealous in any of his past relationships. But with you, it was different. He felt a sense of possessiveness and protectiveness that he had never felt for anyone before.

It could be because Chris knew that he loved you, yet he didn’t had the courage to tell you that caused him to feel this way when he saw you and Sebastian locked in an embrace. His moment of jealousy quickly turned into panic. He felt afraid, more afraid than he had ever been to lose someone because of his own lack of courage to speak his mind. He was foolish to think he could make you his forever without actually exposing you to the burden of being in a relationship with him. At that moment, all his reservations about not wanting you to be under fire of the media was thrown on the backburner. He had to tell you how he felt about you. He would just have to deal with the rest later.

He tried to compose himself before walking out into the deck. “Hey, what’s going on?” He asked, his voice cold like the wind.

You quickly broke the embrace with Sebastian when you heard Chris’ voice. You felt as though you were just caught cheating on him. A million different feelings went through your mind at that precise moment, all jumbled up into one. You felt guilty that you had just shared a rather intimate dance with Sebastian, Chris’ best friend. You felt scared about what Chris would think of that. You felt as though you had just performed adultery, although you were not technically Chris’ girlfriend. You felt confused at Chris’ cold response in his voice because a few hours ago, he’d told you how glad he was that you and Sebastian were getting so well along. You felt that you may have misunderstood Chris’ meaning when he said he was glad. You felt guilty and bad for Sebastian in that moment because it felt as though Chris was ready to tackle him. You felt guilty for possibly causing a rift between the best friends. Mostly you felt confused and self-blaming for some reason.

“Hey Chris. Nothing much, we were just, reenacting something from a movie.” Sebastian explained. You could hear a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Sebastian felt like his heart cracked when you let go of him so abruptly. That moment with you that he wanted so much to last forever had ended and it seemed like there was nothing he could do about it.

Sebastian wanted to make his feelings about you known to Chris but he felt that wasn’t the right time.

You looked over at Chris, whose gaze was still trained on Sebastian. Finally, Chris turned to look at you and you saw him glanced at the jacket you were wearing. You made a move to return Sebastian’s jacket to him when you heard Sebastian said, “Keep it on, it’s cold out tonight.”

Before you could reply in kind, you heard Chris’, again, cold response. “She don’t need your jacket. She can wear mine.” He took off his jacket and helped you remove Sebastian’s. He helped you put on his jacket over your shoulders after tossing Sebastian’s to him on your behalf. No other words were exchanged, just a cold hard look from Chris to Sebastian.

Chris had no idea what had gotten into him. This was so unlike him that he himself was afraid of his actions. He was sure Sebastian was just trying to be a nice friend to you, and technically you weren’t his girlfriend so Sebastian had done nothing wrong. But he was so afraid of losing you that he had unknowingly transferred all his anxious energy back into anger. He didn’t want Sebastian to hold you like that. You were his, not Sebastian’s.

Sebastian took his jacket that was lying on the ground in front of him. You could see he looked dejected and defeated. In Sebastian’s mind, he knew the only reason Chris would have reacted this way was because he was in love with you. He knew Chris well enough to know that for a fact. He wondered if both of them had confessed to you, if you would choose him over Chris. He didn’t blame Chris for his outburst. He knew the feeling of being afraid to lose you.

“Okay. I guess I should head back and turn in for the night then. Good night.” Sebastian said, and he left Chris and you standing out in the deck. You were speechless. But most of all, you still felt confused and surprised at Chris’ reaction.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I really don’t know what came over me. Can we talk about it?” Chris turned and looked at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, except that his face looked worn out like he’d almost lost something precious. He was ready to tell you how he felt about you.

 Feeling like your energy was completely drained from that episode, you didn’t felt ready for a talk. “I’m sorry Chris, I’m actually pretty tired. Could we talk about this another day?” You turned and quickly entered the house, surprised that a tear had fallen down your cheek. You passed Sebastian in the hall and muttered a “Sorry.” before rushing past him into your room before he could say anything.

Sebastian’s heart broke when he saw you crying. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you in close to him and make everything all right for you. His arm extended but it closed in thin air because you were already gone.

That myriad of feelings had rendered you even more confused than ever. That evening, you could hardly sleep as you tried to organize your thoughts. You looked at Chris’ jacket that was hung over the chair next to your bed as you finally drifted off to a fitful sleep.

The next morning you woke up earlier than ever so that you could escape the house. Although you hardly had any sleep the night before, you decided to bring Dodger out for a walk. When you were about to enter the kitchen to refill your water bottle however, you saw that Chris and Sebastian were already up and they were both sitting at the kitchen island. They weren’t talking, and the atmosphere was just like the evening before.

You froze while you decided your next move. They hadn’t heard you coming so there was still time to escape. You didn’t know why you were hiding from them, you just felt unsure how to face the both of them right now. You had done technically nothing wrong, yet you felt as though you have cheated.

You decided to abort your plan to refill your water bottle and decided to just slip out of the house unnoticed instead. You decided not to take Dodger because you had planned to stay out the entire day. Chris and Sebastian thought you were still snoozing, so they had no idea you had already left the house. When they finally realized you were not home, you had been gone for quite a while.

You spent the entire day out on your own. You had sent a text to Chris to let him know you were out so that he won’t worry about you. In your haste to leave the house, you had only managed to grab a few notes that you kept on the coffee table, your phone and a book. You had nothing else with you, not even a sweater to keep you warm. You finally managed to find a small café, quiet and away from most of the crowd. You sat in a corner, well hidden from everyone from the outside and read your book. Your phone rang and you saw that Chris was calling you. You hesitated answering but before you even could, your phone battery went dead.

You were so engrossed in your book that you hadn’t realized that night had fallen. You always found books a great form of escape from the real world, and for a good few hours, the confusion with felt with Chris and Sebastian was far behind your mind. As the café was closing for the day, you closed up your book and walked out into the cold, slowly making your way back to Chris’ home. The clothes you were wearing, while it covered most of your skin, were not thick enough to keep you warm. You tugged your hands in your pockets to keep them warm. You had walked barely five minutes from the café when you saw someone familiar standing on the sidewalk in front of you.

Go to Part 5 (final part)

[buffyversefanfiction]

Slayer of Slayers

Warnings:I do not own, nor do I claim to own any of the copyright or characters within the Buffyverse which includes but not limited to the television shows Buffy and Angel, as well as the Darkhorse comics series’ continuation.

15+ Strong to moderate violence, Graphic to mild descriptions of gore, and torture, sexually charged scenes, sexual innuendos, mild to strong language, and practices of witchcraft.

M/M, F/F, M/F, GEN, OTHER +

PART FOUR LINK HERE

Part Five - Parental Guidance Advised

Theo Frey, the slayer of slayers, was now a vampire, a vampire unlike any other before him, one that sired themselves, and along with his new undead status, he found his slayer strength, speed, and healing, was now matched with his vampire side making him even more powerful than ever before, all working towards Drusilla’s grand plans which were created after she had a vision of the vampire/slayer hybrid bringing about the end of days.

Drusilla and Theo traveled to the outskirts of New York, in the middle of nowhere, located deep within some woods, arriving at an abandoned asylum which Drusilla had claimed to be her home for many years now, the first place she took Theo after his parents died, the place in which Theo first met the love of his life, Tobias. “The future is a funny little thing not once did I see the death of my darling Tobias in any vision and now it’s the first and last thing, I see every day.” Drusilla sadly revealed to Theo, as the two walked down a hallway within the abandoned asylum late at night. “Well, it would have been good to get a whole heads up about becoming a vamp myself before it actually happened, but I guess I was not on a need-to-know basis with that one.” Theo slyly snapped at his fellow vampire. “It was you and Tobias who chose to go off on your own create your own paths and become number one targets for all slayers,” Drusilla replied. “Everything was meant to happen the way it was for you to become the best version of yourself, a version strong enough to kill your birth mother.” “Did Tobias always know? That I’d one day become a vampire?” Theo could not help but wonder, as he began to wonder whether falling for Tobias was all just a part of Drusilla’s plans. “No, he did not…you two were truly destined to love each other it is with great sadness that your love story with my beautiful Tobias has come to an end but sadly it does not surprise me either,” Drusilla revealed to him, before going on to say. “Buffy will stop at nothing to slay us all, yet where was she to slay the monsters who took the ones that raised you?” “Buffy and Angel will pay for abandoning me in fact I am already putting a plan into action for them both but let me make myself clear when I say I will not be waiting as long to take revenge for Tobias,” Theo promised her, much to Drusilla’s delight. “Now why do I still feel the same?” “Well, another little hitch has occurred it seems you still have your soul,” Drusilla answered him, both looking as shocked as the other. “I do not know why that pesky thing is still in place, but I am not worried about it, some of the biggest monsters in the world still have souls after all…now please do tell mummy what you have planned for other mummy and naughty daddy?”

After being M.I.A from the slayer world as well as her friends, loved ones, and all real-world connections, Buffy Summers had taken to a cabin in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, the perfect place to get lost and forget about the rest of the world, and for one whole year she had uninterrupted bliss as she attempted to get over the loss of her son, but as she sat on the steps of her cabin porch and felt a sudden change in the wind nearby, she knew her perfect isolation was about to be intruded and after a blast of lightning struck the nearby grounds it became abundantly clear that her best friend Willow had found her. “I told you not to come looking for me I told you when I was ready, I’d come looking for you,” Buffy told the red-headed witch after Willow appeared from out of the ripped air that the lightning strike had just caused. “But it is good to see you again Willow…I’ve missed you.” “We found him, Buffy…” Willow said with great sadness, knowing the story she was about to tell her friend would only cause her more hurt but also knowing she had to be the one who Buffy found out from. Willow sat Buffy back down on the porch, sitting next to her, and went on to tell her everything she knew about Buffy’s son Theo, the revelation that he was somehow a slayer like his mother, that he was seeing a vampire just like his mother, but that was where the similarities ended as she went on to talk about Theo hunting other slayers before being captured and possibly killed by Buffy’s former watcher Rupert Giles in self-defense. Willow made it clear that they had no idea who he was until it was too late, that despite not knowing who he was they fought hard for his redemption, and how she believed that despite it being unlikely, that Theo Frey had somehow survived and was still out there somewhere. She hugged Buffy as she cried, listened while she shouted, advised her while she tried to make sense of it all, and stayed with the blonde-haired slayer until she was ready to act towards the shocking revelations. “He’s been hiding in plain sight this whole time, living a life before our very eyes…god knows what he has been through, what I was not there to protect him from.” Buffy cried as she tried to come to terms with the news about her now fully grown son who was just born over a year ago. “And now he could be gone again…” “I have several covens working on locating him, Faith’s headed to Los Angeles to speak to Angel about it all and get him involved in finding him too,” Willow confessed to the slayer, trying to give her some positive news. “We are going to find him; I know he is still out there I just know it!” “Oh god, we told him his son was dead and now he might actually be.” Buffy realized as she felt the weight of lying to Angel for all this time.

Angel sat behind the desk in his office within the Hyperion Hotel looking through the books he had gathered through the years as he searched for information on the latest demon he and Illyria were hunting when he was surprised to hear the front door to the Hyperion Hotel being opened thanks to his advanced vampire hearing and so he rose out of his chair, grabbed a hold of a nearby knife and walked into the main foyer of the hotel where he was shocked to find Faith stood there waiting for him. “You can drop the weapon big man it's only little old me.” Faith said to the vampire with a soul, before the two walked into his office, as the slayer slowly began to prepare herself for telling Angel the truth, fearing it would change their friendship forever. “Thought you were held up at slayer rehab trying to mend the boy slayer’s broken ways,” Angel replied as he placed his knife back onto his desk table. “Do not tell me he’s already redeemed and ready to be put back into society.” “Far from it actually,” Faith answered nervously. “The thing about Theo is, well he kind of, sort of, turns out to be your long lost son, the miracle child you had with Buffy who we kind of told you was dead…there is no better way to say this than we kind of lost him through a portal last year and told you he died because well Connor…but he’s back all grown up just like Connor and sort of evil again like Connor.” “You guys told me he was dead, you told me he was dead!” Angel snapped at the one slayer he believed would never keep something from him, especially not something like this. “I help you capture him, we could have killed him, and all this time he was my son? How that hell is that even possible?” “Well, the good news is he wound up in the past and not a hell dimension.” Faith told the vampire reluctantly, feeling his fury over the lies that she helped tell, even if she believed it was for his best. “None of this is good Faith! You lied to me! You, Buffy, and Willow told me he died! I mourned the loss of my baby son, I blamed myself for not being enough to protect him, I blamed her.” Angel shouted in disbelief, infuriated to learn his son had been alive all this time. “Where is he now? Where is Theo?” “Okay do not get all murder and Angelus like on me but Giles sort of shot him multiple times then he swan dived out of a window into deep waters but hey on the plus side Willow is pretty sure he’s still alive…” Faith quickly responded, making sure she gave him all the information needed as she wished for this conversation, and for her friend’s anger, to come to an end, despite knowing this was only the beginning.

The several covens working on finding a location for Theo Frey through magical means had finally got some results, questionable results, as they informed Willow that the male slayer was in his hometown of Riverborn, of all places, Theo had headed home, and despite the gut feeling that this was most definitely some kind of trap, Willow revealed her covens’ findings to Buffy and the two best friends quickly headed for the Californian small town located rather close to their own hometown of Sunnydale, or where Sunnydale once stood. “This place is giving me all the wrong kind of Sunnydale vibes which only serves to convince me even further that we are walking straight into a trap,” Willow told her blonde-haired friend, as she and Buffy walked the streets of Riverborn, late at night, in search of the Frey family home, where Buffy’s son once lived. “I do not care if he wants to trap me or not the point is he wants us there which is a step in the right direction for me,” Buffy admitted to her, as the two stopped outside of an abandoned home, the tell-tale signs of its boarded windows, and the decaying build revealing it to be the former family home of Theo and his adoptive parents. “I hope this was a happy home to grow up in…I hope his life has not all been as twisted as the recent years we know about.” “Well, if it was not, it is not like I could have done anything, you know with the whole fact that I thought my son was dead this entire time.” Angel snapped at Buffy, appearing from behind the slayer and witch. “Angel…I can’t begin to apologize for everything I’ve put you through, that I forced Willow and Faith to put you through, so I’m not going to, not yet anyway.” Buffy told the vampire with which she shared a child, as his eyes never left the view of their son’s former home. Willow quickly informed Angel of the plan which she and Buffy had made while on their way to Riverborn, hoping to avoid as much awkwardness between the two as possible, as she revealed she would wait outside ready to cast any spells needed if Theo had not come alone so that the two could focus on trying to get through to their son, and after a few minutes of talking things through it was time to put their plans into action.

As Buffy and Angel walked through the front door of Theo’s family home and into the living room he once shared with his adoptive parents it became abundantly clear, by the photos in frames placed above a cozy fireplace, that the people who had raised their son truly loved him like he was their own, and for a brief moment, they found comfort in that knowledge, until their minds began to wonder what happened to them for this once loving home to become so empty and for their son to go down such a wicked path. “All I wanted for him was a normal life, a normal home, and to be safe,” Buffy told Angel as tears formed in her eyes, while the slayer and vampire moved into the kitchen where they found a sinister-looking Theo gleefully awaiting their arrival as he held a crossbow in his hands ready to fire at any given moment. “Before or after the monsters that you were supposed to slay took everything away from me.” Theo sarcastically replied to his mother, finally meeting her for the first time after all these years. “The blood-stained carpet in the living room is where I found my mother on my sixteenth birthday…oh the irony, and here is where I found my father.” “Theo I am so sorry!” Buffy cried, seeing nothing but hatred for her in her son’s eyes, beautiful eyes which he had gotten from Buffy’s mother, with his facial structure very much like Angel’s. “You seem different!” Angel stated to his son, realizing something had changed within him since the last time they met when he did not know Theo was his son. “So, the cat is clearly out of the bag about who I really am. That’s good it’s going to make this so much more enjoyable!” Theo declared revealing to them both that he knew exactly who they were and that he hated them more than anything else on this planet. “Theo, you have got to know I had no idea that you were even alive. I’d have stopped at nothing to find you otherwise.” Angel promised his son, hoping to explain his absence to Theo, that he was not to blame for not being in his life. “I thought I had lost you forever I had no clue where you wound up…I should’ve looked for you, but I hoped you were better off without me.” Buffy confessed as Theo kept the crossbow firmly pointing at both of his biological parents, seeming untouched by their words. “I do not want answers, you idiots.” Theo scoffed at them both. “Answers are what some lost boy looks for as he longs to be found but I’m no lost boy and I found myself a very long time ago. All I want is revenge!” Theo did not wait for either Buffy or Angel to reply before shooting two arrows in their direction, arrows which Angel managed to catch, one in each hand, before it made any damage towards him or Buffy as Theo quickly scurried out of the kitchen ready to play a game of hide and seek, a game he intended to not only win but to use as another trap for the two people he blamed for everything wrong in his life.

