#eventually i decided to make him a shadow being; partly to fit with the more 'fantasy' part of oto's science fantasy story

[rhys-ravenfeather]

Introducing Oasis to Oakwood’s second character, Benny :P

As you could probably guess from the name, he’s a retooled version of/based off Bendy from my BATIM AU...albeit older and a LOT less cheery than the pure demon babey, heh. Though I imagine he was a lot more like his original BATIM counterpart when he was younger.

Text for those who can’t read it:

‘I’m...not really sure how to feel about this guy. Okay, so Benny was the first person...or shadow, I guess, to find me after I transformed who DIDN’T freak out and/or try attacking me...at least not for long...but hey! He agreed to help me! So now we’re traveling together--he helps me find a way to get back to normal, I help him find his sister...and hope this moody shadow actually keeps HIS end of the deal. He doesn’t really seem like a fan of humans. Still, he’s pretty strong, so for now I guess I’m better with than without him...’

Bonus versions without text:

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[shadowworks]

Look Inside

Pairing: Overhaul X Reader

Warnings: Dubcon-noncon, medical kink, drugged sex, mention of needles, mentions of blood, bondage, fingering, this is dark! 

Word Count: 3.8k 

A/N: I decided to try some creepy themes and give second person a try. So we’ll see how it goes. This piece is dark so please mind the warnings!

Huge shoutout to @present-mel for making the beautiful banner and reading over my fic you precious gem! Also thank you @thisisthehardestthing and @hisoknen for your feedback it’s so greatly appreciated! 💜

Someone had shut off the lights in the morgue. 

You happen to notice this when your eyes toil lazily between security cameras at the right time. You freeze on the spot, and quirk a brow toward the shadow. You expect it’ll brighten any second like it usually does, but after those few seconds tick by without change, a weight of dread sinks in your stomach.

Kai Chisaki put orders in place that if experiments are up and running the basement levels are to remain lit. Chisaki and his men are already down below, and the winding pale halls near the morgue are empty.

 You haven’t been called to notify cleaners about another bloody corpse still peeling off the wall, and you can’t find motion on the surveillance camera when you rewind the recordings. It’s in the lower right corner of the camera, and you note the light flicks off without warning. No one enters, no one leaves. 

You study the harsh glow of the screen for another moment, still in denial, still waiting for the lights to flicker on, and stand up from the chair in the office. When not a soul appears by the threshold, all you can do is lean forward with your hands pressed on the desk, dropping your head in defeat. “Seriously? Fuck you.” 

You don’t know who “you” was exactly, but it felt right to say. 

It takes a bit of time after departing the small office, but you find the proper hall in Chisaki’s deeply looping maze...It’s just you don’t want to step out from the elevator. You were ready before, but when the doors split open and the cool air ghosts against your cheeks, you pause. There’s a stillness lingering in the hallway; it’s far too quiet- except for the creaks in the elevator floor from your shifting weight...But, something seems off. 

  Your steps are tentative when you do slip out, peering down the drab hallway. You clearly see which of the rooms is buried in shadow, and frankly you want to whirl back around before the doors close. But you can’t, well, not yet at least. The tap of your shoes hits off the walls, while you tread along on stiff legs. Eventually you come to a stop having reached the doorway. It’s partly open, a slice of darkness hiding what’s deep inside. 

Hold on, this can't be right. The camera— A shudder trails up your spine. It tingles coldly.

You inhale a deep breath. Okay, just do it; just switch the lights back on, it’s fine. It’s fine. Besides, if it were you (which it is) you wouldn’t want to deal with Chisaki’s ill temper over something so minor as a light. 

He’s punished his men for incompetence before, and those who didn’t listen have smeared the walls with their blood, drenching vein red across white. Black-looking goops of muscle plopped on the floor...the consequences ranged based on severity of failure or how stressed he is, really. In fact, one man had the skin of his face torn off for talking back—wait, relax. Focus

It won’t happen. Kai Chisaki is somewhere else in the maze. He’s not aware of what happened.

There’s a member with a quirk which lets him melt through walls; the tiny one with a bone white mask. He probably slipped between the rooms and grabbed something then turned the lights off. But that didn’t explain the door...

It doesn’t matter.

You stretch an arm out, gently pushing the door further open, and light spills onto the tile floor. 

It’s a cold, vacant room. There’s a pungent scent of bleach still lingering from a cleanup, but it hits your nose almost like it happened recently. You can’t see much nor do you want to. And your hand reaches around the door frame, trailing gentle fingers along the smooth surface for a switch—

Only, there’s nothing on the wall. 

“Are you serious? Really?” you huff to yourself, stepping round to search for the light. Sure enough, your fears are realized with one look. 

You let out an annoyed groan, and a, ‘stupid switch’ under your breath. Who the hell designs a room and doesn’t put a switch by the door? 

Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, so you can’t see the precise details on the walls. So this leaves you no choice but to step further in, allowing the brightness from the hall to guide you along.

It’s a moderate room with a vaulted wall filled with metal drawers, all large enough to fit an icy corpse in ‘til the yakuza dispose of them. Then there’s the silver surgical table in the middle of the room. It's empty, but the thing’s embellished. There’s protruding belts attached, and a tray on wheels is parked on the side. On top of the tray is a clean towel and a neat row of surgical tools lay flat across. 

Your brows scrunch together, studying the sharp gleam of knives and the sizes of needles. Why are these out? Kai’s an obsessive clean freak, every little thing needs to be put back and organized. All his masked cronies know this rule, so who the hell did this? That is, unless someone’s using them?

Your back is turned to the glow seeping in from the hall, so you don’t see a gloved hand press on the metal door. There’s a push, and the door slams shut. 

You let out a startled yelp, cupping your hands to your mouth. What the hell…! Your heart’s pounding wildly in your chest; for some reason the room feels colder, you feel colder. 

“I must say this is disappointing.”

Light floods the room from the panels above, flickering with a buzzing noise before they settle. You take a moment. A deep breath, a slow exhale. When the initial shock stops tingling in your muscles, you slowly drop your palms. The voice is male, his tone’s calm, ominous and it carries like chill over your shoulder. You know this voice; you know you have to turn around. But fuck, you can’t stop trembling. When you do, you see a tall figure looming near the wall, a gloved hand still on the switch.

Kai Chisaki. 

“I told Setsuno I needed him in the security room. Do you think it’s hard for him to follow directions?”

You stare at him, anxiously. He isn’t wearing his green coat with the violet plumage trimming on the collar. He’s in his iron pressed, black suit and grey tie; the trademark plague mask covering half his face. 

“Setsuno asked me to fill in. He said he wasn’t feeling well...I guess,” you manage to say it as steady as you can. 

The lanky blond hadn’t given you a clear reason when he staggered towards you near dawn. But if you’re being honest, you didn’t really care.You barely looked his way at breakfast, choosing to stare into your dark coffee cup than at the katana resting on his shoulder. The sword was still wet with blood, and you knew he’d been out all night. Though right now, you sorta wish you pressed him more for details.

Kai mutters something slightly bitter, words that are muffled against the material of his mask. But you hear him sigh, then his tone turns crisper. “No matter. It’s inconvenient, but I can work around these...changes.”

His arm drops to his side, walking from the wall. And unexpectedly- those peculiar eyes you see leering at his enemies, have now fallen on you. 

You seize up in mild panic, the pupils in your eyes shrinking; not knowing what to do. You take a scuffling step or two back on reflex—and knock your hip against the table corner. 

Oww—ow, fuck. Hold on, what’s he doing? Why—Your voice bubbles in your throat as you watch him draw near. Though it’s strange, for Kai doesn’t pull at the rim of his latex glove like expected, rather, the Shie Hassaikai boss happens to steer past you instead. 

...Huh?

Your neck cranes, loose hair spilling over your shoulder. He stops a couple feet away and tilts his head downward in front of the tray, no longer regarding your presence and focusing on his work. 

You stand there awkwardly, just listening to the clinks of metal fitting together in Kai’s grip. You’re not fully understanding though, should you leave? It looks like your job’s finished now that your boss is here. Besides, you’re pretty confident Kai doesn't want you here if he’s occupying the room. 

In the long pause between you two, your mind’s made up which prompts you to retreat back and aim towards the door. They’re slow, careful moving steps. 

“Well, you seem busy...I should probably hurry back and watch the cameras,'' you say dismissing yourself. You’re partial toward the comfort of the smaller office, and any chance you have of leaving the macabre storage space you will eagerly take it. 

You don’t make it to the gleaming doorknob—because Kai’s voice holds you still. It isn’t loud, but it grips the room. “No stay. There’s no need for you to leave so soon.”

A mix of fear and confusion read across your features. Kai has never spent a moment alone with you. In fact, you aren’t actually part of the yakuza. The only reason you’re associated with the fallen crime syndicate, is because the former boss offered you odd jobs as a favor. You needed some work to keep from struggling and he had taken a liking to you, sort of how he did with Kai. But then, the leader collapsed. 

Now you aren't sure where you stand. Chisaki is in charge.

“I believe there’s something you can do for me. Will you have a seat on the table?” 

You aren’t sure if you heard him right, or fully grasp what he means. He says it so casually-  but you know better; it’s a demand. You’re just not sure why.

“I’m fine. Really. I should be going-“

“Are you defying my order?” Again, he says it so nonchalantly. This time Kai turns his head over his shoulder; the look he gives is almost impassive, yet there’s a menacing gleam in the yellow of his eyes.

“What? No, I was…! Right.”

You don’t exactly drag your feet, but you do stand hesitant before the edge of the table where countless bodies have been dissected. So much blood, so many organs harvested on this very table.

“I won’t ask you again.” 

You turn around robotically, eyes pointed downward as you hoist your hips onto the metal. The table’s surface is icy, it numbs your fingers the longer you lean on it, which only makes you fold them against your thighs. 

“Roll up your sleeve.” Kai says by your right, holding up a purple band. Your gaze flicks up immediately, nervously, a silent plea for mercy. As if somehow your glossy and delicate eyes will make a difference. But it does nothing toward Kai’s stoic stance. He simply waits, and his own steely eyes narrow back.

You drop your head with a wince; just do as he says. 

You comply, pushing up your long sleeve. Though you make a point not to help much more than that, leaving your arm limp at your side. 

Kai doesn’t seem to notice or care and proceeds to wrap the rubber around your arm. You grimace, unpleased as his fingers skim your arm, and again when he brushes you with a wet cotton swab. 

“You need my blood?” You ask evenly. 

His eyes don’t leave your skin, “Not necessarily.”

“A lot of effort for, ‘not necessarily.’” You say, not too dryly. 

“You’ve seen my work before, you should know by now I take great care in everything I do.”

Kai rotates between you and the now rolled over stand, dismissing your light jab. He sets up the port for blood to flow; all in a well practiced motion. It certainly makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. 

“I’m curious, when was your last doctor's appointment?” He asks suddenly, hands already prepping the next instrument. The other needle probably, but you don’t want to play as his patient. He isn’t your doctor, for fucks sake.

“A while.” You answer. 

“A while,” he repeats with a subtle chuckle under his covered breath,“Has anyone told you before you’re a feisty one?”

You bite your tongue and refuse to meet his side glance. When you don’t reply back, he carries on with a sigh. 

“I’ve had quite a long day you see, so I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my tolerance for stubborn little girls.”

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder, and all too quickly you find yourself thumping against the cold metal, your horrified eyes staring up at the bright ceiling. The next thing you feel is buckles fastening, pinning you against the table by your waist and elbows. 

You're flooded with tingling panic, voice cracking from strain, “Hol—Hold on one second. Please, just one more—”

“—You know they say you should never let the lamb see the knife? Their fear tampers the meat, and ruins the flavor,” Kai gives a sharp tug on the last belt. “But I find yours all the more intoxicating, my dear.”

You stammer, words of protest mingle together as you attempt to be heard, “I don’t understand, why are you…Just stop. You need to let me go!”

Your teeth clench together in a rage that fills your chest. You’re not thinking rationally, your nerves are unhinged. And in your adrenaline high your leg curls up, thrashing a viciously blunt strike toward the point of his beak.

 Before it can connect and batter the bridge of his nose and mark his cheekbones, Kai’s arm flexes quickly. Your foot stops mid air as he catches your ankle with constricting force. 

“Do I?” He asks with a title of his head, there're subtle creases in the corner of eyes, you can imagine his mouth settles in a cold smile beneath. 

In that moment you freeze up. Your lash lines burn, stinging with fresh tears glossing your doe eyes. You don’t breathe, you don’t dare to expand your lungs. Your only thought is begging him not to burst open your calf. 

“You shouldn’t be giving commands. You work under me now,” his nails dig in your flesh, and you know those indents will marr your flesh.“Meaning you’ll have to bear with me while I continue.”

Kai doesn’t loosen his hold, briefly watching your pained expression. But he favors dropping his gaze below to study the stretch of your thigh, your exposed and parted groin. It’s then his nimble fingers reach to unclasp the button of your jeans and he gently pulls down the zipper. You cry out, jerking against the belts, but he isn’t fazed. 

“One of our new drugs is supposed to relax its victims...recently it’s been ineffective if the heartbeat’s racing too quickly, though we’ve made modifications to counter this. My plan was to stage a fight with Setsuno, until...you graciously took his place.”

Kai lowers your leg, both hands roaming across to the edge of your jeans. He still studies you, and decides to push up your ribbed sweater, letting the cold bite of the morgue chill your hips. His latex fingers trace lightly across your pebbled skin, skimming down the dips to your thighs. 

“Yes, this will do just fine. You’re pretty enough,” he muses, softly.

He then tucks his hands into your waistband, yanking them down your legs, before they fall to the floor with a plop. The seamless panties slip off easily, as well. This sends a small prickle through you, and, no, this can’t keep going! The fight in you surges, pushing your knees together to shield your groin. Only Kai doesn’t like that. 

There’s something cold and dangerous in his glare, a threat that twists at your stomach. He’s warning you; don’t make this worse for yourself or you’ll make him snap. And you didn’t want that...You watch both his hands clutch your knees, he doesn’t waste time and he yanks your legs apart, taking in your pretty cunt.

Angry tears trickle down your cheeks in response. Your throat burns from holding back a sob, “Chisaki, please. If you would—“

 Without a moment of hesitation, Kai knowingly finds where to touch you first. A little too skillfully for a false doctor, the pad of his thumb presses against your soft, sensitive nub, stroking tight circles with focus. Your breath catches, falling heavier while he sinks his pad deeper in the forming slick, building steady pressure.

“Still so stubborn, what good will that bring you?”

A broken moan spills on your shaky breath, all against your better decisions. His other hand settles between your legs, and a finger plunges inside your heat, curling upward and massaging the rougher layer of flesh. A sharp gasp inhales into your lungs. He isn’t stopping, no, Kai’s gloved finger moves with vigor the more your pleasurably laced cries pour out from your lips, how desperate they become.

He pushes in a second finger, and then a third thrusting in, stretching you and soaking your walls with your arousal. This causes you to push your hips further against his latex hand. 

“Kai, you fucking bastard!” you sob out, formalities be damned as your back arches. You can feel the building pulses in your cunt tense up, losing yourself to your superior on an icy slab in a fucking morgue. 

“You curse my name as though you’re not enjoying this,” Kai mocks.

 His fingers pump deeper, tightening your abs and your lips fall open. His matching rhythm on the bundle of nerves surges in a crash, sending a hard orgasm that shivers through your body. For a moment, just a little moment, your cares fade away. 

You're left breathing deeply, staring up at the ceiling as your chest rises and falls. The euphoria lasts a moment longer, but only for so long. Reality sets in as you lay there, and much too soon, the warmths gone. 

Kai takes advantage of this.

With your chin tipped up toward cabinets lining the ceiling, Kai unfastens his thinner belt. It’s only when you feel him hook under your knees and pull at your thighs that you snap your head up in startlement.

Kai’s venomous eyes stare you down, “I suggest laying back down little girl, we’re not finished yet.”

“Like hell!”

A second flare of rage strickens across your features, a hard glare that doesn’t unyield, especially as he unzips and withdraws himself from formal slacks. You know he’s relishing in your disdain for him, and this makes you thrash on the belts, hoping to force them apart. Of course, Kai did a good job of fastening these fuckers and simply chuckles at your attempt. 

“You’re still not understanding the position that you’re in,” He slips a hand in his pocket, and pulls out the wrapping of a condom. Taking his time, tearing it open, rolling the rubber down his thick length with precision.

 When Kai’s satisfied, his arms reach for you and grab at your hips, giving them a sharp yank forward. He leans in with a darkly low voice, “You can’t escape me. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

“...You lean any closer and I’ll spit in your face.” There isn’t any bite to it. It’s a calm, empty threat and loses all its appeal as a single tear spills down your cheekbone.

A huffing noise emits from his mask, with his lids narrowing in mild disgust. You catch the words “filthy woman,” rasped low and nasally before he does lean back, wrenching at the skin around your hips. 

When he’s all settled Kai lines himself to your heat, in a slow motion he draws himself inside. You almost don't hear it, but from the mask you note a soft hitch in his breath. He gives shallow pushes and pulls on your hips, an experimental dip that splits you in a painful stretch before he pumps fully into you. They’re slow, long strokes, filling you to the brim.

Another strained gasp rips from your wet lips, and your hands impulsively spring out, clenching the black cloth of Kai’s sleeves. His hips snap quicker, and your breath picks up with him. Heart pounding to his thrust; you can feel the beats in your neck. 

And all of a sudden you hear the sound of plastic clasping together, the squeeze of an injection clip the shell of your ear. Your eyes snap open in horror. What—?

Kai locks on your facial features, his deep pumps lessen though the slapping of skin doesn’t stop. “You’ve been too tense. Why don’t you relax for awhile?”

When did he..? 

He prepped it. The syringe must’ve been tucked away. He did have this all planned. You were just the unlucky one who walked to the table and sealed your fate. 

The serum he injected into your bloodstream has fast results it seems. The tension in your muscles slack against his thrusts, allowing him to carry your body closer and take more of his length. You feel the tension in your wide eyes soften, slowly falling half lidded and weak. 

“That’s a good girl, you're taking to the drug faster than I thought,” he muses a little breathless. Right after he sets the syringe back down, a gloved hand reaches for the strap fastened around his head and pulls. The mask slips off.

It’s at this point he hikes his knees up onto the table and pounds in deeper, letting your walls suck him in. Your body’s folded, and Kai treats your body in any way he desires.

You manage to pull your head from his sharp eyes, your cheek bouncing slightly against the icy metal to Kai’s rhythm. The drawers for the deceased are taken in.

You stare intently. 

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No.” He manages between breathes, his voice is heavy and laced with lusting growls, “This is merely a precaution. In the event...ah, in the event you overdose...well. You’re in the right place.”

Your head lolls back to Kai meeting his delicate face which is now flushed. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him behind the mask. He’s beautiful. Soft featues that compliment him so well. If only he wasn’t so cruel...

“In fact, hah, if you survive...I think this will be the start of something new in my work.” He manages the last bit with a shaky chuckle. 

You see him smirk wickedly, and all you can do is watch, because it doesn’t stop. The only sound in the room is the liquid squish of sex, your mixed heavy breaths. And you hope, god do you hope in your hazy state, feeling a numbness taking hold of your body, that you leave this room alive.

[olimpiacroy]

                           hshqtask46  ⸻  family dynamic                                                  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐒

❝ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵖᵃᶜⁱᵗʸ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵈᶠᵘˡˡʸ ʷⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ. ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ, ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ˢᵒᵘˡˢ, ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᵐⁱⁿᵈˢ. ᵃ ˡⁱⁿᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵇᵉ ᶜʳᵒˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ˡⁱᵉˢ ᵇᵉʰⁱⁿᵈ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᶠᵉᵃʳˢᵒᵐᵉ. ❞

i started working on a croÿ aesthetic board and decided to put into words all the things we’ve discussed over the years ! the focus is mainly on fanni, tekla & olimpia... because this also has elements of the psyche task. but this is more or less an explanation of the family dynamic rather than just an explanation of olimpia’s relationship with her family. ( @lcvcntc​, @tvkla​, @fannicroy​ ) ( and also i hope y’all agree with what i’ve written because otherwise this is embarrassing )

Ⅰ  ⸻ The Croÿ dynasty is not much of a dynasty. The Croÿ family are pretty much the nouveau riche of royalty. There is no Saxe-Coburg, Braganza,Habsburg, Bourbon or Schleswig-Holstein blood mixed in with the Croÿ blood ( more on that if hails ever finishes the modern history task ). People don’t necessarily bring it up, it would be a weird thing to do, not to mention difficult now that three generations of Croÿs have sat on the Hungarian throne, however it’s something that hangs over the Hungarians’ heads. They aren’t a dynasty. They don’t have a family tree that can be traced all the way to the the 12th century. There’s a subconscious effort to prove themselves. 

Ⅱ  ⸻ So blame it on the subconscious need to be equals with other royals or on the outdated societal norms of Hungary but the Croÿs, especially the Croÿ women, have always played a role. They have fitted themselves inside a mold and adopted mannerism and personality traits in order to appear to be the best Croÿ-approved version of themselves. It’s not by design, it’s due to the conditioning that happens without anyone noticing. It there is almost only one way to flourish as a Croÿ and if you stray too far away from what is desired and accepted, you’ll be cut down. By your own blood. The Croÿs are as demanding as they are well-meaning. It happens slowly: you stop receiving compliments and praises from other members of the family, then comes quick and almost casual comments, then comes actual criticism, and eventually the family that speaks loudly about being there for you makes you an outcast. To be fair, you’ve brought it on yourself if that happens. At least partly. The Croÿs believe in unity but it’s clear that each and every one of them is deeply selfish. Sometimes that selfishness isn’t put aside for the good of the family: Levente and his infidelity, Fanni never trying to ease Tekla’s burden, ( up for debate but ) Tekla leaving Hungary, and Olimpia concentrating on her own thing, not bothering to match her siblings’ sacrifices. They’ll help, protect, fight for their family members as long as the personal sacrifice isn’t too great.

Ⅲ  ⸻ The youngest generation ( or... second youngest since nilsa and katya exist ) have bent the rules a bit but not enough. Fanni didn’t end up like that by accident, Tekla doesn’t breathe easier in Copenhagen for no reason, Levente is not emotionally guarded because he wants to be, and Olimpia isn’t drawn to the people who are her antitheses because she finds them interesting. Fanni and Levente are examples of what happens when you accept your role without a single question. It’s why the two are a team too. They haven’t learnt to look outside of Budapest. Hungary first, then the family, and then themselves. Tekla is arguably the smartest one out of the group for creating something for herself on her own terms. Olimpia’s saving grace is the fact that she’s some years younger than her siblings and was never made to partake in politics.

Ⅳ ⸻ ( okay my love for the tekla-fanni parallels is infinite ) Tekla and Fanni are the perfect way to assess the Croÿ family. Tekla was born unlucky, there really is no other way to put it. So you have the two Hungarians growing up together, as close as sisters, and you have the absolutely unfair difference in the treatments they receive. Fanni is not harassed, all her decisions are supported and she is lead onto the right path. It’s easy for her to slip into the mold: it’s so safe and shiny. People adore her for doing what is correct. Why would she challenge an institution that treats her so nicely. Then we have Tekla who, in theory, should get everything Fanni’s getting. The adoration, the attention, the unconditional love. That doesn’t come. People keep challenging Tekla, try to pigeon hole her into a role that doesn’t quite fit... maybe because it’s so directly in Fanni’s shadow for no good reason. The girls, the young women they stay close until Tekla leaves and gets her own life. Tekla thrives outside of Hungary since the expectations are different. They aren’t lower by any means but her worth isn’t based on the angle of her chin and the straightness of her back. She exists as a person, not as a woman.  

Ⅴ ⸻ The real problem with the Croÿs is that the game is rigged for the female members of the clan. There is no way to win. Levente’s issues sprout from toxic masculinity and the unrealistic expectations that have been placed on him but he doesn’t need to strive to be something impossible. People will even let him trip a few times. Olimpia is dumb and essentially worthless since she isn’t hard-working ( in the right useful way ), never mind she’s barely past her mid-twenties. Tekla is selfish and difficult for having created something for herself... and Fanni is simple and embarrassing for not having created anything for herself. You can see it in the way Levente talks to the women: Olimpia is just the annoying little sister, Tekla deserves respect but only if it is delivered with a small amount of guilt tripping, and Fanni is a book he has read a dozen times and has lost interest in a long time ago. How can you be ambitious but dutiful at the same time? When each one of your accomplishments is the family’s accomplishments, not yours? How can you be loyal but independent when doing something on your own makes you a turncoat? 

Ⅵ ⸻ The Croÿs, however, are a forgiving bunch. Every fight gets forgotten almost immediately. If it lasts longer than a week, someone is just making a point. If it lasts for months... well, then someone needs to get on their knees and beg for forgiveness. Fights are explosive but it has a lot to do with the way the Croÿs express themselves. They know how to add bite to their words and it’s an efficient way to get a point through. Fights are great for introspection too since family members tend to pick out your worst flaws, the things you truly, without a doubt, work on. It’s a raw way to communicate but it’s an honest way. The Croÿs have no need for secrets since they know the family will stand behind them no matter what. Even through the most questionable decisions. The transparency is what makes them strong. They can lie to others, not to each other. It’s an unspoken rule. Something will break if words are swallowed instead of spoken.