Angel took to the upstairs of Theo’s family home while Buffy went down to the basement, figuring if they took both options to where their son could have run to, then he would not be able to get away so easily, and as Angel reached the upstairs hallway, he found himself walking into Theo’s bedroom which looked like it had been kept the same way since he was last in it. Angel scoured the room where he found shelves filled with books, a desk filled with awards, and a picture by Theo’s bed of himself and a friend, which he did not know at the time was Ruby Moon, and as he continued to look around his son’s room he realized Theo once lived a happy life in this home, which is exactly why they were brought here because Theo blamed them for his happy life coming to an end. Although Angel’s search led to nowhere, Buffy’s search was going much better as she reached the bottom of the basement stairs to see Theo stood there, having ditched his crossbow, for a shiny blade. “I was hoping you’d be the one to find me first, mother and son, slayer versus slayer, you’re going to be my biggest kill.” Theo boasted to a horrified Buffy who was left unnerved by her son’s desire to kill her. “I do not want to fight you, Theo, you are my son and I love you,” Buffy replied cautiously, fearing she would have no choice but to go head-to-head with her own son. “I’m a vampire just like daddy now, did I forget to mention that? So, if you think you’re going to win against me then I have to tell you I’m a lot stronger than when I went up against your friends.” Theo confessed to a stunned Buffy, who realized her son had died before she even got a chance to meet him and at the hands of Giles, nonetheless. “You’re dead?” Buffy answered in complete shock, blaming herself for her son’s doomed fate. “But you still have a soul…” Angel announced as he appeared at the top of the basement stairs and began walking down towards Buffy and Theo. “I don’t know how it’s possible, how you are a vampire, and yet somehow you are still you but the fact that you’ve kept your soul is very much evidence that you are not as evil as you want us to believe.” “Or maybe my soul is so damned the devil himself does not want it?” Theo replied to his father, eager to debunk Angel’s theory about him. “I am the first vampire in history to ever sire himself I guess that means the rules are different for me and although there are two of you, I like my odds considering I am both vampire and slayer.” “I am not going to fight you!” Buffy repeated herself, refusing to lay hands on her son. “I will,” Angel stated before going on to say. “If I have to beat the good back into you then I will.” Theo charged towards Angel swinging his blade multiple times in his direction, Angel managing to avoid being cut before knocking the blade out of Theo’s hands leading to the two vampires going head-to-head in a brutal and bloody fight. Angel managed to hold his own against his son Theo for some time, but it was not long before Theo began to get the better of his father but not because of his new undead status but rather because Angel was holding back, and Buffy could see that, so as Theo threw his biological father to the floor Buffy rushed across the basement floor and picked up Theo’s knife. “Stop it now!” Buffy shouted at her son as she placed the knife against her son. “If you are so damned determined to kill your parents then start with me. “Buffy…” Angel muttered before being knocked out by a killer right hook punch by Theo, who left his father unconscious on the ground as he began to walk over towards his mother. “Do not think that I will not kill you right here right now!” Theo told Buffy as he placed his own hands on the blade pressed against Buffy’s chest. “Then do it! If it is going to make you happy then do it!” Buffy pleaded with her son as tears began to form in her eyes. “All I have ever wanted is your happiness…” Theo pushed the blade into Buffy’s chest ever so slightly, just enough force so she could feel the blade but not enough force to break the skin, and he stood there with a knife

to his mother’s chest for what felt like forever to Buffy but in likelihood was less than a minute, before Theo threw the blade to the ground, unable to kill his own mother. “I do not remember what happy feels like anymore,” Theo admitted honestly, his words making Buffy realize how truly broken he was, much to her own horror, and as he began walking up the stairs leaving both Buffy and Angel in the basement, Buffy could not help but feel responsible for her son’s fate, vowing to save him from himself even if it did lead to her own death.

[oftenderweapons]

The Conversations - part 3/3

Characters: Hoseok, Taehyung

Wordcount: 2.2k words

Genre: slice of life, discussion of NSFW topics, conversation

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello readers! I’m back and I bear gifts!

This is the final installment for The Conversations. In this piece Tae and Hobi discuss their relationships with their girlfriend, Lace -- Tae’s gf -- and Giggles -- Hobi’s --, sharing some spicy details and offering each other advice. Since I consider them the “freakiest” among the guys, do expect some TMI. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: so much BDSM I had to read a handbook, impact play and dedicated objects, bondage and restrictions, themes of domination and submission, use of safeword and mentions of subspace. Voyeurism and exhibitionism, adult clubs and dungeons, public sex, masturbation and oral sex. Blindfold, powerplay, roleplay. Mentions of a sextape... :’) (also hints of a possibly angsty Namjoon future fic, I had to.) 

Wordcount: 2.2k

And here is my masterlist :)

Enjoy!

“Hey hyung, sorry for last night.” Taehyung said, sitting beside Hoseok at the lunch table in the common room.

“It’s okay, no biggie.” Hoseok already had a bright smile on, warm and honestly unbothered by the event.

“I didn’t knew Giggles was at your’s.” Taehyung opened his lunch, starting to analyse the various boxes and cups.

“Yeah,” Hobi’s ears turned reddish. “It was a surprise for me too.”

“How is it going?” Tae cheered as he found the main course. Beside him Hoseok stirred his noodles.

“It’s great. She’s fantastic. How about Lace?”

“She’s doing great. We’re doing great.” Taehyung looked around a little to see if anyone could possibly overhear. “We experimented with a riding crop. Best decision of my life.”

Hoseok laughed out loud, smashing his free hand enthusiastically against the table. “Glad to know. Giggles prefers the paddle. Or my hands. But yeah, Lace gives crop vibes.”

“She’s a huge freak.” Tae took some kimchi, mixing it with his rice. His mouth still half full, he muttered. “But I guess I am, too.”

“As long as she likes that there’s nothing wrong.” He too took a bite of his own food. “Wanna share?”

“What? No.” Tae filled his mouth some more. “I mean, I have to ask Lace first.”

“I mean the food, you pervert.” Hoseok bent over his dish, “though I guess nor Lace nor Giggles would oppose.”

“God, Lace is such an exhibitionist.” Tae said, motioning to his side dish and inviting Hobi to take what he liked.

Hobi also put his smaller boxes in the middle. “And you’re a voyeur, which works just fine.”

“Match made in heaven. Does Giggles like it too?”

“She likes it enough. But, she’s not that visual. She prefers focusing on other senses.”

“I kinda reckoned.” Taehyung remembered the previous night, when he’d endlessly knocked on Hobi’s apartment door only to have his hyung come to the door half undressed, faux leather pants on, his forehead sweaty. Behind him, Tae could recognise a woman -- well, Giggles -- fully naked, sitting on a chair, wearing nothing but a blindfold. And several feet of rope.

“Freak.” Deadpanned Hoseok.

“What about you, freak?” Tae also stirred his noodles, enjoying the steam coming from them together with the heavy smell of soy sauce and fried peppers.

“Do you want me to say I enjoy having her at my mercy, nothing but a blabbering mess, incapable of getting away or understanding what’s going to happen to her?” Hoseok was overly descriptive on that. “Because yes, I do.”

“So not only blindfolded but also tied up?”

“If she’s not behaving, then yes.” Hoseok suddenly looked stern.

“I bet she doesn’t behave much.”

“At all.” Hoseok smirked. “I think I should change her punishment to something she enjoys less.”

“Lace hates not touching me.” Tae fits a huge meat roll in his mouth.

“Giggles is not bothered, as long as I’m touching her. She needs to feel some sort of an anchor, a safety line, so to say.”

“Well, I’d need one too if I were tied up and in the dark.” His mind wandered back to one of his first times with Lace, when he’d let her cover his eyes with a thick silk scarf tied behind his head, his body at her mercy, as she observed him and touched him without him knowing where she’d land her attack, without his intense gaze following her every movement and making her flustered. She had confessed feeling free, unjudged. Not that he would ever judge her, but he knew that he would feel conscious too if he were the one in the spotlight, were the roles to be reversed. He knew he would feel freer without his lover looking at him, analysing where his attention gravitated. But this happened at the beginning, when they were still learning. Now their most pressing need is watching each other. 

“Well. Once it got bad. She got into subspace. Only time she used her safeword. That’s why we don’t use handcuffs anymore.” Hoseok’s face was instantly dull. He still tortured himself for what had happened that one time. The look in Giggle's eyes as he let her wrists free, the angry red marks on her skin showing the indentations of the metal. The way she had seemed so broken, so lost. And the heavy tears falling on his chest as she hid in his form, clinging to him.

"Just once? Me and Lace had to use them a couple times. Both of us. Sometimes she's not in the right mindset and she asks me to stop and cuddle her. Sweetest thing in the universe." His eyes turn dreamy. "After her taste, obviously."

Hoseok laughs and punches him lightly. "TMI, bro."

"Come on, if Giggles tasted that sweet you would boast too."

"I'd rather keep that honey all to myself."

"Greedy." Taehyung poured himself some cola, watching it fizzle before downing it in one go. "By the way, do you have any good role play suggestion? I'm thinking of surprising her during the weekend but I'm so tired I can barely think."

"Strangers at the hotel. Book a room, meet at the lobby and then go upstairs to fuck like bunnies?" Hobi said it without even thinking. 

"Done that."

"It's a classic. Giggles loves it. She fucks me like a slut." He snickered softly, nothing but dark mischief in his voice, but also undying fondness for his beloved.

"And that's TMI." Tae quips.

"You asked."

"Yeah, fair."

"Maid and master. Or butler and madame. You pick." Hobi drank some Sprite directly from the bottle.

"Cliché." Taehyung tutted and proceeded with his meal. “I don’t know. Not really.”

"Artist and muse? I don't know man, you're super picky." It came out with his typically whiny intonation, his tone a rollercoaster as he got deeper into thought.

Taehyung stayed quiet for a few minutes, mulling over the possibility. “Could do.”

The other man slurped in his noodles, finishing them and sipping the soup. “So, roleplay, uh?”

“It makes me feel freer. Like I’m not V from BTS. Like I’m just a boy who loves his girl.”

Hobi nodded. “You don’t know the incredible amount of places I wish I could fuck Giggles.”

Tae clapped his hands and laughed. “Like that one time at the restaurant. Damn, you disappeared for half an hour.”

Hoseok stood up to discard his container, then sat down again. In the meantime he reminisced. How Giggles had smiled mysteriously at him, holding his hand and carefully taking him away from the main scene, into a corridor and then to the restroom. He remembered how she’d palmed him heavily, how he’d cum in her mouth after five minutes of her devoted ministrations. He remembered how Giggles had fingered herself as she was sucking him, waiting for him to be done so he would crouch down, bunch up her skirt and eat her out until her eyes crossed and her legs quivered, lost in ecstasy.

“Sometimes I wished I could just get lost somewhere like in an alley or drive off in the countryside and get it all loose.” Hoseok huffed quietly as he cleaned after his meal, grabbing an half empty tube of ice cream and setting it on the table, again sitting beside Tae. “Make her take off her panties while we’re out for dinner. Do her against the mirror in the elevator.”

“The one back at the dorms...” Tae arched an eyebrow, nodding knowingly.

“Yeah. Or like… Go to a club and just finger her on the dancefloor. Or in a dark nook.” His eyes crinkled shut.

“I get it. People knowing you sucks sometimes. Lace and I wanted to go to one of those... dungeons? Or maybe like an adult club. One of those places where you can perform in front of a crowd. Try some real exhibitionism. And some serious bondage.” Taehyung finished his own meal, discarding the finished cups and plates and grabbing a spoon to share the ice cream.

“Like, shibari?” Hobi asked, making eye contact with his friend.

“Yeah, why not.” Tae shrugged. “Lace would be interested. We’ve done mild things before and she enjoyed, but those are things you need to learn with an expert and just thinking of all the things that could go wrong makes me shiver.” He took a big mouthful of ice cream, almost freezing his brain in the process.

“I took an online course. Kinda fun.” Hoseok smiled and turned a bit shy. “Giggles was ecstatic. We learned some extra knots together, from a book our teacher recommended. She’s a keen student. Very dedicated.” He exploded in bubbly laughter.

“Would you let her tie you up?” Tea asked.

“I don’t know if she wants to, but I would let her.” Hobi blushed. “I wouldn’t mind. She’s talented. And disciplined. Very careful and diligent. I know I would be in good hands. What about you?”

“I’ve already let Lace tie me up.” Taehyung was absolutely confident, his voice neutral. “I enjoy letting her manhandle me every now and then.” He shrugged again, blowing his cheeks and rubbing at his chin. “She can do that. Honestly, she did take some lessons and taught me a few things. We explore a lot together.” At this, his eyes moved to the floor, a bit flustered. Lace knew his body like no one else in the world. He had spent years living in it and getting to know it, but his girlfriend had put body and soul into exploring him, memorising every small tell, every little quirk and sweet spot. Lace had unravelled him in a couple weeks, studying his anatomy with a maniacal precision. And when he allowed her to take control of him, her knowledge showed. Her fingers could draw endless pleasure, keeping him on his toes for hours and then making him explode like fireworks. But the most important thing was the way she had learned to soothe him, to care after him, her affection like balm to his bitter moods and darkest nights.

“Glad for you.” Hoseok gave him a pat on the shoulder, drawing him in for a hug.

Taehyung was getting ready to leave. “I got to talk to Namjoon. He’s giving me feedback on some lines in English. By the way, have you heard of him and Vixen?”

“What?”

“Had a fight. He’s hell-bent on making it up to her.” Tae scrunched his nose. “Guk sorta walked in on them in the studio the other day. I don’t know if they made up.”

Hoseok pouted. “Joon temper’s sucks. Boy got some pent up pressure and he’s gonna blow a fuse someday or other. Plus Vixen’s no saint.”

“She holds him accountable for his bullshit. Takes good care of him. Plus, man, she’s a keeper.”

“Truly.” Hobi thought back to the sparks between her and Namjoon everytime they’re together. If that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what it could ever be. Probably it was the way Giggles searched for his hand when she was afraid, the way she always looked at him when she found something funny, or that small breath she held every time he said her name. Or even the way he needed to bury his nose in her neck when he needed to rest. How he always put his hand on the small of her back when he needed her at his side, when he looked for support and protection.

Taehyung already had his hand on the handle of the kitchen’s door when Hoseok stopped him. “How do you store your… stuff, with Lace?”

“You mean what? Toys? Porn? Pics?”

The older huffed. God, he’s really shameless. “Your vids?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That stuff. I assume you’re not hiding it from her?”

“I was thinking of shooting something. I need safe storage.” Hoseok rubbed at his forehead, crossing his arms.

“Avoid phones. Worst thing. Get yourself a good camera and a decent memory card. Like 72GB. Keep all the stuff in the memory card or pen drive. Lace and I have it in our bedside table. Never keep stuff on the phone or in cloud.” He pointed a finger towards Hoseok for emphasis. “I would recommend an action camera, which is practical like a phone but safer. But if you do use a phone, no connection, no wifi, nothing. Just a phone used like a good ol' camera. Move all the stuff away as soon as you’re done.”

“Yeah, that was sort of a given..” Hobi nodded. “So, a camera? Suggestions?”

“Depends? Handheld or tripod?” Taehyung asked, checking his phone.

“You know me. Hands on my girl, and I like shifting a lot.”

“Tripod. Definitely. I’ll send you some links for reference tonight. Enjoy.”

[mortuarybees]

Exclusively For People Made Feral By “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

The kind of fanfiction I enjoy is the kind which requires me to take a decompression breather every paragraph or so because I’m repressed and tenderness is physically painful. i want there to be yearning and pining and brooding and ultimately, intimacy: fics which embody the mortifying ordeal of being known, as well as the reward of being loved in the end. So here are the fics I’ve read that satisfy this requirement, or in some cases are just extremely tender, in no particular order, with a quote that made me absolutely wild, as well as a few things that aren’t fic

another soul to cling to by strawberry_bee/my best friend @femmeaziraphale​

Crowley is born a run of the mill angel. There is only one catch though. He is given a prophecy by God to be the first and only angel to fall in love. That's clearly off the table when he falls from Heaven though, right? // in progress and the only in-progress fic on the list but it is Too Good and also i have a direct line to the author and they will finish it

“Do you promise to stay still if I turn out the lights?” Aziraphale asked.

“The dark is a demon’s favorite place to be,” Crowley joked, feeling the urge to make light of the situation. He rather felt like he was being taken on a jaunty little date, human skulls included just to woo a demon in the right sort of way.

“Quiet, foul fiend,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers again. They dove into darkness, and before Crowley could find some sort of clever quip, he felt Aziraphale’s arms about his waist. His brain turned to mush, the only thing he could think of being ‘oh, so this is love’ before he felt Aziraphale’s lips brush gently against the edge of his mouth.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, before pulling away. Crowley reached out blindly, coming up with nothing. He turned to the entrance, spotting the outline of Aziraphale as he ascended. Crowley leaned against a wall, hand resting against the forehead of a skull.

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza:

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

“I love you, do you see? Not for work. I’m - I suppose you could say I’m in love with you, to use a human phrase.”

Crowley went very still. Aziraphale withdrew his hands and folded them primly in his lap, moving back to their more customary distance. “It’s quite alright that you don’t love me,” he hurried to add. “It doesn’t change anything. I just wanted you to know in case... Well, anything could still happen with our superiors, you know? Neither side is probably very pleased with us at the moment.”

Crowley stared at him over the rim of his sunglasses, looking rather stricken, and he was making an odd, creaky sound like a strong wind through a poorly-sealed window. The mostly-empty wine bottle he’d been holding slipped out of his loose grasp and clattered to the floor, wine drops spattering on the hardwood. “Aziraphale,” he said finally, voice ragged, “what the fuck are you talking about.”

a home at the beginning of the world by stereobone (explicit)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me." // okayokayokay there’s Meaningful Interior Decorating and a couch metaphor and like the fact that they actually goddamn brought That Quote into it...unacceptable

"My dear boy," Aziraphale says. "You could have said something."

"But we never do that," Crowley says.

He's back to worrying at the fabric of his trousers.

"Besides," he says. "Didn't want to go too fast for you."