Ⅶ ⸻ And one last word on loyalty. It’s unconditional. It’s why it’s difficult to be an outsider among the Croÿs. New members struggle at first because the family’s mentality is difficult to understand at first. The fights are impossible to grasp: how can you claim to love someone so much and still scream such cruel things at them? The Croÿs expect honesty, they expect unfiltered words, they expect to see the ugliest parts of you. Family knows you through and through and still accepts you ( though among the Croÿs the worst bumps in your person will be gotten rid of ). No one else knows you like family does, no one else could ever accept you like family. Family is strength and that strength comes from loyalty. You keep your lips sealed and lie and lie and lie if it’s necessarily. Among the Croÿs it’s a greater crime to be disloyal than unjust. Sylvia will learn it the hard way.

[skepticalcatfrog]

The Future is Shit Chapter 1

First Chapter Next Chapter

Summary: Number Five was an assassin android, made specifically for killing human beings. That was his sole purpose, until one day it wasn't. Escaping from The Commission was a nearly impossible feat. And what does one do after succeeding in a task of that difficulty? More nearly impossible feats, of course. Five decides that the next logical step is to get rid of The Commission once and for all. Alongside a group of accidental companions tasked with killing one of the most dangerous people on the planet, will they find that they're in over their heads?

Pairings: None

Word Count: 3,718

Author's Notes: Here it is! The new project I've been hyping up for a few weeks now! It's an Umbrella Academy fic, which probably surprises no one. It will be focused on Number Five, which also surprises no one. I'm excited for this, so I don't really mind if anyone was expecting something else.

Quick Heads Up: This series will be a bit more violent than my previous ones! It makes sense given the source material, but I just thought I'd say this anyway.

The first thing Five could really remember was the running. Running from something, running from nothing, and running from everything all at once. He could hear the clang of metal footsteps on the solid floor and the whirring of mechanical joints being pushed to their limits, but there was no way to tell if those sounds were from him or the security guards that were pursuing him. 

The fact that every single hallway in the Commission building looked exactly the same definitely wasn't helping his plan. The only thing he had to rely on was the map that was programmed into his head, but it was specifically designed so that he could only see it while he was standing still. If the Handler was anything, she was clever, and Five hated her for that.

As he rounded a corner, he slid into a dimly lit hallway that branched off to the right. He hid in a shadow as the mechanical security guards approached. They looked around in a state of confusion, their sensors unable to detect him. He took a gun from the holster on his belt. He barely took any time aiming it. Three shots rang out, each hitting one of the guards with deadly accuracy. All of them fell to the ground, sparks flying from holes in their heads. Five stepped out of his spot in the shadows.

"Good riddance." He muttered as he examined the effectively deactivated guards.

He was still definitely being searched for, but now he'd bought himself some time. He just had to find a way out of the building. Then he'd be infinitely harder to find, and he'd probably never have to worry about the Commission again. Of course, he'd only ever be viewed as a child to anyone who saw him, but even that was better than being forced to kill whoever the Handler decided needed to go.

He took that moment of stillness to look at the map of the building. A light blue grid overtook his vision and a three-dimensional map sketched itself out. A dark blue dot appeared on the map indicating where he was, and a red dot appeared on the map indicating where the Handler was. Not every android could see that second dot, but Five had been the Handler's right hand man for years. Earning her trust had been a big part of his escape plan.

Based on the map, one of the only exits was down a hallway after taking two lefts and a right. The only issue was, the Handler was standing in one of the hallways he needed to pass through. He swore under his breath. If she was so nearby, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she'd been able to hear those gunshots, not to mention that she definitely already knew he'd escaped.

He blinked once and the map went away. Then he started going down the hallway towards the exit. There was no use trying to avoid the Handler, she'd find him eventually anyway. So he ambled down the hall, making one left turn, then a second one, and a final right turn. The Handler was there waiting for him.

She turned to face him. "Would you look at that. It's the man of the hour!" Her red lips curved into a false smile. "You know, I expected more from you Number Five. You were the best assassin in the entire program. You have so much potential!"

Five glared at her. "If this is what you think potential is, you must not have much."

A flash of indignance crossed the Handler's face, but she covered it up quickly. "You were always one for distractions. Trying to get me to keep talking so you have time to run. But you're not getting away that easily. Is there any way I could convince you to stay?"

"Not a chance." Five said through gritted teeth. "Oh, and that wasn't the distraction. This is."

He took out his gun again and shot her in the foot. In the moment that followed, when she was more focused on the pain than on him, he bolted past her and sprinted down the hall. He put his hand on the scanner next to the door, and it glowed green. The door slid open. Then he was out of there.

He ran across the barren landscape, occasionally glancing behind him to see if he was being chased. He wasn't, but in a way, that was worse. The sun shone brightly, creating heat that Five couldn't feel. Wind kicked up loose dirt from the ground, which got into his eyes and partly obscured his vision. But still he ran, farther and farther, until he saw the silhouette of an abandoned town in the distance. He skidded to a stop.

Wandering through the town was strange to say the least. Everything was silent except the whistle of the wind, and there didn't seem to be anyone there for miles. Half destroyed buildings were scattered around, the ruins covered in dust and dirt. It was very different from the clean and business-like Commission building.

Five stopped in front of a house that was still mostly put together. It didn't have a roof, but that wasn't much of a problem. He went inside and looked through the rooms, most of which had been completely cleared out. Eventually, he found a trapdoor on the ground. It was locked, but the wood wasn't in very good condition, so he stomped on it and it broke. The downside of that plan, though, was that he fell through the floor and into the room below.

Once he collected himself, he stood up, dusted himself off, and took in his surroundings. It looked like it used to be a finished basement, and whoever had cleaned out the rest of the house had left that room alone. The carpet on the ground was partly decomposed, revealing the concrete beneath. The same went for the wallpaper. A chair sat in the corner of the room. The upholstery was torn, and the metallic details on the legs were tarnished. A table, which had been broken in half, was lying on its side. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the room. All other traces of the house having been lived in were gone.

Five went over to the chair and sat down, continuing to look around the room. "I guess this is home for the next few hours."

Five had contacted someone a few days prior, someone who had volunteered to help him get out of the country. They'd discussed an exact date and time, so Five figured he wouldn't have to wait for long. So he did. Hours later, after the sun had set, no one was there. The hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months.

And he waited for two years.

-Two Years Later-

Luther Harrison had been away from his lab for hours, searching for materials to use to build new tools. He went on that trip once every year. There was a town near the place he worked that had no one living in it, and he'd cleaned out most of the houses at that point. He'd been expecting to be in and out as quickly as possible, but he was very wrong.

He approached a house he'd been to a few times before. He'd already collected everything from the ground floor, but there was a basement that he'd forgotten to look through the previous year. The trapdoor had been broken open last time he'd seen it, which was strange. Because as far as he knew, he was the only one visiting that town, and he couldn't remember breaking it.

Once he managed to get through the relatively small entrance, the first thing he noticed was the table in the corner. It had clearly been broken down the middle at one point, but it had been balanced in a way that made the two pieces fit together and stay standing. Then he turned his head to the left and saw something that he was surprised he hadn't noticed before.

A fully built android, sitting in a tattered chair that was placed along the left wall. He appeared to be built to look like a kid, maybe around 13. Rust had developed in his joints, signifying that he had been there for a while. His head was lolled back, and his wide eyes were completely dark. He was wearing surprisingly nice clothes, a light gray suit with a white button down shirt and a dark blue tie, but they were covered in dirt and dust. He had clearly been shut down, but Luther didn't know if it was on purpose or from some kind of malfunction.

Luther looked around for something to carry the android in, but there was nothing. So instead, he just lifted the android up and carried him out of the basement. After a discovery that important, he had to go back to his lab. He hadn't had time to collect anything else, but that was the last thing on his mind.

Carrying the android the whole way, he traveled outside of the town, continuing on until he came to a specific patch of empty land. He stepped on a hidden button and the ground shook lightly as two doors slid apart to reveal a worn-out concrete staircase. He descended into the dark tunnel below, the doors shutting again behind him.

Luther Harrison's workspace was a strange combination of a total mess and entirely put together. It all depended on where you were looking. There was a metal desk across from the stairwell that was meticulously organized. A neat stack of books sat on one edge, and a pen sat on the other. A chair was placed at the desk, pushed in so it wouldn't take up too much room. Meanwhile, there were random papers spread across the floor, and piles of filled notebooks in every corner of the room except for two. One of which was occupied by half finished inventions, and the other which was occupied by a couch with a person on it.

"So, what do we have today?" Diego had been staying with Luther for years. They were almost like brothers at that point. And like brothers, they didn't get along a lot of the time. "Is he dead?"

"Not dead. I don't think, at least." Luther moved the stuff off of his desk and put the android down on it. "If we can get him to work again, maybe he'll be better at helping me than you are."

"Being your assistant isn't my job. Never was." Diego tossed a knife at the ceiling and it stuck, along with the other three that were already up there.

"Would you stop doing that?" Luther requested harshly, taking a screwdriver from his toolkit. "The ceiling is going to start leaking if you keep putting holes in it."

"That's the plan." Diego responded, throwing another knife. Upon the impact of that one, another one fell down, and Diego caught it by the handle.

Luther made the conscious choice to ignore Diego, instead focusing on the android that was currently on his desk. He used a fast-paced rust remover that he'd developed to restore the android's joints quickly. Then, using the screwdriver, he opened up the panel of metal on the android's chest. Instead of wires like he'd expected, the android was full of gears. Gears, and some sort of dark oil. There was so much of it that you might think it was blood, but it definitely wasn't. Plus, the gears ruined the theory that it was an electrical malfunction, because there wasn't any electricity anyway. Then he noticed that the android's head was propped up just a little more than it should've been. Luther nudged his head to the side, and when it turned, he saw a wind-up key like what you might find on a clock or a music box. It was attached to the back of the android's neck. Luther turned the key a few times, hoping it would do something. And it did.

The android's chest panel snapped shut. His eyes stayed mainly dark, but white irises with light grey pupils appeared in them. He blinked a few times. A blue grid briefly scanned over his eyes, but it went away quickly.

The first thing Five saw upon waking up was a guy he'd never seen before standing over him. This guy wasn't like anyone he'd ever seen before. He was a cyborg, part human and part robot. His left eye was robotic, and it had a bright yellow glow coming from it. His right arm was also robotic. And of course, given the fact that he'd never seen this person before in his life, Five resorted to panic mode. He swung his fist, striking the stranger in the face. Then he jumped up, oil spilling from the reopened maintenance panel on his chest.

"Who do you work for and where were you two years ago?" Five switched from panic to interrogation really fast.

"I don't work for anyone! What are you talking about?" The stranger stumbled backwards. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Oh really? By dissecting me and selling my limbs to the highest bidder?" Five glared. "You could've at least had the decency to meet up with me two years ago like you were supposed to!"

"Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't remember agreeing to meet up with anyone!" The stranger held a hand up, possibly trying to distance himself from Five even more.

Five rolled his eyes. "Don't act dumb, Diego. You set me up. Do you have any clue how hard it is to escape from an organization that barely anyone knows exists?"

"Hold on. My name isn't Diego. I'm Luther Harrison." The stranger, who Five now knew as Luther, looked perplexed.

"So… you're not Diego Harding?" Five lifted an eyebrow.

"No." Luther shook his head and gestured to a second man that Five hadn't noticed before. "But he is."

Five's gaze moved to Diego as he looked him up and down once. "Diego Harding. Remember me? We communicated through an encrypted network two years ago over the period of May 16th to May 24th. You were supposed to help get me out of the country. Where were you?"

"I don't know. Must've forgotten or something." Diego shrugged it off.

"And I'm guessing you expect me to believe that. Just cut the crap, would you?" Five slammed his hand on the desk behind him. "If you couldn't help me then, maybe you can help me now. You owe me at least six favors at this point. And you?" He turned back to Luther. "Could you be so kind as to fix the hole in my chest. That's not a question, by the way. You made it, so you fix it."

"Can you feel pain?" Luther asked, mainly out of curiosity.

"No, I can't. My main issue is that a bunch of oil, which I need in order to function properly, is staining my white shirt." Five deadpanned, saying the last part of the sentence with clear sarcasm.

Luther quickly resealed the metal panel, hoping that if he did then he wouldn't have to face the humiliation of being killed by a child. Diego didn't seem to have the same fear.

"Now that that's over, what do you want from us?" He stood up. "You've been really cryptic about everything you've said so far, and I for one want some facts."

"To start, I'm an assassin android from The Commission. Model Number Five, built in 2989." Five rolled up his sleeve and held up his right arm, where thick black numbers reading '005' were emblazoned on his wrist. "And I'm not going to tell you why I'm here, because I don't trust you that much yet."

"The Commission? What is that?" Luther's brow furrowed.

"That's classified. Either you find out on your own or you don't find out at all." Five answered quickly. "But back to the task at hand. Do either of you happen to know someone who knows everyone?"

"Actually… I do." Diego said reluctantly. "If we leave now, we can get to his place by the time the sun sets."

"Okay then. Let's go." Five headed towards the stairwell.

After a few hours of walking, the three of them arrived in the middle of nowhere. They stood in front of a tent made of colorful scraps of fabric. An old neon sign flickered above the entrance, which was made of an old curtain. It was a hot pink circle that had a phrase written inside of it in bright green lettering. It read: "The One-Stop Shop For All of Your Needs From Beyond The Grave!"

Five raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"I am. Klaus knows everything about everyone, but he never answers you if you ask how." Diego stepped through the curtain and into the tent. The other two followed him. It was a tight fit with all of them in there at once, but they managed.

A man sat at the table in front of them, his hands hovering over a glowing crystal ball. His curly dark hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in a couple of days. He had at least four scarves on. One was around his neck, one was around each of his arms, and one was tied around his head. Five noticed that he had tattoos on the palm of each hand, one saying 'HELLO' and the other 'GOODBYE'. Those must've hurt like hell to get done, He thought.

The man grinned at the three of them as they entered. "Diego! Welcome back bud. And I see you've brought some friends with you this time! Care to introduce me?"

"Well this one's Luther. You already know him." Diego pointed to his left.

"Yup. Diego talks about you a lot, you know." Klaus said matter-of-factly. "From what I've heard you're pretty insufferable."

"I'm not that bad." Luther scowled at Diego. "He just doesn't like me. Which is fine, because the feeling is mutual."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it is." Klaus waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway. Who's the kid?"

"He's the one you have to worry about today." Diego nudged Five forward.

"I am." Five nodded. "And don't call me kid, just because I look like one doesn't mean I am one."

"Gotcha. So what can I do for you today?" Klaus clasped his hands together.

"Before I tell you my entire plan, I'd like to know what your deal is. What exactly do you do in this tent?" Five sat down in the chair opposite the one that Klaus was in.

"I'm glad you asked! Actually, I'm a medium. For 20 dollars a session, I can contact ghosts and spirits and stuff." Klaus explained.

"Can I get some evidence?" Five crossed his arms.

"Absolutely! And you know what, I'll give you this one on the house." Klaus placed his hands down on the crystal ball, and it began to glow. "You see, there was a time when I had a brother named Ben. He doesn't have much to do a lot of the time, so he's pretty easy to summon."

He began muttering what Five identified as barely audible nonsense. A few seconds passed, and the crystal ball went dark, taking the light from the rest of the tent as well. Although it could easily be missed, Five heard the rustling of a curtain. When the lights rose again, there was another man standing in the room. He was dressed casually, in all black. Diego and Luther looked amazed. Five raised an eyebrow.

"Ben! Good to see you bro. I'm glad you decided to show up." Klaus raised his hand to give his brother a high five, but Ben's hand passed right through his own.

Five narrowed his eyes and gestured for Ben to get a little closer. Then, faster than you could say the word 'skeptical', Five had taken hold of the front of Ben's sweatshirt and pulled him down to his level with inhuman strength. Five's pupils glowed blue and he scanned Ben's right eye. Then he let him go.

Five started speaking, the robotic tone in his voice increasing tenfold. "Name: Ben Hargreeves. Date of birth: October 1st, 2989. Date of death: indeterminate. Hair color: black. Eye color: brown. Current status: alive." His eyes returned to normal and he smiled at Klaus smugly.

Klaus and Ben exchanged a glance, both rendered speechless. But only for a moment.

"How did you do that?" Ben's brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's part of my programming. That feature is technically supposed to be used on corpses, but it can be used on living people too." Five shrugged. "Emphasis on the living."

"Okay, fine, you got me." Klaus raised his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture. "I'm a con man. But you're not allowed to judge me! This is a very lucrative business!"

"But if he's alive, then how did you do that thing with your hands?" Diego asked.

"Misdirection. If you move your hand fast enough, no one will be able to tell that it's not really happening based on the initial shock of there being a ghost in the room." Ben quickly explained. The room fell into an awkward silence.

"So, now that that's over with, let's get down to business." Five stood up and leaned on the table. "I've heard that you know just about everyone in this area."

"That's true!" Klaus nodded.

"Have you heard of a man named Edmund Cornelius?" Five asked.

"Actually, no, I haven't." Klaus pursed his lips.

"Shit." Five muttered. "Well I guess that's a dead end."

"Who's Edmund Cornelius?" Luther questioned.

"You don't need to know that." Five dismissed him. "I guess I'll have to find him myself then."

"Well… you might not." Klaus said. "I might not know who that is, but I do know someone who might. She's a DJ, and she travels around a lot so she probably meets a ton of people. Chances are she'll know your guy."

"Okay, so it's settled." Five stepped away from the table. "Let's go find that DJ."

Taglist: @taco-taco-belle

[oveliagirlhaditright]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092943/chapters/61014142

Author’s Note: So, this prompt is based on a story I wrote years ago—right after Madoka Rebellion came out, that’s since been deleted; and you don’t have to have read that to understand this—where I went, “What if Kairi pulled a Homura, and removed Sora’s destiny from him like Homura did for Madoka?”

There’s a lot of debate about what Homura did to Madoka. And while I don’t justify it, I think her intentions were good (for the most part). She thought from their conversation earlier, that that was what Madoka would want… and that it was the only way to keep the Incubators from kidnapping her and forcing her to bring back the Witch system. I also think you can’t fully blame Homura for what she did, because she wasn’t in her right mind as a Witch.

So that’s what I went with Kairi for that story… She���d kind of gone crazy, because Sora had broken all of his promises to her, all of the trauma she’d been through… and because in my story, I had it so the World Order was broken and everyone knew about Sora and the gang’s journeys and other worlds. And that this had led to all these girls being in love with Sora, and thinking Kairi wasn’t good enough for him (yes, this was a reference to some of the fandom’s fans), and they even attacked her for it… So, all of this made Kairi lose it, and use her Princess of Heart powers to “save” Sora from being a Keyblade wielder. But she was also trying to be selfless with it, because the story had started with Sora having to leave Kairi again… but it being obvious that he didn’t want to go, and would stay home if he had the choice.

So Kairi took his powers away from him, sealed his memories of other worlds, and did the fighting for him (she may have split herself into two beings to do this, so one of her could fight and the other could be with Sora. Kind of like how there are two Madokas after her wish. Madoka and Madokami), and at first, she and Sora are happy together…

But eventually Sora finds out the truth and is partly angry at Kairi. Because on one hand, he does think she was right about him not wanting to be a hero (at least not anymore) and somewhat appreciates her maybe saving him from a lifetime of fighting. But he’s also furious that she stole his agency, and memories of a life he did love somewhat—with all the people he met in other worlds.

So, this is a continuation of that idea… where things are better now, and Sora’s trying to make it work with Kairi (though she’s still not quite sane), but he still resents some of her past choices some. Oh, and everyone else now knows what she did, too. And Mickey… Mickey isn’t happy about it. This is kind of following the whole “Mickey was somewhat a jerk about Kairi in KHIII” thing.

And the first line that fits the prompt—that inspired this whole thing—is another line from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. More on that later.

SoKai Week Day 6. Prompt: Connection

Connection

"There is a connection," Mickey was accusing Sora now, when it came to his relationship with Kairi. "She relies on you, you rely on her."

And Sora actually somewhat wanted to deny that there was still a connection between him and Kairi—since Kairi had somewhat become evil recently, and had tried to steal his powers and memories away—but he couldn't. …He loved her, perhaps even foolishly, and he always would as his light... even now. And anyone with eyes could see that, but that didn't  mean they were happy about it… like Mickey here.

"I think she's on the mend, your Majesty," Sora protested, as the two of them walked through the woods in Twilight Town. Little Chef needed more ingredients from them, so that was what they were doing here at the moment. Nothing major, since things had mostly calmed down since everything that had happened with the Master of Masters... well, aside from the Kairi thing. "She still gets out of touch with reality sometimes... but other times, she's spot-on again. So, please... just leave us be."

Truthfully? Sora was irritated with the King when it came to Kairi. And a side of him had ever since said Keyblade War. It seemed as though he'd decided he was against Kairi, and every second he could... he was putting her down in some way. It was tiring.

But Sora couldn't exactly end his friendship with the man... one, because of Donald, Goofy, and Riku—and perhaps for the sake of the universe—and since he really had no proof of these actions from Mickey, and did like him most of the time. But it was still awful.

The two were approaching Kairi now—who was sitting atop the chute that led back to town—and Sora knew that Mickey probably would have insulted her here, if Kairi hadn't been making another lucky charm and seeming relatively sane.

"That's a pretty charm you have there, Kairi," Sora told his maybe-girlfriend, as he leaned down so he could talk to her better. And it was... a lovely jade color, though Sora had no idea where Kairi had gotten those shells from… and he felt a little bit sick to the stomach, in thinking that Kairi must have made them to match Riku’s eyes. And that she was turning something that had been just about the two of them for so many years ago, to include all three of their trio. But maybe it was for the best…

And sure enough, that seemed to be the case. Kairi smiled carefully, cautiously. As if it was the first time she'd ever done so in her life. Kairi, to Sora, was acting somewhat like a toddler, who had come to believe that the world was a dark and scary place—a belief that would now inform her for the rest of her life—and Sora felt heartbroken for her, despite everything.

"I'm making this for Riku," Kairi said as she waved at both of them—including to the man who hated her, and Sora felt his teeth set on edge because of it. Maybe he was wrong to always forgive Mickey so easily… "Since I feel bad that I never made him one. If I had, Sora... if I hadn't been so obsessed with you, maybe things would have been different…"

This seemed to appease Mickey—as he'd always loved Riku—and he left then, wishing both Sora and (shockingly) Kairi the best, as he did so.

Meanwhile, Sora was still—probably unfairly, he knew—mourning that Kairi was going to give Riku anything in the shape of a paopu fruit (even despite Aqua’s beliefs on how the lucky charms worked). Had their relationship really been destroyed this much? …Well, if it had, it was his fault. And Sora tried to hide all these thoughts plaguing his mind, as he gave Kairi one of his thousand-watt smiles. “How are you feeling today, Kairi?”

"Good. It doesn't feel like a scratching in my head is making me want to hurt others, or myself."

"...Good. That's good. But make sure you sleep, too... because anyone can also get insane thoughts when they're sleep deprived..."

It was also depressing looking at Kairi these days, since her hair had turned white... which Sora knew only happened at an early age for the most traumatized people. And if her eyes weren't violet instead of blue, and her hair a shade lighter than Naminé's platinum blonde, then Sora knew he easily could've mistaken Kairi for Naminé. But then again... maybe not. Even now, his heart knew her too well…

"...You're so awkward with me now, Sora," Kairi said suddenly, with more alertness in her eyes now than Sora had seen in a long time. "But I guess it was either this, or you kill me to get your powers back. So I guess I'll happily take this. But still... I'm sorry I did this to us." And the princess went back to joyfully threading her seashells in the shadows, but Sora wasn't happy.

He actually wanted to get into Kairi’s face and say something like, ‘You do, do you? Kairi... I know I broke promises to you, and this mob of girls who wanted to be with me attacked you- I even know that part of you is right that I don't want to journey forever, but want to be home... Most of all, I see how you were traumatized after you were murdered, and then I, to get you back- but you stole my Keyblade, and my memories of those I love in other worlds, and my agency, until I forcefully got it back from you. I'm sorry you did this to us, too, especially since you’re the one I thought would never do such a thing to me.

But Sora didn't... because he knew how easy it was to get lost in his anger with his enemies—and that was also a form of madness, so he wouldn’t be giving Kairi a good example there at all—and because he knew he’d taken her own agency away, when he’d died for her without giving her a say on it… And since she was Kairi, and hurting, and to see her not hurt… Sora would just bear all the hurt himself. Wasn’t it even what he was now saying he wanted… somewhat? What a tragedy it was, that they couldn’t shoulder each other’s burdens anymore… at least for the time being.

But wanting that back—and thinking there was a chance they could have that feeling about them again soon, if they worked at it—Sora just held Kairi... dreaming of falling asleep with her like this. Because when they were innocently and peacefully sleeping in each other’s arms, that was when they were the closest to reaching what they’d once had, Sora thought.

Kairi held tightly onto Sora now and kissed his neck—innocently, with them out in public like this—and Sora clutched that and nothing else… not the bad memories that circled them like a vulture now, but just this feeling.

Right now... the two of them were broken beyond repair, yet still somehow connected. And Sora knew they always would be.

And that, at least, was something, the brunet thought as he for once didn’t have to make the conscious decision to kiss Kairi’s forehead, but rather just did it.

Author’s Note: So, the first quote is something Buffy’s mentor and father-figure, Giles, concernedly and angrily says to Buffy about Spike, when he thinks that having him in the group is a danger to them and that Buffy’s head maybe isn’t in the game. Yeah…

I hope anyone enjoyed this.

Oh. And for anyone interested, BlueRose729 kindly drew fanart of my old story on her deviantArt account.