Aziraphale feels something swell in his chest, and it feels all encompassing. Like love and heartbreak at the same time. Like being back at the Eastern Gate watching Crowley slither up to him for the first time, question everything while Aziraphale himself was trying not to. He's spent so long, too long, telling himself he could never be ready for this. He reaches out and grabs Crowley's hand, stops him from worrying at his trousers any further.

the nuances of ‘together’ by mirawonderfulstar

Everybody in the whole world can tell Aziraphale and Crowley are a couple. Everyone except, apparently, Crowley.

“Oh, don’t look like that, my dear.” Aziraphale said airily. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“It’s—that’s not the bloody point.” Crowley exclaimed, his feelings from the last week finally coming to a head. “Why do people keep assuming we’re together and why do you keep letting them?”

Aziraphale froze, a forkful of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. He looked like he’d just been slapped. He was focuing very hard on a spot over Crowley's shoulder and his eyes seemed rather wet. Crowley felt a panic begin to slither up his throat, constricting his breathing. He wanted very much to say something, anything at all to make Aziraphale stop looking like that, but he had no idea what.

a culmination of miracles by prettydizzeed

Crowley has chronic pain, and six thousand years later explains that to Aziraphale. I adore the small intimacy of Aziraphale asking him to print him articles about it so he can better understand, and their characterizations, and it seems so much like an exchange from the book I’ll likely have difficulty remembering it isn’t canon in the future, which I’m fine with.

“I don’t read books,” Crowley corrects. “The occasional article, well, maybe.” He figures he’s going to need to extend as many olive branches as he can find, so he adds, “Some of them help. Sometimes quite a lot, actually.”

“Could you—would you print some for me?” Aziraphale asks. “I’d like to understand better.”

“Yeah,” Crowley says, looking at him as long as he can bear. “I’ll do that.”

the hour/the spot/the look/the words by planethunter

Crowley watches Pride and Prejudice (2005) and it spurs a realisation. // fuck guys it’s literally about the hands and perfectly captures like nothing else does the feeling of watching Pride and Prejudice (2005)

One of his hands rests over the other, the tips of his fingers cold. He watches as Darcy takes Elizabeth's hand, gentle, like handling a bird, their fingers curling over each other's. He mimics the gesture with his own hands, brushing his fingers over one another. Slowly, slowly closing them to a grasp. Opening them again, brushing his knuckles with his thumb. He continues, back, and forward, watching with mild fascination. The sensation relaxes him, like a trance, and he only feels some sensation building inside him when it had risen so high that he had to sigh to release it. Now his hands lie still, holding each other limply. He releases them, letting his fingers brush past each other on the way. When he looks up, the television had cut to adverts. 

covet by mirawonderfulstar

pining aziraphale and an amazing confession scene that i absolutely adore.

Aziraphale, little good though it did him, wanted desperately. He wanted with an urgency that scared him. He wanted wine, and cocoa, and the occasional tea. He wanted gravlax with dill sauce, and Pappardelle Bolognese, and those awful little iced biscuits they had at Tesco at Christmastime. He wanted dinners at the Ritz and long walks in the park and late nights in the back room of his shop. He wanted Crowley. Fervently, achingly, he wanted Crowley.

a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian

5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse.

Crowley has a system in place for dealing with moments like these. He developed it sometime in the fifth century, when it became clear that the thoughts and feelings the angel inspired in him weren’t going to go away, and neither was the cast iron certainty that they were largely unreturned. The angel loves him, of course, but only in the slightly absentminded, mandated way he loves all other living things. Crowley has long since made his peace with this. It just stings a bit sometimes, like taking a sip of tea so hot it burns the roof of your mouth. (Not that Crowley himself has had this experience. He has gathered from the mental exclamations of many, many humans, however, that such a mishap brings forth a similar sense of aching hurt, betrayal and a wistfulness that things might be different.)

The best Crowley can do is just let himself feel it – let the love go through him, unnatural and sticky though it may be, always trying to glue itself to the inside of his veins – and wait for it to come out the other side. Sometimes it even works.

such surpassing brightness by handful_of_silence

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

Crowley had always assumed – perhaps disingenuously – that Aziraphale was like most other angels. Capable of grand expressions of love when it came to humanity, but generally avoidant of the topic personally. A love for all things, a love for Crowley even, but the love of a kind, well-meaning relative who sends birthday cards on the wrong day and with a fiver inside with a note to buy something nice like you're still at primary school. Love but distant, separate, and impersonal.

But now, at least according to the rumours, Aziraphale had spent most of the medieval ages playing wingman to a bunch of queer martyrs and church-folk. Which meant that there must be something there, a comprehension of love beyond his angel-standard, over-arching love for mankind. That Aziraphale could, and apparently did, pick favourites.

That he could, just possibly, feel love himself. On an individual level.

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh

Not everything Crowley says is said out loud. Aziraphale doesn't always hear him at first, but he's learning to stop being surprised. // love!!! languages!!

He wonders what Crowley can feel through this touch. He wonders if Crowley can feel him back.

“I’ve never felt anything like you,” he finally says, looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes. They’re wide, awaiting judgment: something in them is terribly resigned, but when Crowley tries to draw his hand back, Aziraphale doesn’t let him go. Instead he steps in closer and says, at nearly a whisper so as not to startle, “What I mean is, you’re beautiful.”

There is a pause, and then Crowley says, soft with surprise, “Oh.”

Aziraphale kisses him.

tell me all the ways by tinsnip

One little speck of sentiment: was it so much to ask? // crowley struggles to tell Aziraphale how he feels out loud; he finds a way around it. pairs well with the fic above, I think.

“I’m not smitten, angel. I wouldn’t say smitten.”

“Oh?” He’d looked at Crowley’s hand in his, looked back up. “And what would you say?”

Suddenly a change in Crowley’s posture, a tilt of his head; there was the sideways smile. “I’d say I lust after you, angel. I covet you. I idolize you. But... smitten? I mean, honestly.” And Crowley had shrugged, as if that had been that.

For some reason, this morning, that hadn’t been enough.

“And?”

“And... and what?” Crowley had looked a bit desperate.

Aziraphale’s mouth had tasted like tea and toast. “And you love me.”

penance by blissymbolics (explicit)

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen. // it’s porn with feelings, crowley has a praise kink, just read the tags if you’re interested

Maybe being deprived of his right to come was a necessary component of being a demon. It was permanent, chronic proof of his disobedience. But fuck, God already gave him his snake eyes and revoked his retirement benefits. Messing with his dick was just foul play. It probably violated the Geneva Convention.

Around the turn of the twenty-first century, he began to think that maybe it’d be best to just accept his lot and call it quits. It’s obviously never going to happen. So why keep torturing himself?

Or at least, that’s how he felt before Aziraphale. Before a certain day in the year of our Lord, 2019. Before he felt a shift in the solar system, and knew that they were now spinning together as one gravitational unit. They shared the same space. The same time. And on one occasion, the same bodies.

Also, I wrote a fic: all i need, darling, is a life in your shape

it’s about repressed aziraphale and pining and it was inspired by strawberry blond by mitski.

Not Fics But Fuck, Man

Meta: why is aziraphale so gay? by dictionarywrites on ao3: a very extensive meta exploring how aziraphale canonically presents himself as a gay man, and why exactly he does that.

this crowley space meta and this crowley space meta really fcking did me in

the unadulterated yearning in this mitski-inspired art by @poladraws i think about it at least once a day and it is. A Lot

this from eden fan video on youtube

this two part amnesia post by @thealogie like i don’t even fcking like amnesia fic but like. “this discovery and several other little reactions of yours have led me to believe that the Other Me, that is the Me that has all his memories, has let standards slide and is not doting on you as he should be. are you cared for? do i need to kick my own butt?” oh my goddddd

@mulderswatch made a spotify playlist titled angels dined at the ritz hat makes me personally suffer every single time i hear it. he began it with predatory wasp of the palisades (”touching his back with my hand, i kiss him / i see the wasp on the length of my arm”) and ended it with strawberry blond by mitski (”can you hear the bumblebees swarm? / watching your arm / i love it when you look my way”) his  m i n d

The best anon in the world asked me for my mitski a/c song associations and here it is

[cloudysonder]

Bad Demon (Ineffable Husbands)

Summary: Crowley, in a fit of drunkenness, confesses his feelings for Aziraphale. It doesn’t go down very well. In fact, it goes about as badly as it could’ve gone, and before Aziraphale could even try to process his (already given) response, Crowley is gone; vanished into thin air. So, in a very Aziraphale-like manner, Aziraphale does nothing for a while. And then he panics.

Crowley, purely by definition, was a very bad demon.

Despite how he acted, it was what he truly believed. (As he should, for it was a fact.)

He didn’t ooze the seven deadly sins as he was supposed to, at all times. He wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of death, nor the concept of unjustified violence or horrible misfortune. In fact, he thought these were very stupid concepts; people should get what they bring upon themselves, he thought. There was no need for something to happen to them for no apparent reason.

Well, at least his “evil” habit of questioning authority never changed. (Which made sense, he supposed, to this fucked-up system, which was only Almighty in the way that it was almightily confusing, as the same system threw him down into a vat of sulfur for said habit.)

He spent his angel days making the stars and the sky, falling in love with every one of his creations. He believed in Her with all of his heart, yes, but he asked questions, thinking he also wanted to understand Her with all of his mind.

But that was bad, he was told, and off he went, spiraling into a vat of sulfur, white wings burning until they were black. 

He was a bad angel; years and years of not being one had taught him to accept that. Being a bad angel should’ve meant that he would be a good demon.

They were two sides of one coin, and somehow, Crowley had managed to land on the edge.

Crowley, purely by definition, was a very bad demon.

Except around Aziraphale.

Dishonesty was one of the most sought-after traits in a demon. Lying was fun for Crowley, a good 87.83% of the time, but it was mostly for temptations and “curses” that could usually be considered mild inconveniences at best. Lies that truly hurt somebody, now those were things he didn’t like messing with.

Words were the sharpest sword sometimes, and again, he wasn’t really a fan of stabbing, or slicing, or even just very politely and gently mauling. In front of Aziraphale however, he told lies that slashed like a jagged rusty knife into dry skin and stung like salt and cayenne rubbed into wounds. 

*

“I’m an angel, and you’re a demon, Crawl-- Crowley. We’re not even supposed to be seeing each other, much less, you know, fraternizing.” Aziraphale had whispered the last word, as if genuinely ashamed. “The Arrangement. That’s it, alright? I can’t do anything more.”

“I’m fine with that,” Crowley replied, and the lie dug itself deep into his heart. “Like I’d want to spend time around a holy angel, anyway.”

*

Around Aziraphale, Crowley also tended to indulge in a trick he had learned from the humans: lying to himself. 

Or, more accurately, pretending.

Sometimes, when Aziraphale called him “dear” or “my dear”, he liked to imagine a world where he actually meant it. He liked seeing the people who worked at the Ritz look at them with fondness, liked hearing them whisper about how they were such a good couple, and for a few beautiful moments, he would live in a world where it was true. For a few moments, he pretended that they lived in a simple world, where Zira wasn’t an angel and he wasn’t a demon, and they were a couple.

(It most certainly wasn’t hard, since, by most Earthly standards, they already acted like a married couple.)

He had once told the angel that the two of them weren’t on Heaven’s side or Hell’s side, but their side.

Zira responded that there was no their side and tacked on an “I don’t even like you!” for good measure. Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, this small exchange of words had completely decimated Crowley’s sleeping habits (from once a day to a few times a year), as Crowley would often nightmare, and even when he dreamed, again, of a hypothetical world where they were together, the words would echo through his head.

It wasn’t very pleasant.

But sitting with his angel at the Ritz, lying to himself (even for a few glorious minutes) was very pleasant. Probably the most angelic a demon could feel.

Well, that is, before the server brought a small pride flag with their wine, offering them a meek smile and a gentle compliment.

“Hello, sirs.” They placed the wine and wine glasses on the table. “Thank you for being such loyal regulars. I think it’s adorable how you two come for a date here every week. Happy pride month!”

The server stuck the flag in the vase of flowers that stood between the two.

Crowley reveled in the moment (no, his cheeks were not red, and no, he was not avoiding eye contact with Aziraphale; he was just really interested in the label on the wine bottle is all).

“Oh.” Crowley heard a small sound from the angel across from him. “Oh. Oh, no, no, no, we’re not, uh we’re not together--”

Crowley froze, rudely being pulled out of his “lying to himself” act, and immediately poured himself a full glass of wine.

“Oh?” The server had a poorly hidden look of “no way” on their face but politely smiled anyway.

Crowley downed the wine like a shot, his eyes focused on both nothing and everything except Aziraphale.

“We’ll keep the flag, though. It’s very nice.” Aziraphale added, and if Crowley were paying even the slightest bit of attention to the angel, he would’ve noticed that Aziraphale’s face was flushed and his lips were stiff, as he was trying to stop himself from rambling (as he often did when nervous).

Crowley, however, was instead busy doing something very unmistakably human:

Drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

The demon was done with about 3/4 of the wine bottle before the server even left their field of vision.

“You. Yeah, you. Get me another one of these-- yeah, a white’s good. Have any bigger wine glasses?”

The server glanced at the angel and then him, and nodded sympathetically.

“Right away, sir.”

“What is wrong with you today, dear?” Aziraphale’s eyes crumpled at the edges in genuine worry. It made Crowley taste a cocktail of guilt and bitterness, knowing that Aziraphale truly did care for him, but not nearly the way Crowley cared for him. “You’re just... breathing in this alcohol, like a, like a... what were they called? You know, those lovely clean sucking things that they made last century...”

Crowley flushed. Just Aziraphale saying the word “sucking” was too much for him. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Crowley soon decided that if he was able to think coherently, then he hadn’t drunk enough alcohol. He filled another glass just as Aziraphale gasped and exclaimed,

“Vacuums!” Zira took a moment to appreciate his own genius, involuntarily puffing out his chest. “A vacuum! That’s what it is! You’re acting an awful lot like a vacuum, dear. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Crowley replied, more out of habit than actual thought. Hm. His vision was fine, and his words weren’t slurred yet, and more importantly, he could still think. Crowley didn’t appreciate that one bit.

He snapped his fingers, and a small demonic miracle danced around his wine, turning it to something considerably less wine-like, but almost infinitely more likely to turn Crowley into a happier, drunker demon.

In other words, vodka. (Particularly a more demonic sort, with 730.67% alcohol.)

He downed the glass, and promptly fell over, knocked out.

“Crowley?”

He barely registered his angel calling him, voice brimming with concern.

Crowley came to after being hit with the familiar scent of old books and cocoa, and, upon further investigation, realized it was because he was draped over Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel struggled to drag him home.

Crowley breathed in Aziraphale’s scent before (slightly) uprighting himself. His arm was still wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, but he was partially walking on his own now.

He heard Zira sigh in relief next to him.

“What happened, my dear?”

God, his eyes were so blue.

“You don’t normally... drink like this.”

Sober Crowley would’ve made an excuse well-suited to his personality; something along the lines of “I felt like it” or “it’s national ‘Get Shit-Faced’ day, angel”.

Drunk Crowley, however, couldn’t even process the question.

“Sssssatan, your eyesss are sso blue.” Crowley flicked his tongue out (it had miraculously shifted back to its natural serpentine form sometime between when he drank his not-wine to when he was draped on his angel’s back) to take in more of Aziraphale’s scent. “....’eally niccce.”

Aziraphale chuckled (adorably).

“What was that, Crowley?”

“Really niccce.”

“What is?”

Crowley made eye contact with Aziraphale, and the demon’s yellow snake-slit eyes crinkled at the edges in fondness.

“...Ineffable.” Crowley hiccupped out, tapping on his chest. “Can’t... understand... why.”

“Huh.” Aziraphale didn’t understand at all what Crowley had said, but felt that it was important for whatever reason, shelving it with his old books in his memory library.

“Sssshakessspeare wasss a dick,” Crowley eloquently added, and the conversation moved on, not giving the angel a single second to process whatever Crowley had just said.

It was when they stepped into the bookshop that Crowley’s despair over the 14th century had miraculously lifted, and the demon’s demeanor shifted to one of relief.

“I’m home!” Crowley laughed between hiccups. He had always imagined saying that when he walked into Zira’s bookshop, and the lack of filter between his mouth and head had long since been removed by alcohol.

“Home? We’re at the bookshop, dear.” Aziraphale absentmindedly replied. Crowley had left his side and was beelining towards his usual spot on the sofa: the whole sofa.

“Yeah.” Crowley was sprawled across the couch, tongue flicking out occasionally to gather as much of the bookshop’s smell as he could. “Home issss where you are, angel.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, his head slightly tilted as his serpentine pupils dilated on a yellow background; a tick he had picked up from the humans. His eyes were half-lidded, decidedly not from the drunkenness that resulted from alcohol but the often even stupider drunkenness that resulted from being smitten.

Crowley had looked at Aziraphale many times this way. Just, never when Aziraphale looked back. Drunk Crowley didn’t seem to give very much of a shit for Sober Crowley’s embarrassment.

“I love you.”

Crowley stared straight into Aziraphale’s too-blue eyes.

“So much, angel.” Crowley tacked on. “Since the Beginning. So, ssso much, Aziraphale.”

He watched as a series of emotions flew across Zira’s face. (If it was to be said, it might’ve been that trait of Aziraphale’s that caused Crowley to trust him so easily in the first place. After all, how could an angel who let everything show on his face betray him?)

First, Aziraphale looked touched. Then, embarrassed. Embarrassment morphed to shame as if he had realized something very important.

“No.”