[edelwoodsouls]

grace requires nothing of me (spent my whole life searching desperately)  - ch. 1

He never wanted to hurt anyone. He never wanted to be dangerous. But he can be. [When Alice goes missing, Caleb lets his darkness free]

(shoutout to @exhaustedwerewolf for once again listening to my midnight screams - please direct all crying and angst towards him :P)

Word Count: 1,701 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: n/a (yet)

They come for Caleb at night.

One moment, a dream: the dapple of sunlight through trees. An endless stretch of green-tinged sky, green fields, green light. The warmth of summer and laughter and fingers threaded through his own.

The next, a dark shadow. Clouds, heavy and bruised, choking the sun. They appear from nowhere, an invasion of his hazy verdant world.

He wakes up the moment they try to gag him.

The world is dark, lit only by the pool of moonlight filtering through the curtains at the foot of his bed. But he doesn’t need his eyes to sense them - the deadly, detached calm held solid in their bodies like cement. Not fluid and shifting as emotions usually are, but fixed, unnaturally still.

He yells out, struggles against them, his panic spilling out into the room in amber waves. It floods away the moonlight, the shadows, the steely hands against his limbs.

And the pressure is gone. Like a cloud passing briefly across the moon, the reaching fingers vanish. He senses only his own amber tidal wave, swirling around the space like a hurricane, pouring out into the hall.

He doesn't bother to check, to wait - he is drowning, needs air, needs space, needs green.

He jumps out of the window and flees into the night.

~#~#~

Adam can't sleep.

This isn't a new occurence, or even a rare one, but tonight the air is heavy on his chest, warm and thick against his skin. Rain has begun to drizzle gently against the window, choking the world in mist.

Summer drowns him, only feeling all the worse for his blue spells.

The only good thing about summer break is being in the same city as Caleb - just a few minutes walk between them rather than hours.

On nights like these, they still feel worlds apart. Hamlet swims before his eyes, his body begging for sleep that won't come.

It's nearing two am when he hears the insistent tap on his window. Like a bird pecking its beak against the glass - loud, more frantic than Caleb's usual, dorky secret knock.

Something's wrong.

He throws his book aside, sliding the window up in a single, adrenaline-fuelled motion.

Caleb tumbles into the room, sprawling onto the carpet. He's still dressed in what he usually sleeps in - shorts and nothing else - his hair flattened by the rain.

There's a vivid bruise beginning to form around his wrists.

"Caleb?" Adam crouches down to his boyfriend's level, careful not to touch him. He's shivering - but not from cold, Adam thinks - eyes darting around the room like a wild animal. "Caleb," he tries again, softly, "what happened?"

"I- uh- I-" Caleb's voice is no more than gasps. His eyes finally zero in on Adam, and he tries to level out his own panic. Be the island of calm in Caleb's storm.

"It's okay. You're safe. You're with me."

Slowly, so slowly, Caleb's breaths begin to level out. He takes deep gulps of air, as if he's been suffocating underground for years.

Adam grabs his Yale hoodie from the back of his chair; Caleb accepts it with a wordless nod, his jaw working in an attempt to find voice.

"I, uh- someone just tried to kidnap me."

"What." Adam's emotions spike immediately but he doesn't have the energy to try to be calm. "Caleb, what the fuck?"

"I don't know." Caleb shakes his head, pulling the hoodie over himself distractedly. "One minute I was sleeping and the next- fuck, the next they were trying to gag me."

"Fuck." His thoughts are beginning to swirl with panic, worst case scenarios, fear. His parents behind masks. His boyfriend splayed out on an operating table. Blood on a sterile floor. "Okay. Wait. Who's they?"

"I don't know," Caleb shrugs again, starts pacing back and forth with an energy that seems to leech into the room, rile Adam's anxiety up until it sits in a weight on his chest. If Caleb notices, he doesn't say, too distracted by his own panic.

The rain breaks out into a full-on thunderstorm. It feels pretty fitting.

"Do you think it was the AM?"

"I don't know. I didn't even see their faces. I just felt them."

"Wait, then how did you get away?"

"I-" Caleb stops short. His fists flex in and out in spasms, the way they do when he's trying not to say something, trying to figure out what to say. "I don't know."

It's a lie. The realisation hits Adam like a slap in the face. He and Caleb don't lie to each other, not after everything they've gone through. Not after missing information and secrets have caused them so much grief already.

"You're lying to me," he says quietly, not bothering to keep the hurt out of his voice. Caleb can feel it all anyway.

Caleb is looking anywhere but him. Staring out of the window at the moon, partially obscured by rain clouds.

"Caleb, what did you do?"

"I don't know!" The shout is too big for this small room, echoes between them like the snap of piano wires. He's never been more glad for his parents to be at a conference on comparative biological methods. "One moment I was being held down by, like, five guys, and the next they were all gone!"

"They can't have just vanished, Caleb."

"I mean, it felt like they did. I don't know. I just, I was so scared, and I could barely contain everything, and then suddenly they were gone. Their calm. I couldn't find it anymore."

Something uncomfortable shifts inside Adam. "Because they weren't there anymore, or because they weren't calm anymore?"

Caleb stares at him, eyes wide and filled with horror. But it's not the horror of an awful suggestion, a how dare you insinuate what I think you are.

It's the horror of being known.

Adam swallows, throat dry. "Tell me you just managed to hit one of them or something, and they got scared. You're really strong, right? You must've just pushed them away and they decided to regroup for help."

Slowly, Caleb shakes his head. "It... it started about a month ago."

"What started a month ago?" He knows, he already knows, and can't begin to figure out how he feels about it.

"I can... push emotions onto other people. Like, if they're feeling angry, I can make them calm."

"If they're feeling sad you can make them happy?"

Caleb's eyes go wide. "I never- I swear, I would never do it to you! I've got this under control."

"Do you?"

"Yes!"

"Okay then."

"You- wait, what?"

Adam folds himself into sitting back on the bed, looking up at Caleb. "I trust you, Caleb. Did you really think I would- what, hate you for this? Something that isn't your fault? If you didn't have this power, it sounds like you'd be zip-tied in a van somewhere right now."

He stands slowly, like approaching a scared animal. Caleb is still staring at him, startled. He wraps his arms around him, holding him close, as if he can still the tremors and fend off the world with nothing but his body.

"I'm just sad you felt you couldn't tell me," Adam says softly, voice muffled by Caleb's shoulder.

After a moment of hesitation, Caleb returns the hug, the fear uncertainty melting out of his body. They mold together, one entity, in perfect harmony. Steady breathing, steady heartbeats.

"I was so scared," Caleb's voice cracks with unshed tears. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. Or manipulate anyone. And if I can make people feel things, how am I any different from Damien?"

"You're nothing like Damien," Adam says fiercely, pulling away just enough so he can look into Caleb's bright green eyes. Puts a hand up to his face, letting Caleb lean into it. "You're Caleb Michaels. You're the love of my life. You're kind and empathic and you care. You're nothing like him."

Caleb lets out something between a laugh and a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"I am far more concerned by the people who just tried to kidnap you from your own home. How did they even get in?"

"I dunno. I might have forgotten to lock the back door before I went to bed, I guess? Me and Alice were playing quidditch..." Caleb's voice trails into silence.

"Alice."

Adam doesn't need empathy to feel the fear spilling back into the room. "Call her. Now."

She doesn't pick up. The phone continues to ring on every try, and eventually goes straight to voicemail.

Dead.

Sickness churns in Adam's stomach.

"This is my fault," Caleb whispers, hands running nervously so fast through his curls he's a breath away from tearing it out in chunks. "They couldn't get to me so they went for her."

"We don't- we don't know that," Adam tries to be the voice of reason, though the waver in his words betrays him. "Maybe she's just asleep? She's a teenager, you know they can sleep through anything."

Caleb continues to pace. The room feels thick and warm, panic seeping into the air, into Adam. It fills him up like rain filling a well, a steady rise that creeps up on him, invades his insides.

This panic that is not his, but has the familiar, soft edges of yellow he knows belong to Caleb.

"Caleb," he starts, panic that is only partly his own hitching the last syllable. "Caleb, stop."

The panic continues to rise, overflowing. He is adrift, drowning under a green sea that is far more yellow than blue.

"Caleb!"

The invasion vanishes, like a band snapping back from stretching. It feels like the air being stolen from his lungs - he feels empty, hollowed out, barely more than a flickering ember of blue.

"I'm-" Horror etches itself into every inch of Caleb's features. It's a sight that won't leave Adam's memory any time soon. "I'm sorry. I- I need to leave."

"Wait- Caleb!"

But Caleb has always been faster than him, far more impulsive.

In a single motion he vaults through the window and vanishes into the trees at the bottom of the garden.

Thunder cracks across the skyline, a mirror of Adam's world breaking apart.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 43: Tea Can Just Knock Over Joey Wheeler With Her Index Finger

Guys guys guys, my favorite Character is back. That’s right--the storyboarder!

So this episode looked helllla nice for a Yugioh episode (again, this is Yugioh, it will win no awards.) It wasn’t as nice and fluid as the episode where they temporarily killed off Joey Wheeler, but I give it a good 2nd place.

You can tell we’re getting to the climax of the season because they’re throwing down their most entertaining art people onto the screen, giving us about 5 zillion dutch angle fashion close-ups of Marik’s cabbage face, and a whole lot of zany and hard to very hard to draw fish-eye lens angles of Pharaoh.

Also, everyone wears flared bell-bottom pants now. New stylistic decision, as decided just now. Everyone in pants now has flares. Even if their pants are cargo pants. How very 00′s. (my pants were flares from like birth until 2006, it was a good trend, super comfy, bring it back.)

(read more under the cut)

First off, Evil Marik decided to rewrite Marik history a little bit with some hilarious retconning that only the most evil Marik would think is legit.

I mean I was there when Marik was introduced and was a complete asshole all of S2. I remember when Odion considered murdering the hell out of his little brother because this Marik guy was such freakin tool and his Dad was an evil cultist bastard. I...I’m gonna go on a limb and assume that calling Marik a “loyal servant” is a freakin stretch. Marik made his choices. Yes, his bad side killed his Dad, but they have made sure to indicate that yes, this is the evil inside of Marik, something that he himself caused--but most of the things that Marik has done (with the exception of killing his own Dad) is still Marik. He did that.

The fact that his evil side can’t quite connect that his good side and evil side are at all the same however, is fitting for an evil Marik to think. More and more, Marik and Marik are becoming 2 different people, and this game is the deciding factor to finally give this guy full autonomy of his other half.

We’ve seen this type of contrast before with Bakura and Ryou--where Ryou and Bakura don’t really get along but have always been clearly different people, so the culpability of what they do tends to fall on Bakura. (which is a pretty GRAND assumption, I still think Ryou is a precious but absolutely still shady little bastard) So, it’s a little different that Marik considers himself two completely different people when it’s just...not the same. Marik’s alter ego is just an ego. More like how Yami was in Season Zero but a little bit more evil. Both Marik’s have the same upbringing and the same source.

It’s been kind of an interesting progression now I can look back on it, where slowly the two have been clashing to the point that they are in fact different, disparate people now. The fact that Marik points out how his situation similar to Yugi and Pharaoh being a host is almost like “well yeah, it would have been nice to see how the whole Season Zero Yami evolved into more of a separate person over time, I’m glad you inferred that, and I’ll never get to see it, thanks” But again, all that is inferred. Whether Yami Yugi eventually became Pharaoh over time or whether Pharaoh is a big retcon of Yami Yugi for the new series in order to keep the culpability for what he does off of Yugi Muto was never directly spoken in the show so it’ll be left to your fanfictions.

Meanwhile, Yugi has decided that they’re going to try and purify the Marik situation and save the good side. This is sort of the Yugioh thing, to dispel the bad forces from people and leave behind hollow husks, so yeah...it tracks. I mean...there’s very little Marik left to save, but it’s better than a husk, amiright? Better than what happened to freakin PaniK, RIP. I’m sure erasing over half of your identity will go over real well for Marik and be absolutely painless.

And then we had a lovely scene that, for those people doing scene redraws from anime, as has been a popular trend on art blogs lately--this is your episode for Yugioh. This episode’s got moody lighting, we’ve subdued all our weird ass colors into one concrete palate (remember how green the carpet used to be?) we got interesting elements of Marik being here despite being chopped into pieces. We got so many ellipses drawn in perspective (y’all I could write an entire posts just about ellipses but I’ll spare you). It’s like Yugioh gave itself a redraw.

I can’t believe this shot came out of freakin Yugioh.

Also, this guy was an ASSHOLE for the past 2 seasons but the show was like “time to make him likeable” and so they dropped some good ass cinematography and sung that sad backstory tune on the trumpet and you know what? It works.

+++++++++++++++RANT ABOUT REDEMPTION ARCS FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS MASSIVE WALL OF TEXT++++++++++++++++++++++++

Now I think the arc of Marik is pretty simple and people are pretty chill with it. But, I’m gonna talk about villain redemption arcs just in general--gonna sidetrack a little from Yugioh for a moment. Partly because I watched 6 seasons of Once Upon a Time, which is basically Villain Redemption Arc Controversy: The Show.