Aziraphale refused to meet the demon’s eyes. Crowley started to sober almost immediately, albeit unconsciously. It was as if someone had poked a small hole in a water balloon and now the alcohol was draining out of him, like water from a leaky faucet.

Drip.

Drip.

“What?” A million shades of hurt flashed through Crowley.

“It’s wrong, dea-- Crowley! You’re a demon, you know, a creature from Hell that’s supposed to be terrorizing all of humanity, and I’m an angel, the exact opposite.”

I was once too, Crowley wanted to say.

“I’m meant to love everything equally, and you’re not meant to love at all; there’s no possible way whatever this is could, could, could be.”

Aziraphale was rambling. Everything out of his mouth meant little to nothing to him, but every word stabbed Crowley in a different weak point he didn’t know he had.

“Romance is, it isn’t, it’s not--” He was stuttering now. “It’s not us.”

Crowley somehow got his mouth to work again, but all he could manage was a broken,

“What are we, then?”

I don’t know.

“Nothing.”

Crowley shattered.

The room had gone silent.

Where is my home, then?

Nowhere.

Nothing, nowhere, nobody.

That’s what Crowley had always been. Not an angel. Not a demon. Belonging nowhere. He had thought and dreamed and hoped of a love that would make him something, but in the end, he stayed the same.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

If only he could stop. He wished he could, he really did, wished he could slow down, wished he could relax enough to find something.

If only he could just disappear.

When Aziraphale blinked, Crowley had vanished, leaving behind nothing.

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

Crowley was currently in a Place.

A Place, because he had no idea where he was.

Not on Earth, because Earth was a place he could get drunk and forget. Now, every drop of alcohol that entered his bloodstream exited twice as quickly, after any, any thought involving Aziraphale passed through. Which was always, since he was the reason Crowley was drinking in the first place. He couldn’t be on Earth, because Aziraphale would always be with him on Earth.

A Place.

Not on Hell, because he had been to Hell, many, many times, and this was so much worse.

A Place.

Heaven?

Well, if he could go to heaven, this whole blessed thing wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

It was because he was a demon, wasn’t it? 

It was, Crowley told himself. But he could have been better. 

He buried his face in his arms, folded on top of himself in the couch he never sat on in his apartment. 

If Crowley was better, maybe he could’ve convinced Aziraphale to stay. Maybe Aziraphale could’ve chosen him over the world, chosen their side. 

Crowley did ask. Once.

The world or him and Alpha Centauri, and Aziraphale, his lovely selfless good angel, had chosen the world without even blinking. 

Even if it meant throwing him away.

“I really should’ve seen this coming.” Crowley chuckled, miserable, and the sound bounced off the walls. “What was I expecting?”

In front of him, a few of his plants had the nerve to droop, and Crowley couldn’t muster anything in him to threaten them. He felt very much like drooping himself. Crowley gently held the leaf of the houseplant that drooped, feeling it tremble for a second under his touch.

He knew it was a coping mechanism. But it helped. It helped him deal with things, accept things enough to...

To do what?

Heeding orders was never a desire of his.

Everything he did was for Aziraphale. To see his face, to smell his coat, to tease him, to love him, Crowley lived. 

He breathed into the terrified leaf of the dracaena. 

He was to the plant as Hell was to him. 

Hell had power over him, was what he had thought. He feared Hell for what they could do to him.

But now?

The fear had vanished.

The worst had happened. He lived for Aziraphale, not Hell, he realized, and fear of the past only existed in the minds of fools.

He mumbled a quiet “’m sorry” into the leaf of his dracaena, and it stopped trembling in his hands. Crowley had only ever cried once before, unsurprisingly over the same angel, over the same problem: leaving him.

He was sobbing now; he clenched the leaf of his houseplant in his hands and cried, knowing that Aziraphale would never mourn like this over him.

Crowley might’ve imagined it, but he swore that he felt another leaf of the dracaena patting his back, comforting him.

****Something that passed through the mind of Crowley around his 30th attempt to drink****

Aziraphale had once told him something along the lines of “one could only be truly good if one had the capacity to be truly evil”, and Crowley could do neither.

*

When he felt shitty, Crowley would’ve normally crashed Aziraphale’s bookshop, lounging on the angel’s couch in the backroom while listening to him rambling about Dante or Dickens, but that wasn’t very much an option now.

Crowley was nothing to the angel, after all, even though friends still wouldn’t have been enough for Crowley.

*

Aziraphale had screwed up. Badly. 

He sat where Crowley had been just a few minutes ago, looking at Aziraphale as if the stars were in his eyes. 

Crowley, a demon: Snake eyes unhidden, snake tongue flicking out once in a while, languishing on his couch.

He had felt so much pride in having Crowley be comfortable around him. Felt fondness for the demon that would barge in and collapse on his couch without warning, who listened to his rambles about books and music for hours without complaint.

He kept seeing Crowley’s hurt expression when he had said that he was just a demon.

That much was true, yes. But not just a demon. Crowley was anything but just. He was beyond that, and Aziraphale had always known that.

He was sure that when Crowley was an angel that hadn’t changed. It was for being more than just an angel that he probably got thrown off the side. 

This was Crowley: a demon that had drove him more places than he could count, the demon that told him that “Another One Bites The Dust” was by Tchaikovsky, the demon that had walked into a church for him, the demon that had saved books from a burning church for him, the demon that loved him.

“What are we, then?” 

His voice was shaking, broken.

“Nothing.”

 Aziraphale saw Crowley’s heart drop. 

Crowley was gone now; probably never coming back. His only ally in the world, the only constant that had stayed, and protected him, and cared. 

“Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?”

He had nudged Aziraphale goodnaturedly and smiled.

Aziraphale put his head in his hands. 

Softly, silently, he cursed.

*

Meanwhile, Heaven and Hell, as both of which had learned their lesson from the last time they left Aziraphale and Crowley completely unmonitored, watched them for about three weeks.

Well, “watched” wasn’t quite the right word. They didn’t “see” very much of anything. Or hear, for that matter. 

(Which was a relief, as Crowley very well would’ve rather stepped into a vat of holy water than have Hastur know that he’d confessed his love for an angel while drunk.)

Hell felt a small bit of Aziraphale’s grace lift up from Crowley’s clothes and furniture.

Heaven felt a tad of Crowley’s demonic presence lift up from Aziraphale’s bookshop (Crowley had intentionally left a bit so no one would walk into the bookshop to buy books for a very long time) and coat(s).

As such, Heaven and Hell were optimistic that both had returned to their proper roles as a demon, terrorizer of humanity, and an angel, bringer of miracles. Thus, they sent representatives to congratulate them. Not because they were truly proud of them, of course, but rather because of a mix of emotions, most of which were elements of fear and hatred of the other side.

For Crowley, Hastur.

For Aziraphale, Gabriel.

*

Gabriel walked into Aziraphale’s bookshop in an extremely Gabriel-like way, that is to say, with perfect posture, hands folded in front of him, a bright smile painted on his face.

“Aziraphale!” He called.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale looked up from the book he was trying, but failing to read, for his mind had been a bit preoccupied with a certain demon’s absence.

“I just wanted to say congratulations!” He slapped Aziraphale on the back. 

“For...?” 

“For dissociating yourself from that demon, of course! What was his name... Crawly?” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale corrected, stern.

“Right! Up There is very happy with you, you know.” Gabriel leaned forward to say the last sentence, as if it was a well-kept secret.

A small part of Aziraphale, one that he now hated, felt a glimmer of pride. 

Said glimmer of pride was stamped out when Gabriel ruffled Zira’s hair and gave him another slap on the back.

The angel felt nauseous. Gabriel’s smile, his mannerisms, the way he looked like he was proud of him... it all felt so fake. 

Gabriel bounced on his feet, refusing to sit down, as if he was ready to leave any second.

Aziraphale thought of a certain demon, who would drape himself over his couch immediately, settling in as if it were his second home.

Gabriel called him terrific, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that he would much rather be told “not bad, angel” with a poorly concealed smile.

The glimmer of pride, if it had ever been there at all, quickly turned into guilt.

He had traded Crowley for this?

*

Hastur sauntered into the bar with a slight limp. 

Surprisingly, the bar wasn’t crowded at all, almost as if someone had put a sort of demonic miracle on it. Hastur grumbled approvingly, spotting Crowley as the lone figure at the counter, sipping whiskey directly from the bottle.

(He still couldn’t actually get drunk, of course, but drinking felt better than lying on his bed doing nothing.)

Hastur grabbed his shoulder.

“Crowley.” 

Crowley looked at him.

“Hastur.” Crowley sighed. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Finally gotten free of your angel, eh?” Hastur did something that wasn’t smiling nor smirking, but communicated approval anyhow. 

“Not mine,” Crowley mumbled into the bottle.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Crowley took a swig of whiskey. “You could put it that way. And?”

“Hell approves.” Hastur shrugged. “Everyone does. Angels are stupid asses. Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“Sure,” Crowley replied.

“Yours in particular though,” Hastur added. “Satan, he was idiotic. Bookshop full of books that he doesn’t want to sell. He might as well be one of ours. Stupid name too, something long, Ezra something--”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley grit out.

“Yeah, him. What a preach. Lecturing about evil and good, as if he knows everything. What does he know? He just stuffs his face all day long like a human. No wonder he’s such a lard-ass--”

Crowley decked him, and Hastur flew across the room.

...

Hastur’s back slammed against a brick wall with a dull satisfying thud, and Crowley’s hands hung at his sides, as if they were sagging with the weight of what he had just done.

To put it simply, Crowley had two things on earth: Aziraphale and Hell, which had already put him into a number of quite strange situations, given that they were almost polar opposites of each other. 

After Aziraphale rejected him, Crowley only had Hell, and logically, should’ve been demon-ing with all his might: knocking over kid’s ice cream cones, slightly nudging the letters on someone’s birthday cake so that they would be just asymmetrical, you know, evil stuff. He should’ve been training a band of mariachi maggots to sing for Hastur, Duke of WhateverTheFuckCrowleyDidn’tReallyCare, not striking him in the face.

But Satan was it satisfying.

The pompous Duke of Hell who had the nerve to insult his angel was lying on the ground before him, a large bruise blooming on his cheek. Anger still pumped through Crowley’s veins as he leered down at Hastur, feeling very much like he’d like to punch him again.

Gripping him by his collar, Crowley lifted Hastur in the air and threw him into the wall again. Just for good measure. He took a deep breath.

After being near Aziraphale for so long, he had forgotten just how woefully inadequate other demons’ company was in comparison. 

On the bright side, Crowley thought to himself as he walked towards the exit. After what happened today, he wouldn’t very much have to worry about “other demons’ company” anymore.

A demonic miracle later, Hastur appeared in front of Crowley again, smug smirk on his face and amusement flickering in and out of his eyes.

To fully understand Hastur’s reaction, one had to understand two very important points.

1: When it was implied before that Hell left Crowley for the most part alone  because of a mix of fear and respect from his holy water spectacle, it would be more accurate to say that it was because of a begrudging respect from fear. Hell respected the art of fear very much, and Crowley had instilled it into every demon who watched him bathe in holy water.

Fear, however, only worked when the one who fears thinks the one who is feared has no weaknesses.

2: Hastur wasn’t stupid.

“This is hilarious.” A maggot crawled out of Hastur’s smile. 

“What is?” 

“You fell in love.” Hastur leaned forward to Crowley’s ear. “With an angel.”

If it must be reiterated, Hastur was not quite the idiot Crowley had always played him to be. He may have seemed so, but that was simply because Crowley was a bit more clever than he played himself to be.

More importantly, Hastur had been demon-ing for far longer than Crowley had.

**A Common Misconception (known by Hastur but unknown to Crowley)**

Demons did not indulge in the seven sins; they simply convinced humans to do so. In fact, it was (or should’ve been) impossible for them to do so in the first place, as each sin was rooted in love, and demons could not love.

(Demons could sense the sins just as angels could sense love, and it was Crowley’s bit of wrath that gave him away.)

Crowley stiffened. He fought the (unnecessary) urge to breathe, as panic rose up his throat. Fear was about three hells of a poison, and Crowley was deeply cursing the fact that he didn’t have it in his serpentine fangs.

“You know Picasso?” Hastur looked directly at Crowley.

Crowley didn’t reply.

“One of ours, of course. I got to torture him for a few Hell millennia, and he told me something.” Hastur continued. “He said, ‘Every time I change wives I should burn the last one. That way I'd be rid of them. They wouldn't be around to complicate my existence. You kill the woman and you wipe out the past she represents.’”

“Wait,” Crowley interjected, sounding desperate.

“Now, Aziraphale, was it? Not a woman, but it’s the same either way, really.”  Hastur shrugged. 

“Look, aren’t you being a tad overdramatic? Aziraphale-- he’s, it’s not anything, really, you know. In fact, he told me that myself-- look, I’m sorry for striking you, but we’re mates, aren’t we? Demons of Hell, the lot of us, there’s no need to--”

“Ciao.” Hastur dipped his head a bit, and he was gone.

Shit.

....

Aziraphale got rid of Gabriel by sheer willpower, fake smiles, and a gentle bit of steadily nudging his “brother” to the exit. 

Upon closing the door behind him, the angel savored the sense of relief and tried to ignore the loneliness that swelled beside it.

The empty couch, the crushing silence.

Overwhelming.

However, the small, but already far too long, interaction with Gabriel had led him to a decision. A decision, he realized, in which he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

Aziraphale was, generally, a very reckless person. Sometimes, it could be called bravery. Other times, it could be called stupidity.

He was aware of this, and this awareness led him to ultimately decide that this was too important of an action to rush in with.

He had waited six thousand years. What was a few hours more?

Armed with a pen and a couple hundred flashcards, Aziraphale dived into work.

*A List of Things Aziraphale Realized While Writing Out a Series of Memories and Thoughts*

1.) He was an idiot.

2.) Crowley had confessed to him in his own way many times before (burning church, French Revolution, dinner at the Ritz for no reason), and Aziraphale had never noticed (refer to #1).

3.) He loved Crowley. (Well, he actually came up with that one sometime over the three weeks they’d been apart.)

4.) He really didn’t give a flying fuck (Yes, he had wrote that. Yes, he thought that Crowley would be very proud of him.) about Heaven or Hell, so long as he had the Earth and Crowley.

The moment he had firmly decided on the final point, Aziraphale heard the door slam open.

It was followed by a desperate-sounding, “Angel!”, and Aziraphale immediately turned around, making eye contact with a terrified looking Crowley.

He didn’t even have time to take in the demon’s eye bags and sunken face before Crowley beelined towards him.

Cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands, Crowley rubbed his thumbs over the angel’s cheekbones, as if trying to convince himself that he was there. 

“Alright?” Crowley asked softly.

“What?” Aziraphale blinked, bewildered.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked again, firmer. 

“Yes, of course, what are you talking about--” 

Crowley hugged Aziraphale, crushing the angel’s body against his own (not unlike a snake, in fact). Confused, Aziraphale managed a small, 

“Crowley...?” 

 The demon in question stiffened as if remembering something important. He immediately pulled away, shoving his hands in his pockets, and looking very much like he wanted to jump into a lake of holy water.

“Right. Sorry. Um.” He coughed into his sleeve. “Panicked, a bit. Couldn’t do any demonic miracles. Just a prank, probably, then. Just thought about... some stupid... thing--”

Said “stupid thing” may or may not have been the burning of the bookshop followed by the worst hours of his life.

“--so I just came over without thinking. Sorry. I’ll just-- I’ll just go.” He turned to face the door.

“No!” Aziraphale latched onto his hand. “Wait, just wait right there. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale hurried to his desk, gathering his index cards, notes, and sticky notes, among all of the other 5,724 things on there. 

It was the warmest he’d felt in a while. He’d missed the demon, so much more desperately than he thought he would have, and a single word, a single action from him was all it took to make the world feel alright again.

He’d missed being called “angel”. 

Aziraphale flustered at the realization and stumbled, index cards managing to spread across the floor in a matter of seconds.

“What’s all this?” Crowley gestured to Aziraphale’s paper model of the Pacific Ocean on the ground. 

“Oh, just give me a second, I’ll have it all sorted out in a minute.” Aziraphale was bent down on the ground, gathering all the cards into a small horde. “Gosh, where’s the last one?”

“Just use a miracle, angel,” Crowley said, exasperated. 

For a second, things were normal again.

Crowley bent down to pick an index card up.

He glanced at it and flushed an alarming shade of red. Pushing his sunglasses up, Crowley covered his face with his right hand, the other holding the index card between his middle and pointer finger.

“Ah,” Crowley heard Aziraphale from the ground. “You, you picked up the last one.”

“...is it true?” Crowley murmured quietly, as if he was scared of the answer. 

Aziraphale stood up, dragged Crowley up by the arm, and removed his hand from his face. 

He stared directly into Crowley’s eyes and smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I reckon it’s the truest thing I’ve ever written.” 

Crowley smiled back.

“Lunch at the Ritz?”

“I thought you’d never ask, dear.”

And he meant the “dear” this time, Crowley thought blissfully.

*

“A reservation for two, under Anthony J. Crowley.” 

The server beamed at them.

“Flowers?” The server offered.

“As many as possible, please.” Aziraphale replied.

“Sure, angel.” Crowley sighed.

*

“About goddamn time,” Hastur muttered from a table behind them.

“Were you the one who got them together?” A server asked from beside him. He startled, before relaxing.

“Drastic times called for drastic measures.” Hastur shrugged. 

“Please let me give you some wine on the house.”

“Could you say I stole it? For my reputation.” 

The server paused.

“Sure, sire.”

AN:

Thanks for reading! For earlier updates and other such things, my stories are on AO3 under the name CloudySonder!

[artpoint420]

Melvin and the Silent Diagnosis for a Brilliantly Broken Psyche

Hypothetical Diagnosis Insecurity masked with narcissistic tendencies characterized with compulsive obsessions driven by blatant autism, and no that is not an immature insult I test extremely highly for Asperger's myself Here's the Evidence: (I will state before hand that Melvin-borg is a completely separate character in my mind, and thus will not be included in this particular theory.  Melvin decided not to turn out like him, so they are canonically separate characters) He is obviously and frequently inspired by George and Harold, but his deeply embedded fear of rejection makes him dangerously bitter, and it doesn't help that everytime he breaks out of this protective shell, he is rejected or betrayed once again. It’s important to note that while he may be high-functioning (aka: Aspergers) he is still Autistic. That’s because Asperger’s is not a form of autism- it is autism. Period. And any kind of autism or mental attypicality left untreated can develop in to many, many other severe mental disorders, or, in general, make life a metric heck ton harder and complicated than it already is. I also need to confess that I test highly positively for autism myself as well as being an INTP female (Myers-Briggs Personality Test). Not to brag, but all that combined with my naturally creative nature makes me rare af, but it also means I can't communicate or handle stress #liketheothergirls, so that has lead me to being/feeling bullied and ostracized.  I also have anxiety and depression issue which run in my family, and mild insomnia, and may or may not be relapsing into an eating disorder. Paired with psychical problems like acid reflux and severe neck tension, health, whether psychical or mental is of uttermost importance to me.  It suffices to say, autism is not easy to deal with and if not taken care for properly a person, especially if not made at least aware of what autism truly is, it can truly ruin their life. Combined with the neglectful nature of his parents (at least in the books) I and many others in this fandom truly believe Melvin is at least autistically coded. Not only does this fit the archetype of his character but it also fits the theme of the books to a TEE. At its core, CU, of all things, is a children's book series, about living your best life despite not being “normal.” Even characters like the teachers or Mr Krupp who strive for “normality” are shown to actually have deeply repressed creativity, or, in some cases, deep trauma from their own childhoods. It suffices to say that I resonate deeply with Melvin. Say what you want about him or me, I was able to relate to him the second he spoke his first line in the second book. Sorry to turn this into a long vent, but I feel it is best to use myself to support this theory as well as harder evidence, even if it is mostly a means of self-therapy. To start, we both are obsessed with school even to a detrimental degree. Ever since head-start (Pre-K but a million times better), these "book-smarts" were the first thing I ever truly excelled at. When the other kids bullied (or as I now know as teasing) me, I would lose myself in a stack of homework or a book 2-3 grades past my grade level (this is before I drew or wrote as a main hobby). Similarly, Melvin is rarely seen without a book or gadget, just like me. We both over analyze things and hide our feelings. We both have intense crushes on others but are terrified to dare express them, or do but to nothing but awkwardness. We were both science kids, and fascinated by words and/or numbers alone (I still am just in a more artistic way). We both struggle to communicate and relate to others. We both have a unusual sense of humor and are highly observant of surroundings all the while missing what’s in front of our noses. We both have interests that quickly spiral into obsessions and dropping the obsession only when sick of it. We both practice similar forms of stimming. We both not only thrive but crave control and structure with the world around us, even to the point of being "control freaks" and creating odd habits, routines, and rituals regardless of whether they are necessary or make sense. We both have an intense fear of intimacy and rejection to the point of practicing self-isolation and in some cases self harm or other unhealthy coping methods (seen with Melvin over eating sweets or over working himself. For me it’s disordered eating or self flagellation, something I have all but completely dropped but still) We also both tend to see ourselves as inferior to others and attempt to mask those feelings with a superiority complex (I feel bad for my siblings but I didn’t know what I was doing, and no it was not abusive just sibling rivalry and I’m the oldest anyway, and we are country kids and understand “rough-housing” =/= using each other as a punching bag, but accidents happen I'm sorry) We both seem to become easily overstimulated and have explosive mental and emotional breakdowns when things just . . . become too much However the harsh divide between male and female and fictional and nonfictional means we both present certain traits differently. Whereas he presents a more linear line of thinking my mind is overwhelmingly sporadic. Also, I have over sensitivities to touch and light (and sometimes certain noises, but not anything not normal? Wfk.) But maybe he does have oversensitivity but I can't think of an example off the top of my head. Enough about me however. I know Melvin and autism has been done to death.  Hell, I just did it to death.  My actual theory is more on the inner mechanisms of his mind and predicting how he will develop should the series allow for full character development. Also, similar to my Krupp theory, I will be listing his crimes out and give him a proper sentence for his age and maturity level (which will be light as I am sympathetic to his plight).   This is already getting too long, so Imma try to finally get to the point.  Characters with autism are honestly a mixed bag, sometimes there as standardized as my mystery Daddy Sherlock Holmes and other times they are as subtle as Pearl or Peridot from Steven Universe (has Rebbaca Sugar confirmed this? sorry). Honestly, it does distress me that autism is almost always used to have an evil genius character or some weird side character for brownie/ diversity points. (this makes me a bit hypocritical I guess, considering my own stories. I guess tropes are tropes for a reason) And while Dav Pilky May not be subtle with his scholastic politics or humor his one spectacular tool in his writing books has always been, when it comes to his characters, showing instead of telling. This is something I latched on to even as a kid, and I was already thinking up theories on the characters before I even knew character theories were a thing.  Like what happened to Harold's Dad (hint, hint).  Why was Harold's sister rarely used?  Does Mr Krupp actually like their comics (a now accepted theory, but not just min? And many many others I'm probably never gonna write.  It took until how long in the books to reveal George and Harold have ADHD? Before that they were simply described as being as smart as Melvin but just in different ways. Personally I feel that autism is inverted ADHD. This is an opinion I’ve recently formed so if I’m wrong bloody attack me in the comments. Anyway, Melvin presenting autism makes him the perfect foil to George and Harolds’ more sporadic antics. The only true difference between autistic folks and ADHD folks is that those with autism tend to crave a structured environment full of rules, and set goals to achieve, while such an environment is HELL to children with ADHD (aka:George and Harold). (Even though if with adults they can trust, children with ADHD thrive in structured environments if they are surrounded by adults or authority figures they can trust.)  I know some will tell me ADHD is on the spectrum, but I just learned this like actually the other day and don’t fully understand it.  My prediction is that Melvin will eventually and naturally mellow out if just because staying so high strung all the time is a huge waste of mental energy.  I know good as hell I had to.  Also, he mellowed our in the books and went from a screeching revenge exacting lil narcissistic white boi prick to a person who simply wants to pursue his interests and even helping George and Harold (selfishly, but help nonetheless). He even went from enjoying the fame and attention of hero-ing to realizing it did not fufill him. Indeed quite the opposite.  His true passion lay in solving world problems through science, and I don't think the ending for him in the books could have been any more perfect considering his character.   In the Netflix show, similar to how I think Krupp's personalities are merging, I believe that Melvin will eventually become more like his Broski alter ego (which I calmly demand more of).  Overall, given that this show needs to go back to the status quo more often than not, I don't think his core character will ever change, and it doesn't need to.  Multiple times throughout the series he's been shown to crave friendship from George and Harold, despite audibly hating him . Textbook Tsundere, I know.  He will form a friendly rivalry with George and Harold, I have almost no doubt about that, taking the season 1 finale, season 2 finale, season 3 first episode, and halloween special into consideration. (Yeah, if someone will send me clips I will give them my eternal gratefulness) To conclude, because by god this is long, Melvin is, SHOCKER, just a little kid.  A little kid who likes muffins and dolls and has big hopes and dreams.  A little kid whose love for science and unrecognized creativity is channeled into making inventions that are even more impressive than those of Professor P (sorry P).  But he is a little kid with his own needs and stuggles which at this point remain unmet.  His parents are canonically neglectful, I cannot repeat that enough times.  The effects of neglect are a hell-hole of its own regardless of growing up with undiagnosed autism.  But that's just a theory- Alright, that was a banger, I guess next up is Melvin-borg since writing this has given me some interesting ideas for him.  Let’s see how long this hyperfocus train will go!

[aconstellationofmemories]

The Three Phases of Goodbye

Miraxus Week 2020 Day 5: Farewell, Day 7: Future, Bonus Day 1: Fur Coat.

This oneshot is somewhat rushed as I'm on a time constraint (exams, why do thou torture me so?). I drew most of my inspiration from Kyuhyun's "I Don't Love You" and Ella Henderson's "Yours" for Part I and Part II respectively. Highly recommend that you give them a listen!

Also on AO3.

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

PART I

The first time it happened, was also the first time he made her cry.

He recalled having fought with Gramps earlier that day. For what reason exactly, he couldn’t remember. Only the phrase, “You’re a Dreyar,” uttered in disgust and the wounded emotions stuck with him.

While the name was held in high regard among the public, to him, it was a burdensome, hefty weight to carry. One he never wanted to.

No matter how strong he grew to be, Gramps was always disappointed in him. From a young age, everyone had placed great expectations upon his tiny shoulders. His father desired him to be powerful. His grandfather wished him to make the family name proud. The world expected him to be the great Dreyar next in line.

Each of them had dreamt a vision of him which he never asked for. All he wanted to be was simply Laxus. Was that too much to ask for?

He could be the strongest mage in Fiore, and Gramps would still let out a long sigh when he glanced at his grandson. Despite his efforts, he would always fall short.

The thought enraged him.

Even more annoyingly, his chest ached a little bit. Why should it? The hell with what Gramps perceived of him.

Unable to stand the sight of the old man or the guild a second longer, he stormed out without a destination in mind.

He just needed to get out.

Later that evening, he sought for some elusive relief at a bar. He threw back a few shots of beer without hesitation. A girl, apparently interested in him, slid into the stool next to him. Her hand on his thigh was an unwelcome sensation, almost as if he was betraying someone. The notion itself was ridiculous. He wasn’t bound to anyone. He seized her up with a penetrating gaze. Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch under his hard stare.

“Are you looking to forget something?” she asked seductively. Her hand, so foreign on his thigh, crawled up higher. “I can make you forget better than that drink.”

He had to admit it, the young lass was pretty. Long, dark tresses framed a slender olive complexion with mesmerising hazel eyes and tempting crimson lips. Her husky voice beckoned him to have a taste of the precious good in front of him. She was an irresistible beauty for most men.

To him, however, she only served as a stark contrast to a certain someone.

Just like how he couldn’t live up to his Gramps’ expectations, this woman could never be compared to the likes of that person.

Before the ambitious hand could progress any further, he grabbed it away from him. “I’m telling you this only once,” he warned, glaring at her. Still confident, she opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he was faster. “Get the hell away from me.”

Sensing the hostility from him, she clammed her mouth shut and wisely withdrew to some other part of the bar.

Thanks to her, his head was filled with images of an ivory-haired woman. Great. As if his day couldn’t get any worse.

“I knew you’d be here.”

The familiar voice halted the ascent of his glass.

“I heard what happened with the Master.” The woman of his imaginations had materialised into the real world and occupied the seat on his right.

“Did the senile old man sent you to check that I wouldn’t cause problems?” he asked sarcastically, his gaze focused on the gold liquid in his glass.

“I was worried about you.”

“Why? Afraid you’d get on his bad book and be demoted?”

Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t true. She wasn’t that sort of person. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from verbally hurting her.

“To other people, you’ve changed into someone else entirely–”

“That’s not wrong. I’m no longer the weak Laxus from before.”

“–but to me, deep down, you’re still the Laxus I knew.”

If he dared to believe it, she might even offer her heart to him.

The thought sent a slither of something eerily similar to fear down his spine.

Her gaze dropped to her hand. It rested upon his chest, directly on top of his heart. Unlike the woman from earlier, her touch didn’t felt repulsive.

“I know you’re not the bad person you make yourself to be. It’s just a defence mechanism to protect yourself. The Laxus I know is a man who cares for his family but doesn’t know how to show it. Because he was denied the love of his parents. He couldn’t show he was sad, because he was expected to be strong.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The steadiness in his voice concealed the uneven rhythms of his his heartbeats. Never in his life would he admit that his heart was trembling. Her words had awakened a part of him it shouldn’t have.

He watched the golden liquid flow around the glass as he twirled it. “If you think I’m hiding my true self like a coward, you’re delusional. This is who I am. Take it or leave it,” he spat.

“You can fool everyone, Laxus, even Master,” she said softly, “but you can’t fool me.”

It was right, she knew him better than anyone else. Even the most hidden part of him.

But he was also acquainted with her darkest secrets and weaknesses, and he wasn’t above wielding his knowledge of them.

Even if using them felt like he was stabbing himself.

Cupping her cheek in his calloused hand, he smirked at her. “Sweet, idealistic Mira,” he said cynically. “I used to like playing with you because you were different.”

“Playing?” she asked softly, in disbelief.

“You were full of spunk and challenged me,” he began, getting closer to her face. “But you changed after Lisanna’s death, and started to poke your nose into my business. It’s bothersome and I’m tired of it.”

“You’re just saying that to hurt me,” she said, her chin quivering.

“Am I not right?” He pinned her a hard stare, merely inches away from her face.

“Is this what you really want, Laxus?” she said, her voice shaking a little.

“Do you not get what I’m saying?” he evaded, then gulped quickly. “Stop meddling in my business,” he snarled, reluctantly dropping his hand. It was the last time he could ever touch her.

A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. It might as well have dragged him down along with it.

She stared tearfully at him for the final time. Are you really doing this? her gaze asked.

I am, his serious ones returned.

She nodded, then took a deep breath. Glancing down, she turned her back on him and strode away.

Just like that, without a word, she left.

Instinctively, his foot stepped forward to chase after her. His mind stopped his body before he could make another move. Forcing himself to accept what he had done, he closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides.

Even Mirajane Strauss was disappointed in him now.

“No, this is not what I want at all,” he confessed.

For some reason, it hurt more than if she had insulted him or hit him. At least if she had done either, it meant she was angry at him. If she hated him, she wouldn’t be in despair because of him.

Overwhelmed by sensations he didn’t want to identify, he mock-laughed at himself.

In the end, even when he grew stronger and bigger, nothing had changed over the years.

He was always alone.

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

PART II

The second time, it was him who sought her out.

The sky was painted with shades of apricot as the sun made its glorious descent. The purplish grey hues of dusk was quickly creeping in. He found her by the beach, strolling barefoot absent-mindedly along the sandy path with her sandals in her hands. Strands of ivory locks fluttered in the breeze around her. Her footsteps were slow, making it seem like she was contemplating on something.

What could she be thinking? Was she recalling the events of the day, when he had rebelled against them and attempted to seize control of the guild?

Or was she replaying that moment when he said those disgusting, hurtful words to her?

Words which he wished he could take back.

As much as he wanted, he couldn’t undo the damage they had inflicted. However, there was one thing he could try to redeem himself.

“Hey, Mira.”

That was to start over. He would begin with a greeting and, if she was willing to give him another chance, slowly make his way to becoming closer to her once more. This time, without abusing her trust and faith.

Her footsteps halted at the call of her name. He held his breath in suspense as he awaited her reaction. Would she refuse to acknowledge him? Scold him? Call him names?

As long as she was willing to look at him again, he would be contented with any harsh treatment if it meant he could see her again.

She pivoted on her heels and glanced at him in mild surprise. She tucked a stray lock behind her ears and, to his disbelief, smiled sincerely at him. Even after all he had done, she didn’t hold any hatred for him in her gaze.

“Hey, Laxus.”

Just like that, with merely two words, she had granted him another chance.

He wouldn’t mess it up this time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly.

“Just enjoying the sunset,” she responded.

A pregnant silence fell between them, both not giving voice to the words they wanted to say. With the stiff atmosphere surrounding the space between them, you would never guess that they used to be childhood friends. Perhaps even something more than friends.

This had been his doing. What the hell have I done?

“Are your injuries okay?” she inquired, somehow managing to feel concern for him. Typical Mira. Her care knew no limits. He had used that trait against her that night, but in reality it was one of the many things which drew him to her.

“They won’t kill me,” he said. His whole body hurt. He couldn’t move a muscle without experiencing a sharp pull. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. “How are you?” he asked gruffly. Those three words felt foreign on his tongue. But he needed to know regardless.

“Now that I’ve seen you again, I’m doing better.”

He blinked.

“You’re always a family, Laxus.”

“I’m no longer part of Fairy Tail,” he said with a woeful smile. “Gramps exiled me.”

“Even so,” she emphasised, “even after all that, you’ll always be family to us.”

He dropped his gaze. “I...to you...” he began. “The things I’ve said...” Damn it. The words which he wanted to say, words which he meant, why wouldn’t they come out?!

“I know, Laxus,” she said softly, comfortingly.

“No...” he shook his head.

“You don’t have to say them, Laxus. I know.” She gazed at him in understanding. You didn’t mean them, it said.

Not a single word.

It’s okay.

Only it wasn’t. Not to him. Because of his foolish greed, he had broken the already fractured comradeship with his fellow members. On top of that, he ruined the bond which he shared over the years with her.

No, none of it was okay at all.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, as if hearing his thoughts. “Since you’ve walked down the wrong path, from now on, you’ll only go the right one.”

He smiled sadly at her. He hoped that would be the case.

For a long moment, they just stared wordlessly at each other.

“Are you leaving for a long time?” she eventually asked.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. It was true. There wasn’t any fixed plan, only that he intended to train and do some soul-searching. He couldn’t hurt his loved ones because of his stupidity anymore.