It bothers a hell ton of people when TV shows have to make a villain redeemable, but there’s only one episode left so they put their hands up and say “but I swear the good side of him was always good” But, does that mean Marik’s going to make up for all the murder and sending people to the shadow realm? No. He never will. Even if Marik was completely his bad half the whole time, it still wouldn’t make up for the damage done. Dead people are...DEAD.

Marik can’t actually make any choices right now to redeem his character. All he’s doing is accepting he will never be a full person ever again. Hence why he is in slices and pieces, and in several shots is trapped either in an empty glass or a window. The choice to redeem him is entirely on other people.

And that’s the thing about redemption arcs that I want to bring up--how much of a character’s redemption relies on what the villains do to “Make up for what they did”, and how much relies on everyone else to redeem them. I think the tendency is for people to assume that the villains should be doing 90-100% of the redeeming, but unless they have a time machine--they can’t do any. Even if they freakin die to sacrifice themselves it’s still like “that character was basically little Stalin, right?

I’ve seen like a million ways to write a redemption arc, but none of them, not a single one that I can think of, can ever truly make up for the things the villian has done. There’s no way that Darth Vadar was suddenly going to become a good Dad, no matter how many Palpatines he can toss into a...whatever that was at the end of that movie. That’s the riddle behind what makes redemption arcs so engaging--By all cultural standards these villains should always be tagged a “bad guy” but, we, the audience, are being challenged to ignore those standards.

And I know a lot of people see redemption arcs as a quasi-religious sort of adventure into atonement, where we’re supposed to see ourselves as the villain searching for some type of forgiveness from a higher, most-likely-a-reference-to-Jesus-power, but I don’t really see them that way. Maybe it’s because, I dunno, I haven’t killed anyone recently or possessed other people’s minds or strung them up to anchors and dropped them into the ocean. But if you see yourself as a Marik, then go for it, I won’t stop you.

But, to me, a redemption arc is more of a question posed for us as viewers. Since it is impossible for the writers to ever fully redeem a character, the only ones doing the redeeming are the people watching it, who’s reaction will differ wildly from person to person, and that’s what makes it fascinating.

And like, that’s my thesis here at the very last paragraph of this long meandering rant. Redemption arcs aren’t about “hey is this person good enough to be redeemed (because that will never happen)” it’s “are you too good to redeem that person?” It’s a large scale experiment on the viewers watching and that’s why it makes people so freakin pissed and uncomfortable. Every redemption arc calls them out directly, and for some people it’s just like--the world ends or something. I have seen actual internet mobs develop over...a villain redemption arc. Which is weird.

And so I’ll leave it with my other spicy take that...you don’t have to redeem every villain when the question is asked. I mean these aren’t real people. The questions of “would you redeem this person” is asked entirely hypothetically. And that’s what makes up stories, not just the interaction of the people inside the stories, but when it affects the moral structure of the readers directly, and seeing how for some people, that can be a very intense and deep reflection. (which usually leads to a hell ton of either retconning fanfiction or a hell ton of really, really angry posts)

bro’s just told me that Yugioh is just a redemption arc for season 0 Yami Yugi. Bro and his spicy headcanons. This one holds some water though, lol.

++++++++++++END OF A SUPER LONG RANT ABOUT VILLAINS THAT I HELD IN FOR THE ENTIRE 6 SEASONS OF ONCE UPON A TIME, WOW A LOT OF PEOPLE HAD OPINIONS ABOUT CERTAIN CHARACTERS THAT THEY JUST EXPECTED EVERYONE ELSE TO HAVE, AMIRIGHT????+++++++++++

Anyway, back to jokes.

Again, Storyboarder just...nailing these weird ass shoes that are somewhere between a dress shoe and a boot. Shoes are hard to draw, y’all. This storyboarder. And they even made sure that the shoes looked very small and precious the way Yugi shoes would be. Little Cinderella size 5 Yugi shoes.

Oh finally.

So it was only a matter of time before the people who actually care about being possessed noticed this situation, it just took like...a season longer than I thought it would. I’ll be honest it was quite cathartic for them to actually address for the first time in what feels like a long time “SHOOT, GHOSTS!?!?”

Although it was kind of funny that the biggest reaction to all of this came straight from Joey. Yugi still doesn’t care, Tristan’s decided to just accept this, and Duke is just slowly backing away. But Joey’s going to try and do the work that Yugi should have done last episode.

HOT DAMN.

So, lets go over the Yugioh power chart here. Tristan can punch out Bakura. Tristan can also defeat Seto Kaiba with a broomstick. Joey can kick Tristan, even when Tristan is armed with a broomstick, so hard that Tristan flew through a metal door and bent it completely over backwards. Tea, however, can knock Joey completely over with one single index finger.

How has this girl ever been abducted? Was she just bored?

Bro wants to bring up that she once incapacitated a man with her butt. Just falling on top of a guy and hitting him with her butt of steel. Was she even in danger from the shipping container when she could just bat it away? She once choked out Season 0 Yugi Muto. She was always fine.

Credit to Joey, he keeps trying, and it gives us, for the first time, a sneak peek into what it must be like for Yugi and Joey to hang out on the offtimes that Yugi switches over and Pharaoh hasn’t quite gotten the memo.

This is in fact, the second time that she’s done this.

(meanwhile, sitting next to Odion, is one single cargo pocket floating in the air, gently smoking a purple haze like incense)

Welcome back Odion! I only now just realized how freakin jacked your neck is.

Like y’all his neck is wider than his head, hot damn.

Anyway, this show is secretly all about the power of big brothers, so I assume he’s going to start the mile long crawl to the top of the tower and then just...walk in...just walk right into a shadow game...?

...no one thought to stay with Odion? Like not even Serenity? Or at least leave him a weelchair? what the hell?

Odion always gets the worst wrap, this poor guy.

Anyway if you just got here, this is a link to read these recaps in chrono order from the beginning and watch my progression of knowing nothing about Yugioh to knowing a lot about random facts about Yugioh but still knowing absolutely nothing at all just like Socrates.

And here’s that shot of Marik for y’alls anime scene redraws, knock yourself out.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Many Dark Places | Chapter Six (Finale)

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Eventual)

Words: 1,239

Warnings: hurt!Reader, trauma/PTSD, references/flashbacks to past torture, emotional and physical hurt/comfort, past and attempted kidnapping, Thor being a darling.

Summary: When cleaning up a camp of dark magicians near the new Asgard, Thor stumbles upon Y/N - the daughter of an Asgardian nobleman, who disappeared before Thor first traveled to Midgard in 2011.

A/N: I started writing this fic pre-Endgame and, as such, it exists in a strange world where they didn't make new Asgard on Earth and also maybe Thanos didn't win? Idk. (Loki's still dead, though. Sorry.)

Betaed by @samsgoddess​ and @the-soulofdevil

Header by me

Check out Thor's scent

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Three Years Later...

The chanting is low and otherworldly in the dark night. Your naked body is covered in goosebumps. The ropes binding you spread eagle between the trees are rough against the healing sores on your wrists and ankles. The torches each of your captors hold glow an ugly green color, blindingly bright in the darkness. You flinch away from the light, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face to the side.

One of them, a young man with his face partly shadowed by his hood, steps forward with a bowl of some kind of liquid - you don’t know what it is and you probably don’t want to. He dips two fingers into the liquid and begins drawing on your body, staring in the center of your chest and working outward until unfamiliar symbols cover your body at regular intervals. You squint at them, squirming when the drying liquid makes your skin itch.

The chanting is building and the man returns to the circle of shadowy figures that surround you. The torches flare and you close your eyes again, pulling at the ropes despite the way it chafes. You do your best to pull your thoughts away from what’s going on around you, searching for that safe, happy place within yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve been home in real life, though, that the memories began to fade a long time ago.

When the chanting reaches a peak, pain rips through your body. Fiery, indescribable pain that starts in the symbols on your skin but works deeper. It feels like the symbols are being seared into your bones and a blood-curdling scream is pulled from your throat. Tears leak from your eyes, salty when they reach your open lips. You twist helplessly in your bonds, every inch of you fighting for freedom-

“Y/N!”

Your eyes snap open as you inhale sharply, hands flailing in the dim light of the room. There, hovering above you with those beautiful eyes, wide and worried, is Thor.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Just a dream.”

A soft sob breaks free and Thor quickly bundles you into his arms, a stream of soothing words filling the air. You cling to him, letting the fear that still lingers spill down your cheeks. He rubs your back and rocks you gently.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur when the tears finally stop.

“You don’t need to apologize, lítit álpt,” Thor replies, kissing the top of your head. “You haven’t had one that bad in a while.”

You nod, resting your cheek against his chest and gazing across the room at the soft glow of the dying fire in the hearth. They finished the palace about a month before your wedding and the whole place still has that new home feeling. It’s smaller than the older palace, at Thor’s insistence, and there’s significantly less gold but you love it. The craftsmen put a lot of work into making a home fit for a king and they succeeded. Just the hearth alone is beautiful, intricate designs carved into the dark wood. A painting of Thor’s family - Odin, Frigga, himself, and Loki - hangs above it. You’ve found Thor gazing longingly at it many a time. You know how he feels.

It’s still a little disconcerting, being in the King’s quarters, even though this bed has also been yours for months. You have your own quarters but you’ve never used them for anything but dressing. You even bathe in Thor’s quarters most days. He doesn’t mind - he reminds you on a regular basis that what his is yours and he likes having you here. You remind him that even though it's been three years since that first night in his tent, you still can't reach your back and would appreciate his help. Thor's help is usually accompanied by kisses, playful water fights, and something more if you can get him out of enough clothes. He doesn't mind.

You close your eyes, seeing the ghost of the fire against the inside of your eyelids, and relax into Thor’s hands rubbing soothingly over your arms and back. 

“Do you know what prompted it?” Thor asks, shifting to lean against the headboard and pulling you into his lap. Once you’re settled against him once more, he tugs the blankets up to cover you both and brushes your hair off your forehead.

“No. I don’t think it was anything in particular. It was the green one again. That one's always random.”

Thor nuzzles the top of your head, sighing softly. “All right. Will you be able to sleep again?”

You shrug. “Maybe.”

Thor’s fingers are running gently through your hair, sending pleasing shivers through your scalp and helping you relax more. Your hair is getting long now, you notice in an attempt to think about something other than your dream. You had decided to let it grow but lately you’ve been missing the ease of a shaved head and might just cut it all off again - Thor has even offered to do it for you. While it was traumatizing when the dark magicians first did it, Verdandi and you both agree that cutting it on your own terms might actually be healing.

“Do your best for me,” Thor is saying, scratching his nails lightly across your scalp and smiling at your pleased shiver. “Please?”

Just then, a sleepy cry can be heard from the adjoining nursery. Thor groans dramatically, looking proud of himself when you can’t help but giggle at his theatrics.

“I’ll be right back.” He kisses you softly. “Stay here.”

“Not going anywhere,” you say, more to yourself than to anyone else as you watch your husband cross the room.

He disappears into the nursery and you hear the low rumble of his voice, muffled until he returns. Your daughter looks minuscule in his arms. She’s still fussing, squirming against his chest and kicking at the blanket wrapped loosely around her.

“Shh, elska,” he says, bouncing her as he walks. “Móðir is right here. See? There she is.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and turns her so she can see you. She’s not looking, little face still scrunched up as she musters a fresh wail. You smile, warmed from the inside out at the sight of your husband doing his best to soothe your newborn’s cries. He doesn’t have the equipment to give her what she needs, though, and he sighs when he realizes there’s nothing he himself can do to please her at the moment.

“She’s just hungry. Come here, Frigga.” You reach for your baby and Thor hands her over. Frigga settles a bit once she’s in your arms, calming completely once you remove your nightshirt to present her with a nipple to nurse at. You used to be uncomfortable with even the idea of this, let alone doing it in front of Thor but now you love feeding Frigga. The gentle warmth of your daughter’s small body against your breast, the sweet smell of baby and milk, and the expression of pure joy Thor wears when he watches you are always enough to soothe your anxieties.

“I love you,” Thor murmurs, reaching out to brush his fingertips over Frigga’s soft blonde curls and then your cheek. His eyes are tender, that same blue that rescued you from the dark of a wagon - it feels like it’s been so much longer than a couple of years.  “My beautiful girls.”

---

Translations:

- little swan (f) - lítit álpt - mother (f) - móðir

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Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @manawhaat​​ @laughing-at-the-darkness​​ @tumbler-tidbits​​ @imsuperawkward​​ @books-and-icecream​​ @emoryhemsworth​

Team MDP:

[cmyknoise]

Comfort -  Part 1

This fic is loosely based on the song ‘Glowing Eyes’ by Twenty One Pilots. I feel like it fits Virgil well, and extremely well into the whole, ‘he was once a dark side’ thing that I adore.