She nodded, then smiled brighter than the blazing star in the sky. He took a photograph of the moment in his mind. The image would last him through the hard times.

“This is not goodbye, right?”

“Yeah. It isn’t.”

“Take care.”

He swallowed. “You too.”

Because he couldn’t bear to see her leave one more time, he took heavy footsteps away from her.

One, then another.

And another.

Until her light floral scent disappeared with the wind.

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

PART III

One more hour.

Those were the words he repeated to himself.

Each time he said it, he vowed that he would muster the strength after one more hour.

That had been five hours ago.

Before he knew it, three hundred and seventeen minutes had elapsed since his first deal with himself. A fleeting nineteen thousand and twenty seconds which he hopelessly wished would last forever.

Just a little longer.

His eyes roamed over her features, memorising every little detail. Her loose fringe framing her forehead. The scrunch of her nose when she dreamt. The outline of her eyes. Her slightly parted lip. The sound of her breathing filled the silent morning.

Lying here like this, just watching her sleep, he could live this way forever.

Involuntarily accepting the reality, Laxus rustled slightly in bed and let out a quiet grunt to the silent room. He barely slept a wink the night before. Unlike the dawn which unveiled its dark drapes in anticipation to greet him, he wasn’t eager to commence his day. He moved carefully and as quietly as possible as to not wake her.

When he was dressed, he trudged back to the bed and gazed at her again for several long moments. No matter what, he just couldn’t get enough of her.

Carefully, he lifted his fur coat and covered her with it. It was her favourite. He was going to be away for a while, and it would accompany her in his place during his absence.  Although the coat had grown to be an indispensable part of him over the years, he loved the sight of her being swallowed by it as she wrapped it around her body. Secretly, a part of him found satisfaction in seeing her wearing his clothes. It showed the world that she was his.

All his.

Just like how he was all hers.

Gently touching her soft porcelain cheek, he leaned in and placed a kiss on her fringe-covered forehead. Go, you idiot. It took every last ounce of strength for him to trudge away from her.

He was leaving her again.

But this time, when he returned, he would rewrite their story.

There would be no more goodbyes exchanged between them, only a hello to new beginnings. Together.

He would ask for that forever.

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 10: Foster

Little Minfilia only ever felt the sense that she was not enough. The siblings Arcbane seek to change that

Or:

In this house we love and support found family.

Word count: 1,396

Serella didn’t need to have come from an abusive home to recognize abusive behavior. She hated that she recognized it in the way Thancred treated Minfilia.

For some time now, at least since the bloody banquet, she had lamented that the lighthearted closeness she had shared with the rogue had been lost— though seeing how differently he carried himself now, with some years under his belt away from everyone, she wondered how much of himself had been lost to his grief. 

Much as she wanted nothing more than to scruff him by the back of his collar and beat some godsdamned sense into him for his mistreatment of the poor girl, she knew such action might inspire more retaliation against Minfilia. Though she knew (or rather, she hoped) it would never turn physical, that didn’t mean she wanted to foster more suffering on his young charge for her own self righteousness.

So despite every nerve in her body burning with the want to beat his poor behavior out of him, she took a page out of Uriangier’s book, and instead turned that energy into softness toward Minfilia. 

The poor girl seemed unsure of how to handle it, being treated with care, but all the same didn’t spurn the gentle words given to her. Instead, she readily took the opportunity presented by Wyd Lad to recover his invisible ink to ask to accompany the Paladin. Seeing an opportunity to give Minfilia a moment’s respite from Thancred’s scrutiny, Serella readily agreed.

Their task had been made all the easier for Minfilia’s involvement, and though Minfilia spoke harshly of her own shortcomings (in words that had been given to her by Thancred, Serella noticed with no small amount of fury,) she expressed relief that Serella was unharmed.

“I’m glad you’re safe, too.” Serella replied with a small smile. 

“I haven’t seen much actual combat, so I was a little nervous, but I’m happy I could help.” Minfilia’s already faint smile disappeared. “The Minfilias before me battled sin eaters as part of the Eulmoran army. But that had all changed by the time I was found. They held me captive so that I wouldn’t follow in the others’ footsteps.”

“You’ve done well, rest assured.” Serella tried to reassure her. 

The Oracle ducked her head, her expression hidden by the hair that fell in front of her face.

“I’d still be in my cell now had Thancred not spirited me away. When he found me, I knew nothing of the world. I didn’t know how to live, let alone fight. Thancred once told me that if the efforts to summon you failed, it would fall to me to face the Lightwardens. I realized then that it was the only reason he kept me close— as a contingency. The truth is, he can’t stand to be around me.”

“Minfilia—” Serella didn’t know what to say. She was just sorry Minfilia had been made to realize that, and that it was her friend that was doing this to the poor child. 

Minfilia looked up again, cloudy, luminescent blue eyes beseeching her to understand, her expression pinched in anguish.

“Because I’m not her. I’m not his Minfilia.”

She spoke it with such conviction that Serella wondered how long she had known that truth, and had accepted it even when she should have never been made to do so. Seeing Minfilia need to confess her heart’s woe, needing a sympathetic ear, she stayed silent as the Oracle continued to tell of an event she could not recall happening in Nabaath Areng, where the first Minfilia had stopped the Flood. Minfilia spoke of not recalling what had happened, only knowing who had spoken to Thancred through her. Of Thancred’s subsequent brooding and silence. 

“You aren’t her, you know.” Serella spoke up before the poor girl worked herself up to tears.

“I...what?” The Oracle blinked owlishly up at her.

“I don’t say that derisively: you are no one but yourself. No matter what anyone else says.” The Paladin took a needed, calming breath and continued, “But I don’t doubt that it makes you wonder, yeah? Who people are really speaking to when they use your name. Because it was someone else’s name before.”

“...Yes.” The Oracle whispered like she’d admitted to doing something wrong.

“So pick a new one, and I’ll use that.” Serella offered with a smile. Minfilia’s already wide eyes only grew. “A nickname! That’s what friends give one another, right? Nicknames?”

“I...wouldn’t know.” Minfilia said. “But...I wouldn’t even know what to pick. What would you call me?”

Serella looked her over, then, the sad but brilliant little girl who wanted so desperately to be loved that she had been made to misconstrue her use for her worth. Her heart twisted, knowing that she had been made to suffer so long. And yet, the nickname came to her easily.

“Little Light.” Serella offered. “How does that sound?”

“Little Light…” Minfilia lowered her eyes, thinking. “Little Light...me?”

“You and only you.” Serella confirmed with a nod. “So when I speak to you, you never have to wonder who I’m thinking about. I’m not comparing you to anyone. You’re you.”

“I…” A hesitant smile graced the girl’s features. “I like it.”

“Good! Come on, then, Little Light, high time we get back to the others—”

Though Titania interrupted their conversation with their wailing demands to be played with, and their obligations and the banishment of the Light took precedent for what felt like an eternity thereafter, Serella kept her word, only calling the Oracle Little Light. Nothing else.

Even Uthengentle had taken to giving her a nickname— though, “Pipsqueak,” was far less...pleasant, it still left the girl smiling a little wider than before whenever he called her that and playfully but gently mussed her hair. Her foster siblings had taken to calling her by her approved nicknames easily, and she had in kind warmed to them a little more each time.

At least, until she had her own true name.

Ryne had been reluctant to speak of nicknames for their insignificance after the long and winding road from Amh Arang to the remembrance of Amaurot, and clear back to the Crystarium in victory. Upon being given her own name— not Minfilia, not anyone but herself— Serella had stopped calling her, “Little Light.” Only Ryne. Only herself. While it might have been done out of respect...she missed her foster sister’s term of endearment more than she had thought she would.

It wasn’t until their path past the Empty and back into Amh Areng had brought them on the hunt for answers to push back the blight of the Flood that Ryne had worked up the courage to ask of it. When they were safely back in the Crystarium for supplies, she reached out a little hand to gently tug on Serella’s travel cloak.

“Hm?” The Paladin turned to look at her in mild surprise. “Is something wrong, Ryne?”

“No, not at all, it’s just…” Ryne suddenly felt incredibly silly, asking of this, given how much else was happening that was so much more important. And yet… “Why do you not call me...my nickname anymore?”

Serella turned to face her fully, the surprise on her face only growing. Ryne felt her face heat, and she ducked to hide her blush.

“I assumed you’d want to be called by your name— though I’m realizing I should have just asked.” Serella let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry, did you prefer it?”

“I don’t know,” Ryne admitted, feeling all the more silly. “I just know...I like having a nickname. And I miss hearing it.”

“I thought you would get tired of it, considering Uthen’s nickname for you.”

They shared a laugh.

“I even like that one a little. Just...don’t tell him I said that.”

“Secret’s safe with me. Now then!” She placed her hands on her hips. “I was thinking of stopping for lunch once we’ve got what supplies we need. Would you like to join me? My treat, naturally.”

“Are you sure?” Ryne asked hesitantly.

“Of course!”

“Then...I would like that very much.” Ryne said with a nod.

“Good!” Serella jerked her head towards the market stalls. “Come, then, Little Light. Let’s be about it!”

And so Serella’s Little Light bounced into step beside her, beaming as bright as her nickname.

[mushroommouth]

The Good Mourning

A/N: Took me long enough! Here’s the next work in the Ghost!Jake AU. I hope it’s enough in character, but this one…got a bit out of hand. Over 6000 words, twelve pages, and the plot, well– you’ll see. Happy birthday, Em! I hope 23 is a great year for you. Thank you for all those sweet birthday wishes a couple weeks ago, too. 

Without further ado, here is The Good Mourning!

                        👻

Jake has been dead for ten years.

For Milo, Jake has been dead for about 147 minutes.

–

Of all things that did him in, Jake’s ultimate reveal was innocuous and accidental.

It could have been on another ghost hunt with Jake swooping in to save the day at the last moment. It wasn’t Cody accidentally spilling the beans in the hospital when Jake couldn’t show up to check on his son. It could have been Jake finally sitting down with Milo, Dan sitting nearby for support, confessing the truth after all these years.

No, no.  

It was cedar oil.  

It was a cold and damp autumn morning. Milo just happened to there, sick again. Nothing too serious, sure, but his fever was high enough to make him stay home from school. Milo was sitting on the couch, bundled in blankets and watching old taped Shark Week specials that he had probably already seen a dozen times. The sound carried to the office where Jake was rubbing his temples, trying to remain composed.

Jake forced himself away from the computer. A difficult client was pushing back against the edits Jake made, demanding he fix the piece in another way. Jake had spent two hours that morning already explaining why he made the edits he did and why, but it wasn’t enough. He stood up and stretched, feeling some tension release. He had to get away.

Of the many things that helped him calm down, cleaning was one of the most rewarding. It let him focus on the task at hand and shut out the world, focusing instead on the grime that seemed to just come with living with a teenager—especially with one as curious about the world as Milo. The floors needed a good cleaning anyway.

Jake raided through the cleaning cabinet, jumping slightly as he knocked over a container he didn’t immediately recognize or remember. He flipped the bottle over to look closer at the label and groaned.

Cedar oil. When Jake was… out of commission while Milo was in the hospital, Dan attended one of the PTA meetings in his stead. He hit it off well with all the other parents, but how could he not? It was Dan. When Jake returned, he felt eyes bore right into him. He sat quietly almost the entire time, but a middle-aged woman pulled him aside after the meeting.

“Is Dan not coming back?” She asked, peeking over his shoulder like saying Dan’s name would suddenly summon him. “Or, will he be with you next time?”

“No.” Jake swallowed down a mild pang of jealousy. “He, uh, is always pretty tired after work. He only was here last time because I was sick.”

            “Oh.” The lady didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “Well, um, tell him I remembered the kind of oil to use! It was cedar. Oh! And-“

            “I’ll pass on the message.” Jake cut her off, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next time.”

            The next time while at the supermarket, Jake stumbled across the container and remembered the conversation. It mentioned that it was good for hardwood floors in the product description, so he put it in the cart in a rare moment of impulse. He didn’t put a lot of thought in the purchase; it picked at an old wound that Jake liked to believe was recovering nicely through the years.

And here it was. The bottle (can? Container?) was unopened. Jake rolled it over to reread the description before setting it on the table. He took another deep, unnecessary breath before beginning to scrub the floors, allowing his mind to go blank and instead focus on getting into all the grooves.

 By the time he was finished, he had no idea how much time passed. Milo was watching another documentary; Jake recognized the soundbites as the megalodon special. He wiped his brow out of habit before frowning at the floor. He wasn’t ready to get back to work just yet, so polishing the floors wasn’t out of the question. Jake poured some of the oil onto a rag and began to rub it into the floor, letting his mind wander again.

—

            Milo was getting restless. While the documentaries were perfect, watching sharks hunt—or, in the megalodon’s case, how it probably hunted—reminded him of the stocked kitchen. He picked up the blanket, wrapping it over his shoulders, and paused the film. He went into the kitchen and cracked open a ginger ale.

“Hey Dad?” Milo called as he started heading toward the sound of Jake’s furious-yet-careful scrubbing. “I know you said popcorn is bad for a sore throat and all but hear me out: it sounds really awesome just about nowaaaAAAAH-!”

Jake snapped back to the present at the sound of Milo yelling, shuddering slightly. He turned up to see Milo paling.

“Milo! You scared me. What’s-“Jake followed Milo’s gaze to his hands. “-Wrong. Oh.”

The skin had faded away, leaving two skeletal hands blatantly obvious. Jake lifted them both and forced a laugh.

“Milo! I’m fine. I’m fine! This is just-“ The hand holding the rag vanished entirely, leaving the rag to fall to the floor. Milo screamed louder, taking a step back toward the door.  “Shit.”

Milo swallowed harshly, his face turning from white as a sheet to green.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

–

Jake leaned against the sink, occasionally leaning over to rub Milo’s back with his still-existing skeletal hand as Milo hunched over the toilet. Milo was done, but the room was filled with a silence so dense it could be cut with a knife.

“So…” Jake started, unsure how to continue. Parenting books didn’t describe this. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Milo laughed hoarsely which turned to a choked sob. “Your hand’s gone!”

“It’ll come back.” Jake responded quickly. “It always does.”

Milo didn’t immediately respond. His brow furrowed as he seemed deep in thought.

“If it always does…how long have you been-how long has…?”

Jake shrugged, trying desperately to retain his composure.

“I’ve been- I’ve been like this for ten years.”

He turned on the faucet with his good (?) hand, sticking both the skeletal and non-existent hand under the stream of water. Gradually, skin began to reappear on one hand as the missing one turned skeletal. Jake splashed his face with water before taking a deep and unnecessary breath. Milo watched quietly before the silence was too much to bear.

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

There was a moment of silence as Jake ran through the options in his head. He could lie again, sure. But at this point, wouldn’t that make it worse? He already dug himself in a hole. There was no need to make it a crater.

“I- Cody showed me.” Jake admitted.

“Wait.” Milo fell entirely from his kneeling position over the toilet and onto his butt in surprise. “Cody knows?”

Jake nodded once before looking to the floor.

“Does- does everybody know but me?”

“Oh! No, no. This has been—no one really else knows. Just Cody and-and Dan, and the Fullers.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.” Jake sunk onto the floor as well so he and Milo were at the same level. “I’m- I’m sorry, Milo. I didn’t want you to find out. Especially like this.”

The bathroom was silent again except the still-running faucet. It was like that for a few minutes before Jake forced a smile in Milo’s direction.

“Well, do you have any questions? After all, you and Cody are pretty much ghost-hunting extraordinaires, right?”

“Paranormal investigators,” Milo corrected without thought.  He fidgeted slightly, as if trying to figure out the right way to say something.

“…You said ten years, right?”

“Yes?” Jake asked, already feeling uneasy about where this was going.

“Did my dad know?”

With that, Jake lost control just for a moment. His whole form shuddered and glitched just once, flashes of cyan and red light briefly overtaking his eyes. Jake inhaled sharply and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. By the time he pulled his hands back, he gave Milo a stern glance, seeming as…normal and alive as ever.

“Milo, you know we don’t talk about Milo, Sr. in this house.”  

Milo gasped, unsure to be startled by Jake’s bright display or the sudden sinking feeling in his chest that seemed to appear whenever he got this response. Milo swallowed harshly, feeling tears build up with frustration. It wasn’t fair.

“Are you serious?” Milo asked barely above a whisper.

Jake blinked in confusion.

“What did you say, Milo?”

“I said, are you serious?!”  Milo stood up. A traitorous tear cascaded down his cheek which Milo sloppily wiped off. “I just asked if—I —what else are you not telling me?”

Jake stared up at Milo in shock, mouth agape.

“Why don’t you trust me? Is-is there any other secrets? If you’re dead, can you like- do you know what happened to my dad? Can you sense him? How did you die?  Wh-why don’t you… why don’t you—”

“Milo—”

“Why don’t you take me seriously?” Milo cried. “I’m fourteen now! That’s-that’s practically sixteen, which is practically an adult. A-and you told my best friend before you told me!”

Jake stood up, seeming to almost be on the verge of tears himself. He hesitantly but gently put a hand on Milo’s shoulder before squeezing reassuringly. His form shuddered for a second, but ultimately stayed tangible

“Milo…I wanted to tell you. I just…didn’t—I…” He looked at Milo, gently cupping his cheek with his other hand. “I didn’t want you to have to lose another parent.”

Milo sniffed, wiping snot with the cuff of his hoodie. He leaned into Jake’s hand for a second, unable to make Jake’s gaze.