Words: 1665

Relationship: If you squint maybe platonic LAMP? Platonic Anxiet? Kinda

Warning: Sympathetic Deceit? Angst I guess but not much.

Characters: Virgil, Deceit, Roman, Patton, Logan, Thomas. ‘Carefree’, ‘Pride’, and ‘Envy’

Summary: “The yellow and brown eyes looked…..curious, pitiful. He felt more comfort from those than he did with the orange and green ones, but, then again...the yellow and brown eyes were untrustworthy. They had a false sense of secureness about them. They all did. But being alone in the void, really they were all this cloud of fear had. They had become normal, and his sense of fear and uncertainty melted away. They were comforting. They had lulled him asleep at nights, calmed him when he was feeling extra jittery. They were all he had.”

Note: Time doesn’t pass the same for Virgil as it does for everyone else. He’s been in the ‘void’ from Thomas’s birth to about 10/11. The whole him getting used to everything feels like days, but really it’s years that he’s been getting used to everything.

Note 2: I’ve been writing this on and off for around a month, perhaps a bit more. I’ve had so many ideas on the direction of this and it’s changed probably like five times and each time it gets longer. You may be able to tell that the direction shifts often, I am terribly sorry for that!

Note 3: After now months of writing this, I’ve decided to post this in parts because it is getting long.

Note 4: As of posting this, I’m still not done, the other parts should come out eventually!

Next.

Fic under the cut !

   Things had started out dark, a void. This was before he had a physical form, before he had a name. Here, he was alone, he was just fear, he was just instinct. He knew there were others. The ones who resided in the light…. He liked visiting the light. He could watch from their shadows. The happy cat obsessed one seemed nice...the prince one was so brave, something he wished he had. The smart one was someone to look up to. That one seemed to…..almost sense his presence. He was too fearful to stay around him long.

   The void was nice. Lonely, but it was secure, it was safe. Or at least, it was. He wasn’t really alone. Glowing orbs in the darkness told him this. Orange, green, a single yellow, and a single brown. The soft light was comforting, yet the way the orbs watched him was unsettling. They heightened his feelings. He didn’t like it.

   The yellow and brown eyes looked…..curious, pitiful. He felt more comfort from those than he did with the orange and green ones, but, then again...the yellow and brown eyes were untrustworthy. They had a false sense of secureness about them. They all did. But being alone in the void, really they were all this cloud of fear had. They had become normal, and his sense of fear and uncertainty melted away. They were comforting. They had lulled him asleep at nights, calmed him when he was feeling extra jittery. They were all he had.

   It took a few years, but something had happened in their Host’s life that finally allowed this cloud of fear a physical form. Fight or flight, and this fear ball chose flight. He was terrified, the mass swirling and growing as his fear heightened. It had been for days. Phobia after phobia being triggered and found in Thomas’s life. Now, a bullying incident. Things had started falling in place. Panic set in, and he made Thomas run. It was growing more and more clear that he wasn’t just fear, not just instinct. He was anxiety, panic, dread.

   The mass bubbled and swirled. A humanoid form started to form. The mass felt ground below him. That was new. Color flushed through him, seeping up into him. He could see his hands...he had hands, a body. Color swirled and seeped into the area around him, and slowly all the eyes disappeared from view. Dark strands of something fell into his view. Hair. Words pounded into his head. Ow...pain. Headache. Anxiety? That was...what he was? He was more than just that. More pain. He felt something wet fall down his face. Tears. His arms wrapped around himself, and he soon found that he was in a weighted article of clothing...a hoodie. He hugged himself, his form shaking.

   Was Thomas okay? What was this? He tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat. He had no comfort. The eyes were gone. What was going on? Why was he physical? Was. Thomas. Okay? Tears fell from his face and he managed to sob. Suddenly, he knew what was happening. Panic attack.

   It was a very unwelcoming way to become more apart of Thomas’s being. The eyes had returned to the corners of his room, watching him. They were what finally pulled the anxious trait to reality again. He had a room, he was physical. Hands, a face, a body! It was exciting to him. The room was open to decoration, but more importantly, there was a door. Could….could it possibly be to the light? The thought thrilled him and he got up, stumbling to the door.

   He reached for the handle, but froze. The weight of dread and fear started to overwhelm him. What if that’s not what lied out there? What if….there were too many what ifs. He slowly backed up from the door, and found himself falling. A scream escaped his lips, the side ready for impact, but, instead he heard squeaks and he bounced. Oh...it was just a bed. His bed. When he thought about it, warm, soft blankets appeared and curled around him. The weight of the blankets slowly helped him fall asleep. The soft glowing eyes in the darkness of his room helped.

   Days were spent in his room. He was making it….comforting. The walls were covered in posters of things he thought were cool. A lot of cat references. The whole time, those glowing orbs watched his every move. He tried to get close but they’d disappear. Maybe for the best.

   His room was dark, no real light sources around. The only one being from the soft glow of these eyes. It was fine though. Anxiety liked the dark, the night. It was...it had become comforting, natural. It’s all he ever saw, all he dreamed of.

   His eyes drifted back to his door. The idea thrilled and scared him. What was out there? Could it be the light he had seen in the void? He hoped it was. They seemed so...nice. It seemed nice. But could he really just, join in? No...they already had a ‘family’. They wouldn’t want someone new.

   Curiosity got to him soon enough, and Anxiety soon found his hand on the door handle, and slowly he twisted it, stepping out. The place looked….familiar, but it certainly wasn’t light. There was hardly any light at all, though the rooms and layout seemed similar to what he once saw in the light.

“I…”

   Anxiety froze, hand moving to his throat. Speaking felt...weird, he sounded….hoarse, he sounded strange. But, he tried again.

“Is….anyone here…?”

   He was quiet, but there was no response. Everything in him told him to scurry back into his room and continue to hide away, it was safe there, but he couldn’t hide forever, not really. He could sure try, but the desperate hope that those he had seen were here, but….this wasn’t the same house he had grown accustomed to watching in the void. It was a bit darker, monotone in color. The lovely reds, purples, and blue decorations he had once seen weren’t here, an ugly mix of other colors were left. Greens, oranges, yellows..

   His heart leaped and he turned on his heel, running back to his door. Rather than getting to his door, he ran straight into another body. Anxiety stumbled back, looking up at the taller figure. Bright orange eyes met his. He tried not to make eye contact for long, looking this taller side over. Untucked white shirt….ripped black jeans, square framed glasses, orange speckled scales trailing his cheek bones. His eyes trailed back up. That orange looked familiar… The taller male tsked, rolling his eyes as he pushed past Anxiety. He called out, causing Virgil to tense up from the firm and booming voice.

“Fresh meat!”

   Footsteps went down the stairs, each step sounding like its own boom of thunder. Two doors at the end of the hall shot open, one door adorned with golden snakes, the other with stickers of different reptiles, mainly snakes. Anxiety’s flight or fight kicked in, but he only froze up, watching as two faces popped past the door. They looked...older than Thomas was, or at least since Anxiety had last seen Thomas. At least just young teens. How...how long had he been in his room?

   The one dressed in yellow ran up to Anxiety, who flinched and shielded himself. Their faces were partly covered in scales. Half of the yellow one’s face was covered in soft green scales, the green one had golden scales on the other half of his face. Why did they all have scales?

   Anxiety took a fearful step back from them, eyes frantically darting over the two.

“You look absolutely…”

   The yellow one trailed off, concentrating on something for a moment, the green one rolled his eyes.

“You look absolutely horrendous.Your eyes are so uncool and your scales are dull.”

   The yellow one spoke in a tone...that seemed to imply the opposite of what he said. Anxiety thought it over, looking the yellow one over. Scales? He didn’t have scales…

“What…” Anxiety’s voice was soft and quiet, though it sounded doubled over, dark, “What scales? And...what about my eyes?”

   The green one rolled his eyes and gave a sneer. The yellow one looked to him, elbowing his side, getting the green one to speak up.

“The purple scales under your eyes. They’re bright and vivid...so much cooler than our dumb scales. Your eyes are a bright white-“

   He doesn’t remember having scales...and he certainly didn’t have white eyes. Anxiety tried to step back, looking at his door which was just behind the two. If he could just get past them… A yellow gloved hand suddenly grabbed his arm, Anxiety met the yellow ones eyes. He saw his mouth moving, but words hadn’t registered. Fear and panic bubbled up within Anxiety and he squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with a hand.

   He heard the green one but….from far away. He opened his eyes and looked around, finding that he had some how popped into his room. That was...useful. He moved over to his door, pressing his ear to it, listening to the two outside of it.

“Come on Deceit, leave him alone for now. I don’t get why he has your attention. That doors been here for years.”

“Because Envy! He’s come out so many times before! I am not interested. He doesn’t share a color with one of the other sides. Isn’t that normal?”

“Dunno. Don’t care. Come on, leave him alone.”

“Ugh, whatever. Let’s not go.”

   Their voices got quieter as they seemingly left the room. Anxiety slumped against the door, chest heaving as he recovered from his panicked state. That was enough adventuring. He tried, it didn’t go well...it was time to sleep.

[versegm]

Soulbound

A renora soulmate au of sorts

On ao3

His parents were soulmates.

Ren remembers their tattoos clearly, as important as his mother's face or his father's voice; he remembers the sheep on his mother's palm, baaing silently as she tried to reassure him.

He remembers his father carrying him with short breaths, and more than the blood on his face or the smoke around them, it had been the eagle on his shoulder that had hit Ren the most. Limp, motionless; lifeless. Broken.

Sometimes, at night, when he has to keep watch, he wonders if his own soulmate had died in Kuroyuri, too.

He doesn't let himself dwell too much on it, though. He has other priorities during the day; find food, find shelter, survive.

He's bad at that. The whole surviving thing. His feet get tender when he walks for too long and he never seems to spot a solid enough roof when rain threatens to come. The change is too sudden and too violent, from home-cooked meals to moldy bread, from warm beds to cold bridges.

At least, Nora is here.

Nora is far better than him. She's faster, sneakier, more resistant to pain and cold. She doesn't hesitate where he cringes, his parent's voices ringing in his ears Don't eat that, Lie, it's dirty. Don't do that, Lie, that's stealing.

Nora doesn't seem to really understand the concepts of right or wrong. Or maybe she's just a long way past caring. But if Nora knows anything, it's promises. "We'll keep each other's safe." she whispers to him, handing over a full -full!- apple. "Follow. This way is safer."

Ren doesn't know for how long she's been doing this. He does ask, eventually, but she cannot answer. Nora is better than him in many regards, but she is terrible at everything else. Being human, she's terrible at it; she trips over her tongue and mixes up speech and ignores the most basic things in the world.

Granted, she doesn't seem to need them either. But Nora has been keeping him alive, has been teaching him how to live. The only thing Ren has to offer back is his culture and his knowledge, so he does.

Nora doesn't really seem to see the point, at first. But she's curious. Curious and hungry. At the beginning she simply listens, eyes wide, to whatever crosses Ren's mind- old legends, recipes, how to read, how to count. Ren wonders, a couple times, if he's being annoying, but when he stops she grabs his hand and stares at him until he picks his story back up.

A few days later she starts asking questions.

She fumbles with words and never uses the proper volume and sometimes Ren can't fish any meaning in a sea of approximate grammar, but she's speaking and it's the most friendly voice Ren has ever heard ever since the Incident.

"What's pancakes? What's write here? What's year?"

It occurs to Ren that his stories might be the most meaningful conversation she's had with anyone in a long, long time.

He explains at the best of his abilities. She asks more questions. They talk. They speak. They talk some more.

Ren finds that it's a little like breaking a dam. Nora speaks up more and more often, until eventually her voice rises whenever they're safe. And sure, sometimes she loses track of her thoughts and sometimes she repeats herself and Ren thinks people aren't supposed to speak like that, but himself can follow so he doesn't mind. She gets better with practice too, finally getting a hang on verbs and tenses. Ren has never felt prouder.

They talk and speak and joke, and laugh, right there in the sewers with two years worth of dirt under their nails. It's music to Ren's ears.

"What's a soulmate?" She asks one day. It's the one thing Ren never brought up, partly because it's hard to know what's common knowledge and what's Nora lacking, partly because the word still reminds him of the crippled eagle on his father's skin. The word is plastered on every ad in town though, so he doesn't have to think too hard about where she could have heard that.

"It's the person you're fated to be with."

Nora stares, blinks, once, twice, and speaks up.

"What."

Destiny, Ren has learned, is one of those concepts Nora doesn't quite understand. If she was predetermined to live this long, she'd told him, why did she have to fight so hard? How has she been so close to death so many times? If anything, she'd been destined to die, but has been too stubborn too.

Ren's father would have scowled at these kind of words, but Ren has to admit she does have a point. If things are set in stone, then at the very least the finest details are still up to him.

"It's the person who makes your tattoo move." Ren explains, stabbing a finger on her ankle for emphasis. It's a bird of some sort, but he's not nearly knowledgeable enough to tell what specie. "It's the person linked to you by it."