“Milo.” Jake repeated. Milo glanced up briefly, seeing the exhaustion, despair and warmth in Jake’s eyes. Jake removed his hand from Milo’s face and set it on his other shoulder.

“No more secrets,” he lied.

Milo recoiled as if he was burned.

“You’re doing it again!” He cried, digging his fingers into his hair and tugging sharply on the roots in frustration. “You don’t even get that you’re doing it, do you?”

“No, you don’t understand.”  Jake flushed a little in embarrassment and frustration himself. A long-suppressed fire began rekindling. “I literally can’t talk about Milo, Sr. I can- I meant—”

 “No, you don’t want to talk about my dad!”

“Milo…” Jake warned.

“What? Let me guess, he’s- he never left, right?”

Jake removed his hands from Milo’s shoulders and instead clasped them over his own mouth, beginning to shake.

 “Oh, there is another deep dark family secret? How long were you going to let me look for ghosts, when there was one in front of me, like-like a big dummy!”  Tears were streaming like a faucet now down Milo’s cheeks. He felt his ears burn, but words were just coming out as loosely as water fell from his eyes.

“Milo!” Jake’s hands shot from covering his mouth. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. And- and you can’t talk to me like that.”

Parenting guidebooks don’t fail him now.

“Milo, y-you’re grounded.” Jake stood up straighter. “—Until you talk to me more nicely.”

Milo began shaking himself, unsure to cry harder or just…get angry. Against every fiber in his being to choose the former, Milo took another step back. He tripped over the lip of the tub, falling in. Before Jake could reach out to help, words began tumbling out of Milo’s mouth without his permission.

“You can’t do that!” He cried. “You’re not my dad!”

The room went absolutely silent as time seemed to freeze. Jake stopped mid-step from trying to help Milo up and instead looked at Milo with a blank shock. Milo swallowed again harshly, humiliated and furious at that slip that he didn’t even mean. But before he could apologize, Jake glitched twice before vanishing entirely.

—

Milo wasn’t sure how long he sat in the bathtub in shock. He was cold from the fever and dehydrated from the crying. By the time he forced himself to move and grab his phone from his pocket, he saw that two hours had passed. How had it only been a little over two and half hours since he…found out?

He scrolled through the contacts in his phone. Cody? He would still be in school. Mr. Dom? No. While he’d get to the house fastest, Milo wasn’t as …close to him. Instead, he chose one of the most-contacted contacts on his phone. Milo sniffled again, wiping snot on his sleeve as he heard the ringing on the other end. As expected, it was only a handful of rings until the person on the other end picked up.

“Milo?”

Milo let out another muffled wail at the sound of the voice on the other end.

“Milo? What’s wrong?”

“Dad… I got in a- when can you get home?” Milo asked, curling up in the tub feeling much smaller than he felt in a long time.

“One second.”

There was muffled talking in the background, which turned more frantic after a second.

“Milo, I’ll be able to get off in about an hour.” Dan said. “I’ll be home immediately after.”

—

Dan stayed true to his word. Milo heard him fumbling with the keys for a moment before rushing in the door. He had since gotten out of the bathtub and instead curled up on the couch, hugging his knees tight. Jake…hadn’t shown up since the argument.

 As soon as Dan entered, Milo leapt up and ran to hug him tight. Dan seemed surprised for a second but bent down to hug Milo back. Milo began to tear up again, nuzzling into Dan’s shoulder. Dan held him for a moment before pushing him back slightly to make eye contact.

“Kiddo…what’s wrong? What happened?”

Milo looked at him for a moment before breaking his gaze and looking at the floor.

“Jake and I got in a fight.” He admitted. “An-and I said some…bad things.”

Dan seemed surprised for a moment but didn’t interrupt. He waited quietly for Milo to continue. There was a beat of silence before Milo found his voice again. Instead of further elaborating about what was said, Milo provided the context of the situation.

“Jake told me.”

Dan seemed surprised but immediately broke into a grin.

“He did?” Dan looked over Milo’s shoulder as if looking for Jake. “I didn’t think he would—how did you take it? Are you alright?  How did you find out? Where is he?”

Milo didn’t respond, not looking up from the floor.

“Oh.”

“…I think I heard him in his room.”  Milo supplied. “He hasn’t come out yet, though.”

Dan nodded and stood up before offering Milo his hand. Milo took it, looking back up at him.

“Well, let’s go talk to him, okay?”

“Okay.” Milo agreed.             Dan gently led them both to outside Jake’s bedroom door before knocking.

“Hey? Jake? Are you in there?”

—

Jake had phased through the walls and into his bedroom after his argument with Milo. He was desperately trying to maintain his human appearance, trying to suppress the shudders to his form urging him to change back. Back to the form he took in the haunted house. The form that he felt deep in his bones was now the default.

But that wasn’t okay. He had to calm down to talk to Milo. He had to get back to Milo. Jake clutched his dresser, not breaking eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were no longer brown but the bright cyan. It’s okay. That happened sometimes. He could do this. He could do this. He just had to keep it together. He had to get back to Milo and finish their conversation. He had to…

Something in Jake’s stomach churned at the thought. Why was he here again? What was the point? Milo made his stance clear. Jake’s hands flew from the dresser to try and cover his mouth as his eyes rolled in the back of his head. A glowing cyan substance shot out of his mouth, nose and eyes, splattering on the floor. The trajectory sent Jake tumbling backward. It pooled on the carpet and coated the furniture, filling the room with the smell of ozone.

The violent eruption lasted only for a few moments, but it seemed to drag on. Jake stood up and sloppily wiped his face with his hands, just smearing it across his face. Jake straightened his back, his reflection catching the corner of his eye. Jake turned back to see…himself, he guessed. Well, mostly.  His eyes had changed to a deep red from the episode and his skin was beginning to turn translucent. Jake leaned over the dresser, laying his head down on the cool wood. It felt good, but his stomach and core were still throbbing.

Okay. Getting back to Milo could wait just a moment. Dan would be home relatively soon, and Milo was right. He was fourteen. He was old enough to stay home alone for a few hours. Jake just had to wait for…

Dan always was the one to fix it, huh?

How long are you going to make Dan keep it together for you?

Jake’s face scrunched up in frustration and hurt. No. Dan mourned when Jake died. It was Dan’s crying that made him summon energy to come back home. Dan was nothing but supportive and loving to his friends, just as he had always been. Dan waited for him to come back every time. Dan-             Dan was talking to someone about the cedar oil. The whole thing that started this mess. Jake stood up and took a few shaky steps back to sit on his bed. Jake got out his phone, groaning in frustration as his hands—both now fully skeletal—simply clicked on the glass with no effect. Whose brilliant idea was it to make phone screens heat sensitive, anyway? Jake set the phone in his lap, digging into his nightstand drawer until he produced a stylus.

It took one cursory Google search that confirmed Jake’s suspicions about the oil. He held his phone with shaking hands for a second before gently setting it down beside him.

“Well, um, tell him I remembered the kind of oil to use!”

Jake curled up, focusing on breathing patterns to try and calm down. Dan was trying to get rid of him. Milo was mad at him and would never forgive him. There…. what was the point of staying? Jake’s skin faded away entirely, revealing the skeletal form for the second time in his afterlife.

 Jake clenched his bony fists before swallowing sharply. There was left for him here. But that doesn’t mean there was nothing left for him at all. His bones sharpened as the deep red of his eyes began glinting at the surge of emotion. For the second time in ten years, Jake felt…angry.

He grabbed his guitar and vanished.

—

Dan hadn’t let go of Milo’s hand.

“Jake?” He called, knocking on the door with his free hand. There was no response.

Milo looked down, sniffling. Dan squeezed his hand and smiled down at him reassuringly.

“Jake, if you don’t answer we’re just going to come in.”

No response.

“Jake, you’ve got…” Dan checked his phone before setting a timer. “Two minutes until I unlock the door. We can’t be doing this.”

Again, nothing. Dan paled ever-so-slightly and held Milo’s hand tighter. A sinking feeling told Milo that Dan was just feeling just as anxious as he was. The two waited, unmoving. Dan didn’t look away from the door at all. Even though they were only a couple minutes, they seemed to last an eternity. Milo resorted to leaning into Dan’s arm. Regardless, they both jumped when the happy tune of the timer went off. Milo dropped Dan’s hand in surprise as Dan went to shut it off.

He reached to the top of the doorframe before trying one last time.

“Jake, please.”

Nothing.

Dan sighed before sticking the key in the lock and turning it. He rammed into it with his shoulder, trying to nudge it open despite the sticky latch.  Instead, he bounced a little off the hard wood and blinked in surprise.

“I…just locked it?”

Dan unlocked the door again and it swung open. The room was empty.  

“Jake?” Dan called. “Are you in here?”

Just as before, there was no response. Dan slowly and carefully stepped in the room. Parts of the floor and dresser were glowing faintly which was… new. His phone was left on his bed. Jake certainly (at least) had been in there.

“Jake? Are you-are you invisible right now? Because we just want to talk. If you burned up your energy or something, can you give us a sign?”

Silence. The air felt heavy and still.

Milo was waiting outside before something caught his eye. He walked quickly into the room and looked at the blank wall.

“Hey Dad?”

“Yeah, Milo?” Dan asked, looking around the dark room absentmindedly.

“Jake’s guitar is gone.”

Dan whipped his head around and saw the empty mantle on the wall. His stomach sank.

“Huh.” Dan forced out. “We… should call an expert.”

—

The doorbell rang.

Dan got up to answer it, but Milo beat him to the door, curious (and hopeful) to see who it was.

“Cody?”

“Hey Milo! Are you still sick? Oh, hi, Mr. Fuller!”

“Hi, Cody.” Dan responded, smiling tiredly. “Yes, Milo’s still sick, so you’ll probably want to wash your hands.”

Cody nodded as Dan and Milo stepped out of the way to let him in. Cody set his backpack on the floor as he began unpacking slightly.

“I didn’t know what we’d need, but- “

“Wait. Cody’s the expert?” Milo asked, turning to face Dan who shrugged sheepishly.

“Heh…he was the first one that accidentally found out that knows about ghost stuff.”

Milo seemed crestfallen for a moment before Dan quickly raised his hands in a defensive position.  

“No, no. Milo, you’re both the experts we need. After all, you two are a team, right, Baby Shark?”  

Milo immediately blushed and pulled his hood up as Cody snorted out a stifled laugh.

“Dad…don’t call me that.”

“Okay, kiddo. I won’t.” Dan winked at Milo as if to say ‘I-won’t-embarrass-you-in-front-of-your-friends.’

Milo groaned but bent to help Cody rummage through his backpack.

“Okay, so I brought a spirit box…a Ouija board…flashlights…what exactly is the emergency?”

Milo and Dan looked at each other before Dan forced a soft smile at Cody. Milo looked away, withdrawing his hands to instead tuck in his lap.

“Jake’s missing.”

Cody stopped his rummaging.

“Oh,” he said. “Does… uh…Milo? Do you…?”

“He told me.” Milo said.

“Okay. Well, everything I brought is pretty much useless then, but I’ll see how I can help!” Cody began sticking everything back in his backpack, zipping it back up.

Dan nodded, offering his hands to help them both back up. The two accepted and Cody slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?” Dan suggested. He let Milo take the lead. Cody followed quickly in after him but stopped so quickly that Dan almost ran into him.

“What’s that?” Cody asked, gesturing to the still-open container on the kitchen table.

“Oh…uh, Jake picked that up from the store. It’s cedar oil.”

Cody picked it up, looking it over. He frowned deeply. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Dan shrugged. “A mom at the PTA recommended it, and Jake picked it up after.”

“Cedar oil is…not good.” Cody supplied. “It’s not as strong as sage or salt or anything, but cedar oil can be used to finalize, well, banishing.”

Dan blinked in surprise.

“You weren’t… you didn’t…” Cody gestured quickly. “I’m not saying you would, but-“

“Oh god. Of course not!” Dan began wringing his hands together. “The mom I was talking to just got divorced. Her girlfriend is a carpenter and that’s just what she happened to recommend.”

“Everyone just kinda tells you everything about themselves, huh?” Cody rubbed his chin, trying to seem intelligent.

“Did Jake know that?” Milo asked quietly. A beat of silence followed.

“…I don’t know.”

The room was immediately silent. Milo tightened the strings on his hoodie/ Cody tried to think of a way to ask the following question lightly. However, as time ticked on, he just blurted it out.

“Are you sure he didn’t move on?”

Dan and Milo looked at Cody in horror. Dan’s jaw dropped slightly.

“I…”

“It wouldn’t make sense,” Cody added. “He wouldn’t just go, not after everything. But when a ghost suddenly disappears, it isn’t usually…good.”

Dan didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Milo took that moment to speak up.

“He didn’t.” Milo said. “They usually disappear in a sudden flash of light, right? He didn’t do that. He just…turned invisible, I think? He took something from his room before he left, too.”

Cody blinked.

“What did he take?”

“His guitar.” Dan said hoarsely. “His anchor.”

 Cody sighed in relief.

“Oh, good.” Cody smiled at the two of them. “He’s still around then! That just means he’s somewhere else, otherwise you guys would have seen the anchor since then.”

Dan pulled out a chair and slumped in it in relief.

            “He must be somewhere else important to him- somewhere else he’d default to. We just have to find him!”

            Dan rubbed his face before letting out a brief hysterical laugh.

            “Do you know anywhere Jake might be?” Milo asked quietly.

            Dan glanced up, tears in his eyes.

            “Of course, I know a few.” He wiped his face. “Cody, if you want to come, text your dad and ask. We’re going on a friendship tour.”

—

The first stop was, in every sense of the word, the worst.

            Dan pulled in the parking lot as Milo stared at the sign with a blank expression.  

            “You guys don’t have to get out of the car for this one if it’d make you more comfortable.” Dan said quietly.

            “I think I’m going to stay behind for this one, if that’s okay, Mr. Fuller.” Cody replied. “It doesn’t feel right for me to go with you.”

            “Milo?”

            Milo jerked up and whipped his head around to look at Dan.

            “I…think I’d like to go.”

            Dan smiled again, looking much older than he had as long as Milo could remember. The two got out of the car. Dan held out his hand to Milo and Milo took it. Milo took a deep breath as the two headed into the cemetery.

            “I haven’t been here in years,” Dan said. Milo didn’t respond, looking around wildly.

            After a few turns, Dan took him to a gravestone not as grand as some of the others, but still clearly important.

HERE LIES JAKE PIERLY

HIS HEART WAS TOO BIG

FOR THIS WORLD

REST IN PEACE

            Dan bent over and began plucking some weeds from the gravestone as Milo stared at the gravestone.

            “We should have picked up some flowers, huh, kiddo?” Dan asked. He looked up to see Milo swaying slightly. “Milo?”

            “Is he…is he down there?”

            “He was buried here.” Dan said, standing up to get to Milo. “Do you want to go back to the car? He’s pretty clearly…not here.”

            Milo shook his head, tears beading up.

            “Don’t worry. We’ll find him and tell him this was just one big misunderstanding, right?” Dan asked. Milo shook his head and instantly grabbed Dan and pulled him into a tight hug.

            “It’s my fault!” Milo wailed. “I told him- Dad, I called him a liar, and told him he wasn’t my real dad! I hurt him, an-and it’s all my fault and he’s gone.”

             Dan bent over and hugged Milo tight, letting him cry it out.

            “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so mean- if I… He would still be here, and everything would be normal, but—it’s my fault, he might be gone forever, and-“

            Dan began quietly hushing Milo, pushing him back slightly so Dan could peck his forehead with a kiss.

            “Milo…We’ll find him. Once we do, we can talk to him. You and I both owe him an apology, and we can move on. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

            Milo nodded quietly, looking away and back at the gravestone. Dan hugged him again.    “I don’t feel good.” Milo said quietly. “Can…can we go now?”

            “Of course.”

—

“Welcome, welcome to the Savory Grain!” Dan beamed, gesturing to the seedy bar in front of the three. Various banners lined the windows advertising cheap beer. “It’s not open during week days usually, but this is our second stop!”

            Cody lifted up a foot as a mouse ran underneath.

            “Are…we allowed to be here?” He asked.

            “There’s no liquor sales going on right now,” Dan shrugged. “Besides, I know the owner! He usually spends the week in there to do paperwork and stuff.”

            Dan knocked twice on the door, which slowly opened on its own.

            “Mr. Huffin is the nicest old guy you’ll ever meet.” Dan explained. “I’m sure as soon as we explain the situation, he’ll help us as much as he can.”

            “…I don’t know about this.” Cody said.

            “It’ll be okay.” Milo laughed. “Come on, how bad can it be?”

            The answer?

            Pretty bad.

            Milo and Cody looked around the bar. A stage was the main attraction with a microphone and drum set. The ceiling was covered in hundreds of playing cards, some of which stained by…some sort of fluid. Cobwebs marked all the corners and the men’s bathroom was boarded up. Initials and drawings were carved all over. Milo started walking toward one of the tables to get a closer look, swearing that he saw MILO SUMNER carved in one of the booths.

Before he could get much closer, though, Dan scooped him up by the shoulders.

“Oh! Nope. Don’t step on that carpet. It’s so sticky, your shoes will be there forever.”

Milo made a face, which Dan just laughed at.

“Yeah, this place isn’t the nicest, but it sure was fun back in the day.” He looked toward the stage. “This is where Jake had his first performance with the Problem Sons!”

“I thought Jake was an English major.” Milo said.

“He was.” Dan supplied. Milo blinked in confusion as Dan set him back down.

Dan looked like he was going to say something else, but a glass flew from the bar and crashed on the wall. Dan and Milo turned around slowly to see an angry, green translucent ghost with a large handlebar mustache.

“Hey!” He yelled. “No minors at my bar!”

“Mr. Huffin?” Dan asked.

“A poltergeist!” Cody shouted.

“Watch your profanity.”

Dan walked over, beaming.

“Mr. Huffin! It’s me, Dan Fuller!”

The ghost looked blankly at Dan.

“Never heard of you. Now get these children OUT!”

Dan’s smile fell.

“No, no! I was a friend of Jake Pierly. Remember, the Problem Sons? They performed here a long time ago?”

“Hmmm.” Mr. Huffin stroked his chin. “Oh yes, that’s right! I remember.”

“You do?”

“Yeah! They STUNK!”

Dan looked offended for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“We’re looking for Jake.” Dan said. “Have you seen him?”

“In my bar? No. You’ve been the only people all night. And we’re closed! Get out!” Mr. Huffin threw another glass, missing by far. “If you bring any more minors to my bar, I’ll drag you to the depths of hell myself!”

Dan rolled his eyes.

“Okay, that’s about enough of that. C’mon, Milo. C’mon, Cody. We have a few more spots to check out.”  

“Aw, what? I was getting a camera ready, Mr. Fuller! Can we just stay for another moment or two?” Cody begged. “Ghosts really only show up when I’m with your family for whatever reason.”

“No. I’ll take you back in seven years, though, assuming this place isn’t closed down for health reasons or because the owner is a huge jerk!”

“I heard that!”

“I know you did! That’s why I yelled it!” Dan began shoving Cody and Milo through the door. Milo snorted at Dan’s outburst as Cody pouted.

“He’s a lot meaner than I remember.” Dan grumbled. “And deader.”

—

            The third spot and fourth spots were both duds.

For the third spot, Dan drove by the first apartment that Jake, Milo, Sr., and Dan first rented.  It, much to Dan’s disappointment, had apparently long-since been torn down and replaced with commercial apartments. New college students were walking in and out as Dan sunk into his seat in the car.

“Gosh, I’m getting old.” He grumbled before driving to the fourth spot.

The English Department was empty. Classes had long-since ended for the day, though a few stragglers were studying. None of them heard anything. There was no sign of him, and by the end, the three were simply exhausted.

“I’ve got one more place.” Dan said as the three piled in the car. He drove for a few minutes to an all-night diner. The waiter gestured to the sign that said, “free seating,” so the three piled in a small booth. Conversation was at a lull.

            “Do either of you see something odd?” Cody yawned.

            Milo yawned in response and shook his head. Dan seemed distracted by the menu. By the time the waiter returned for drink orders, Dan smiled excitedly.

            “One black coffee and a plater of chili cheese fries, please!” He said. Milo made a disgusted face, causing Cody to giggle. They both ordered off the kid menu, things would go down easy.

            “Some chicken nuggets, please.”

            “I’ll have the grilled cheese.”

            The two ordered sodas and the waiter left. After they were gone, Milo turned to Dan.

            “Why did you get that gross order?”

            Dan laughed dryly.

            “It’s what Jake would always get,” he said. “Your dad, Jake and I would come here after Jake…partied too hard. It would be the only thing we could get him to eat. I’m sure it wasn’t good for his heart in the long run, but we were just happy to watch him stuff his face once in a while.”

            Dan smiled a little at the memory. Silence followed for a bit before Milo spoke up.

            “Dad? Are you okay?” He asked.

            “I don’t know,” Dan laughed dryly. “I’ll feel better once we know Jake is okay. He’s…he’s all that’s left from the original trio other than me, you know?”

            “It’s like you said.” Milo said. “We’ll find him, right? It’ll be okay.”

            Dan smiled in return.

            The waiter returned with drinks in a few minutes. Dan took a long sip of the coffee and snorted.

            “It still tastes like dirt,” he said. “At least there’s free refills.”

            Dan pulled out his phone and shot a quick text message.

            “Okay,” he said. “I just texted my mom to let me know if Jake shows up at their house. I don’t think he’d go there if he didn’t want to talk, but it’s worth a shot. Do either of you have any thoughts? Suggestions? Questions?”

            Cody raised his hand.

            “I have one, actually.”

            “Yeah, Cody?” Dan asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “Also, please don’t raise your hand. We’re not in school.”

            “Why did you want me to come with?” Cody asked.

            “Oh! That’s easy.” Dan set down his coffee. “You’re a part of this family, too. You’ve been with us for the best and the worst.”

            Cody blinked in surprise before smiling. He wasn’t sure what to say, so instead he kicked Milo from under the table.

            “Looks like I have three dads too, Milo.”

            Milo rolled his eyes before slurping his soda.

            “Yeah, yeah.” Milo said. “I actually have a question too.”

            “Yes?”

            “Where do we look for Jake next?” Milo asked.

            Dan frowned and looked into his coffee cup. He seemed deep in thought before reaching his final consensus. At that, he looked horrified.

            “Oh god.” Dan mumbled.

            “What’s wrong?” Milo asked. “I mean, there’s got to be more places to look.”

            “You’re right. I’m sure there are, but I can’t think of them. There’s only one person that might know where else to look.” Dan slunk in his seat like an angsty teenager.

“…We need Aaron.”

End of Part I

[rufousnmacska]

Goodbye and Hello - 1

I’m still bitter we didn’t get a proper manorian goodbye in Kingdom of Ash. So here’s my attempt. KoA spoilers!

Tagging @itach-i and @nestasbucket. If you’d like to be tagged in the next few parts, let me know!

fanfic master list (including the link to my fics on AO3, under the same username)

**********

Part One

I Wish...

Laughter and music filled the great hall as everyone gathered for their final night together. All the armies, all the healers, all the witches planned to leave Orynth tomorrow.

Manon stared at her plate, trying to convince herself to eat what was on it. A round of applause broke out and she looked up to see a crowd gathering at the far end of the room. A group of young witches walked past her, hurrying to join the dancing. As the clapping took on fast tempo, Manon’s attention returned to her food.

The initial burst of joy that had accompanied the tiny purple flower brought from the Wastes had dissipated over the past weeks. The reality of what it meant slowly settled like a lead weight in her chest. Seeing Ironteeth and Crochan witches looking forward to the future helped to buoy her mood sometimes. But it couldn’t erase the truth that none of them really knew what the future held in the Wastes. And it couldn’t fill the hollowness that continued to grow inside her.

Her eyes flitted across the room, never lingering very long on anyone or anything. The itch to fly was beginning to prickle under her skin. She knew Glennis watched, so Manon ate a few bites, then stood to leave, claiming she had to pack.

It wasn’t a lie exactly, as she did need to gather her things. But she also needed to get out of here. The witches at her table accepted the excuse without so much as a glance, and Manon felt a sharp pang of grief at the thought that the Thirteen would have seen right through it. Asterin would have gone along to make sure she actually did pack, Sorrel and Vesta following close behind.

As she walked through the maze of hallways, she could almost feel Asterin trailing her to the room she’d been sharing with Dorian.

Most nights she ended up in the aerie, but she usually began them here. He never stopped her going, even when she accidentally woke him. She had not mentioned the Thirteen to him, to anyone, since those moments after the final battle. He knew why she was pulled to the balcony to stare across the plain with Abraxos. He’d offered to come with her once, and when she’d hesitated, he’d kissed her forehead and said, “Just ask if you ever change your mind.”

When she opened the door, his scent wrapped around her, and she immediately set to gathering her things. This was going to be hard enough without drawing it out, she might as well get it over with. A humorless laugh escaped her as Manon better understood why Dorian had left without saying goodbye all those weeks ago.

“What’s so funny?”

She whirled to find him closing the door. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed he’d followed her here.

“You should be back in the hall. Enjoying the celebration with your friends,” she said, ignoring his question.

His eyes bore into her, and she almost looked away. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

She went back to stuffing clothing into her bags. She didn’t want to do this. Didn’t know how to do this.

Without a word, Dorian walked over and took the shirt from her hands. Setting it aside, he gently turned her to face him. Manon didn’t think she could look at him, so she stared straight ahead, focusing on the triangle of bare skin where his collar hung open.

The pale band around his neck called to her, and she brushed her fingers along it. The sound of his heartbeat quickened and she felt the heat rise in his skin. For a moment, she considered not stopping. Considered taking him to bed to distract them both from whatever conversation he seemed intent on having tonight. And what was coming tomorrow.

But the idea seemed like a coward’s way out, and she was not a coward. Even if fear lined most of her thoughts these days.

She’d admitted her fears to him once before, and he had not judged her. There was no one else left that she trusted this much, no one she’d allow to see her this vulnerable.

As before, he knew what was wrong, at least the shape of it. But instead of confronting her, he’d been quiet and patient and... there. Always there. Nothing more, unless she’d asked.

Dropping her fingers from his neck, she took a breath and said simply, “I’m afraid.”

Dorian pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Of what?” he asked, his hand stroking her back.

His touch felt so good, the pressure easing her tense muscles, and she relaxed into him. “I don’t know how to do this without them.”

The truth had been building in her for days. Confessing part of it lightened the heaviness inside her, just a little. So, she went on. “I don’t know if I ever truly believed we’d go home. Not until recently. And now. To face it without them...” She trailed off. As he squeezed her tighter, she said, “I feel so alone.”

Not once had Manon truly considered a future without all of the Thirteen. A future where they were gone and she was left to carry on. Even the prospect of being queen, a duty she’d now fully assumed, had never altered that image. If they weren’t there, she wouldn’t be either.

Dorian pulled away, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “You are not alone, Manon. They can never be replaced. But don’t ever think you’re alone. You have friends and family who care about you.” Moments passed in silence until finally, his voice roughened with emotion, he said, “I care about you.”

He’d said it before. But there was something in the words this time that felt different. A weight that had been lacking. The weight of a promise.

Manon slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

***

The dread of saying goodbye had made Dorian’s heart feel more and more fragile with each passing day. Now, he thought it might actually shatter.

It wasn’t lost on him that Manon couldn’t even say their names. No matter what mask she’d worn in front of the others, he saw the truth of what lay beneath.

The Thirteen were her family. Her entire family. And they were all gone. Glennis and her Crochan cousins might fill in that void someday, but it would take time. If it happened at all.

In a past life, Dorian would have tried distracting her with pleasurable touches or pretty words. In this life, had she been anyone else, he probably would have done just that. But Manon was not anyone.

Yet, if he spoke the words he truly wanted to say, whose mind would it ease? Likely not hers, as it would only overwhelm her. But his self control faltered as he felt the pain and sorrow emanating from her, as if his magic could sense it.

“I care about you,” he rasped. With each word, a spark of warm magic flowed from his hands into her. That spark lit something in her, making her eyes glow like flames as they met his.

“What do you want Dorian?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

She’d asked that of him days ago. But this time, it was an entirely different question. The desperation to answer with the truth, with the words he’d kept from her before - You, all of you - almost won out.

Almost.

It would be too much for her right now, he reasoned, an extra burden she didn’t need to carry. Especially with their goodbye growing closer with each minute.

“I want…” he started, then stopped. If he couldn’t tell her everything, he could at least give her a glimpse into what he felt.

Dorian took her hand in his, and they both watched as his thumb glided back and forth over her fingers. “I wish we could take off on Abraxos and fly around the world,” he said. “Not as a king and queen. Just a man and a witch. No crowns, no responsibilities.”

Manon’s eyebrow quirked in mild amusement and Dorian took it as a sign to continue.

“We can go wherever we want. East to Wendlyn, or the fabled lands across the western ocean. North to the frozen wastes, then to the Southern Continent. I can visit libraries and book shops and you...” he paused, thinking.

A wry, expectant expression crossed her face and he almost laughed.

“You can visit blacksmiths for new and exotic weaponry. When we run out of money for new books and daggers, you can teach girls how to fight while I perform magic tricks and shape shifting for crowds. I will make you breakfast in bed each morning.” He gave her a knowing look. “And you can shut me up each night.”

Manon’s smiles had been given sparingly before the war, yet he’d still come to think of himself as an expert on them. The smile she rewarded him with now, the first he’d seen since they’d reunited, was soft and brief and breathtakingly beautiful.

“I asked what you want, not what you wish,” she admonished with a touch of teasing.

Without thinking, he asked, “Can’t it be both?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “I want whatever you choose to offer.”

Manon closed her eyes, all traces of her smile gone. No doubt she was remembering when she’d first spoken those words to him, on a ship just off the Eyllwe coast. It felt like lifetimes ago, but it had been little more than a few months.

Or, he realized, perhaps she was thinking of a different offer she’d made more recently, in a tent at the edge of the White Fangs. One he’d abandoned rather than answer. He knew that if he had, if he’d faced the same choice as Gavin, then the keys, the gate, this war... all of it would have ended much differently. He told himself he didn’t regret it, and perhaps he didn’t. But it haunted him nonetheless.

She said nothing, and turned away again to resume her packing.

Mentally kicking himself, he silently watched her move around the room. She didn’t have much to take with her, and he had no idea what had been done with the Thirteen’s things. It was likely that their weapons and supplies had been redistributed as the siege had dragged on.

When Manon was done, she stopped at the makeshift bed, little more than a pile of hay covered with blankets. Without looking at him, she said, “I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

Any remaining will power he had left dissolved in that moment, and Dorian walked to her side. “I wish for that too, witchling. More than anything.” She shifted towards him and he pulled her into a hug. “Whatever happens, you will not be alone."

The embrace lasted forever and no time at all, until she broke away and took a half step back. Tentatively, not bothering to hide her shaking, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. "You will always be with me.”

Dorian smiled, amazed. He was always amazed by her.

“And you will always be with me.” He clasped her hand against his own heart, another wave of his magic pulsing into her.

***

Promise again laced his words, and the force of it settled within her chest. Just as his touch had done, the soft smile he gave her now seemed to pierce through her sadness.

Manon sat down on the bed, pulling him with her. Curled into his arms, she pressed her ear to his chest and listened to the strong, even rhythm. She’d expected a night of little rest, but instead, Dorian held her tightly, giving her occasional kisses until she fell asleep.

Waking well before the first rays of dawn, she tried not to disturb him when she rose to get dressed. Dorian’s eyes opened the instant she sat up and he watched silently as she began to strap on her sword and daggers.

“Are you planning to sleep in?” She’d meant it to sound light and joking, but it was overshadowed by the farewell they could no longer put off.

“You want me to go up to the aerie with you?” He tossed the blankets aside and stood, quickly throwing on clothes. “I thought you’d want to say goodbye here,” he offered as explanation.

I don’t want to say it at all, she thought, but said nothing.

A sharp knock on the door announced it was time, and she scanned the room once again before her eyes landed on him. “Ready?”

He opened his mouth, and for a second she thought he might actually say no. Instead, he nervously ran his fingers through his hair and nodded once. When he held his hand out for her, she didn’t hesitate.

They walked slowly to the castle’s uppermost balcony that had been serving as the wyvern aerie. Dorian’s hand was like a vise and Manon wondered whose trembling the tight grip was meant to quell.

When they reached the final door leading them outside, he stopped short and spun her around to face him. “The Ferian Gap.”

It wasn’t a question but he seemed to need an answer, so she said, “Yes.” He relaxed a bit, and she added, “I don’t know how long before I can get away."

With a tight smile, he cupped her face in his hands. “I know. We can decide on a time later. I just...” He blinked rapidly, but it didn’t lessen the bright sheen of moisture in his eyes.

Manon raised up onto her toes and kissed him. “I know,” she said into his lips. He dropped his arms around her waist and lifted her up against him. Sliding her arms around his neck, she held on as if her life depended on it. Just as he was holding her.

***

Dorian tucked her braid into the fur collar of her cloak and they walked outside to where the others were waiting. As soon as their queen appeared, shouts to prepare for flight rang through the dark, frigid air.

He stayed with her until she checked all the harnesses on Abraxos, never taking his eyes off her as she climbed up into the saddle. Every nerve in his body wanted to leap up there with her, every ounce of his magic strained to touch her. But he stepped back, just far enough to be outside the reach of Abraxos’s wings.

When she was settled and strapped in, and there were no more excuses to delay, Manon placed her hand on her heart and said, “Goodbye, princeling.”

Dorian touched his own chest and said, “Goodbye, witchling.” He forced himself to give her a lighthearted wink. “For now.”

A twitch of a smile. “For now,” she agreed.

Before he could take another breath, Abraxos was at the drop-off overlooking the city far below. His booming wings flapped once, twice, and then they were airborne. On brooms and wyverns, hundreds of witches took to the sky, a few falling into formation around their queen with the rest streaming behind.

He stayed, watching as the large host grew small on the horizon, where the first rays of morning were breaking over the mountains. The sunlight caught a shining wing that flashed silver, just for an instant. And then, it was gone.

Long after they disappeared and he could no longer stand the cold, Dorian turned and went inside.

***

Manon felt Dorian’s magic surround her and Abraxos the moment they’d taken off, and she was surprised by how long it stayed with them. Its warmth soothed them as they passed over the blast site that was the focus of their nightly vigils. When the power began to flicker, like a candle being blown out, she glanced over her shoulder, unable to make him out as anything more than a dark figure on the highest balcony.

And then, it was gone. They’d flown past the reach of his magic. The freezing air bit into her now unshielded skin and Abraxos released a melancholy whine.

A lifetime of habit had Manon twisting around in her saddle, an order for Asterin already forming on her lips. When unfamiliar witches stared back at her, she said nothing and faced forward again.

The reminder hit her as it always did, like a physical blow. Like the punch to her gut that had left her behind, and left her alone.

To be continued...