"Huh." Nora doesn't sound impressed. "And what does a soulmate, like... do? I mean... technically? What's the point?"

"They're supposed to be..." Ren pauses and frowns. How did his mother explain again? "Your... perfect match? Someone you can always rely on. That one person who gets you, even the weird feelings you can't word out."

"Oh. Oooooh." And there it is- that little spark in her eyes when she's learned something new. "So, like us?"

Ren wants to point out that the snake on his own skin has yet to love, that it doesn't quite work this way.

He says nothing.

He knows no words, to describe what they are. Best friends sounds too tame; partners not intense enough.

He loves her. That's a fact. He needs her. Not because she keeps him alive- he has learned, since, to find his own food, to climb on trees. He needs her like one need heat, like one need a home. Nora is the reason he keeps moving forward, his inspiration to become the best person he can be despite the circumstances.

"...Yeah. Like us." He says eventually. So fate didn't choose her. He did nonetheless.

They're twelve. At least, Ren is twelve, because he still remembers his birth year and he came across a calendar in the store. Nora doesn't know how old she is, but Ren supposes she can't be much older than him.

They're twelve, and it has been years since Ren has slept anywhere other than a cave or a tree, when Nora comes to him with a paper in her hands and guilt on her face.

"I'm going to hunter school."

Ren's blood freezes in his veins.

"They provide- well basically everything!" she explains. "Food, shelter, you name it- you can even earn some money later on, with like, missions and stuff!"

Of course they do. There is only one possible ending to hunter school. There is only one possible ending to being a hunter. They have to make a certain and painful death worthwhile somehow.

"I can handle it." Nora says, noticing the worry in his frown. "You know me, I'm tough!"

She really is. Ren has even seen her hurt adults once or twice, badly enough that they had time to run away.

(He sees his father screaming, bow in hand, as smoke and shadows surround him. Being tough is not enough.)

Softly, Nora sets a palm on his hand. She's rough by nature, rough skin and rough actions, rarely ever bothering with things like subtlety or delicacy. But she is always gentle with him. He has seen her snap bones and displays as if they were weak tree branches, but Ren has never once been afraid that she would use her strength against him.

"If you don't want to come with me, I'll understand."

She's trying, she's trying really hard to be brave, Ren can tell. She doesn't want him to leave. But at the same time, and the realization settles coldly in his bones, she means it; if he decided to leave, she would let him.

"I'll send you money," she continues. "You could build a good life around- maybe find a baker who could hire you? I'll write you everyday. Unless you don't want me too! I totally understand! You've done so much for me already."

She's being genuine. She really thinks- she's really considering the chance that maybe he wants to cut all ties with her-

And it hits Ren, that he could. If he wanted to, he really could- come back to the life he was supposed to have before his parents died. He could abandon every single Kuroyuri reminders he has and slips into the skin of a normal, honorable person. He could. He could.

It dawns on him, that this. This moment, this instant, this second, right there. This choice Nora is offering, this chance she's giving him, is the most important decision Ren will ever do. Kuroyuri has been beyond his control. What his life will be from now on- it all depends on what he decides, right now.

He grabs her wrists and holds firmly. Refusing to let her go.

"I'm coming with you."

He wants to tell her. He wants to tell her how much she means to him. He wants to tell her that he would rather be homeless with her than under a roof without her. He wants to tell her that she's done so much for him already, he owes her so much already. He wants to tell her that he loves her, simply. She's family. She's home. She's everything he has and the only thing he wants.

Maybe it's because of how long she's been without a proper vocabulary, but Nora has a way to jump on the first words she find that describe what she's feeling, as disjointed as the result is. Ren has the opposite problem; he cannot speak unless he already has a clear plan in his head of how to say it. He has so much to say, so much to convey, and Ren has no idea how to fit that in a single sentence.

So he doesn't.

He wraps his fingers around Nora's ankle, around the still bird sleeping on her skin, and he closes his eyes.

Ren doesn't know much about souls, aside from old fairy tales he's started to forget. But he figures if he tries really hard, if he wants it really hard, maybe Nora can catch a glimpse of it.

Ren closes his eyes, and he focuses. His hold is firm on her, unwilling to let go. He doesn't know what destiny has in story for him, if there is one at all. But Ren knows this: He chooses her. Whatever the universe says, he wants her in his life. He chooses her.

Nora gasps.

Her hand closes on his shoulder, right above his snake. Her nails dig painfully in his skin, and Ren wants to wince, except-

Warmth.

Home.

Love.

Ren feels full and whole and so very human, so much more than human, bigger than his bones and his teeth. It's you. It's me. I'm with you and you're with me.

Under his fingers, the skin stirs.

"Ren?" Water runs from his shoulder down his arm, a faint unnoticeable pressure tickling his skin. "Ren!"

His eyes snap open.

Nora is staring at his wrist, face halfway between wonder and fear.

His snake is staring back.

Oh. It wasn't water.

"Re-EN!" Her voice suddenly gains an octave, and Nora's leg kicks up in surprise, narrowly avoiding him. A flash of black ink flies under her pants legs, vanishing from view.

This can't be happening. Logically speaking. Ren ignores a lot of things, but at least this is something he knows: tattoos start moving upon meeting their soulmates. Not at random, not five years after spending every single day with them. This whole situation is, plainly, impossible.

Nora's bird trots off her sleeve, comfortably nesting as close as possible to his own mark.

"Ren?" Nora calls again. The initial shock seems to have passed, replaced by curiosity and that slight frown she has when she's unsure if she sohuld be worried yet. "What is going on?"

This shouldn't be possible. Fate didn't choose her.

...

But he did.

"We're soulmates." Ren says. Which might be inaccurate, because soulmates don't choose each other, but he knows Nora isn't a sticker for exact definitions anyway.

"Oh." Slowly, his snake closes its eyes, as if it were sleeping. It's a strange sensation; his tattoo isn't moving anymore, but he can still feel it like a armband under his hairs, breathing calmly. Experimentally, Nora pokes her bird. "Took them long enough to catch on."

They fill their forms to apply to combat school together, even though their handwritings are shaky and messy from years without a pen, and the new tingle of their tattoos make for easy distractions. Ren isn't worried about being rejected, though; the world cruelly needs new hunters, he's learned the hard way.

"I need a last name." Nora tells him. "Pick one for me?"

Ren thinks long and hard. About Nora, and himself, and the tattoos connecting them.

They say they pick who live or die in battle. His mother's voice is blurry, but the bedtime story is not. Mostly because he could tell Nora about one but not the other. They come with ravens or swans to bring the dead to their gods.

Ren is sure the bird is neither raven nor swan, but it has feathers and wings all the same. Nora is no death reaper, but she did pick him to live.

"Valkyrie." he says. "Nora Valkyrie."

She smiles. Her teeth are crooked and her face dirty. It's the brightest thing he's ever seen.

"I like the sound of that."

[elizabethhollowswriting-blog]

COURTING ME SOFTLY, LGBT ROMANCE - CHAPTER 2

Here is the latest update, enjoy!

Title: Courting Me Softly

Rating: Majority T, but eventual M with NSFW scenes in certain chapters

Genre/s: Homosexual Romance, Developing Romance, Friends to Lovers, Historical Romance, Courtship, Demi-Sexual Character

Setting: 1920’s

Wordcount: 37k

Chapters: Prologue + 7 chapters

Update Schedule: Once every two weeks. Chance of updating every week.

Status: Complete

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1

They never managed to be alone again that night and James knew that it was partly his fault. The first hour of separation had battered his remaining confidence and after a conversation with one of Charles’ cousins--a man James also supplied liquor to and who he knew would take to homosexuality violently, a man who, in a few short sentences showed his influence, temper and prejudices--James had gone out of his way to avoid being alone with his friend. He’d made sure to keep numerous party goers around and between them, and while they still talked and laughed with one another, they never gained any privacy. There was never a chance to discuss London, to discuss each other, because James had quickly become certain that Charles’ decision to accept him wouldn’t remain. He knew that Charles would speak to a woman again and feel a stronger attraction then he ever had to James. He would discuss something too similar with the Commissioner; the tale of the latest sodomite charged and imprisoned. He could also merely return home where dark thoughts, misgivings and fears for his reputation and family were it to be discovered that he was the lover of a man. James knew that one of these reasons to withdraw his decision would occur to Charles. He would think about his decision, decide it was foolish and retract his promise to take a chance - and James couldn’t bear it, not yet. He wanted to keep the brief enjoyment and the acceptance of his affections intact for at least a few more hours.

James had stayed up late that night. He’d watched his servants clean the house from the shadows with a drink in his hand. He’d also tried not to think of Charles’ hand rising in farewell earlier that evening. Charles’ smile hadn’t quite reached his eyes as he climbed into his car and it had brought truth to all of James’ foreboding thoughts. His heart had been and still was painfully constricted, sending lances of pain with each thought of the other man. While he didn’t believe Charles would turn him over to the police, he was still expecting his next correspondence to be a formal letter carefully rejecting him. James went to bed that night with a heavy heart weighing him down. His mind couldn’t stop recounting their kisses and the feel of the other’s hands on his neck. Charles had, if only briefly, held him like a lover might. James knew he had to make it enough, but he also knew it couldn’t be - not when he’d briefly entertained the thought of travelling with Charles, of teaching Charles how to love a man. He’d dreamt, for a moment, of being the man that Charles could love - for a moment, he’d thought that this wouldn’t end in heartbreak.

His sleep wasn’t restful that night, but he still awoke at his usual time and left his room. The sun had risen but he’d remained in his sleepwear with a dressing gown wrapped around him as he made his way downstairs. He knew his servants were eyeing him nervously as James was never normally seen outside of his rooms when he wasn’t immaculate, but he simply hadn’t had the stomach for it this morning. He’d just wandered down to the dining room and taken his place at the table, not even opening his newspaper. James knew he looked pathetically bedraggled, but who was there to impress?

You look very handsome. I’m impressed.

James has closed his eyes on the memory; his heart twisting and sending a mixture of warmth and longing through his chest as he replayed the scene. What he wouldn’t give for more moments, more words like that from Charles.

He sighed at himself and stared at his half eaten toast, watching the spread congeal as his bread went cold. He moved the eggs around his plate with a tired, anguished air but still couldn’t bring himself to eat. The post hadn’t yet arrived but he was waiting for it with resignation and a hollowed feeling in his chest. James was about to request his food just be cleared when there was a knock at the dining room door. He lifted his eyes despondently and called, loud enough to be heard, “Enter.”

His butler came inside with a faint bow before announcing, “Mr Keaton for you, sir.”

James dropped his fork, his eyes widening as he stiffened in his chair. No, no, his mind hissed, but he couldn’t even blame his servants. He’d given specific instructions that Charles could enter his home whenever he liked and be immediately taken to him. He’d just never expected Charles to come today or to come when he was so underdressed. He didn’t have time to protest however as Charles was thanking the butler and stepping inside. He had his hat in his hand and was wearing a casual suit that fitted him perfectly. He looked painfully handsome and all James could do was swallow and watch Charles register his state of undress with raised eyebrows and thinly veiled shock. “James. I didn’t mean to-”

“I didn’t expect to have you visit so soon,” James rushed out, talking over the other man while trying to fix what he could of his clothing. He didn’t need to stand, they had no such ceremony for each other, but he still felt completely off-guard.

“We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation,” Charles told him while coming further into the room. He pulled out the chair beside James and plopped himself into it, tossing his hat further down the table. “I asked for a plate myself, I haven’t eaten yet. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” James answered, dropping his eyes to his barely touched breakfast and ignoring the other part of Charles’ words, the ones that had made him unable to look at Charles any longer; their conversation.

He didn’t want to believe Charles would be cruel enough to reject him to his face, but he also knew the other man. He knew that should Charles want to maintain their friendship but nothing further, he would want to speak in person. Charles would be determined to make sure that things would still be okay between them, even if it meant cracking James’ heart wide open. James wanted to pick up his fork, to try and wrap himself in a confidence he didn’t feel. He needed something to cling to in the face of Charles’ presence but in the face of yesterday evening and what this morning would bring, all of his self-assurance had deserted him.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a tentative palm was laid over his clenched fist. His eyes snapped up even as he jerked away from the touch. It left Charles’ hand hovering awkwardly in the air as his head bowed slightly; Charles’ eyes were darting between the doors of the room as if expecting someone would burst in on them at any moment. James could only stare at their hands, separated by air as Charles hovered it above James’ slowly relaxing palm.

“Charles?” The other’s gaze flicked to him uncertainly and James took a chance, he reached up and caught the other’s palm before bringing it back to rest on the table. They were holding hands. They were holding hands loosely, but it was still plain to see, resting on the tablecloth and instigated by Charles. “Why are you here?”

A sharp, tense smile pulled at the corner of Charles’ mouth, but despite it all his eyes were still warm and welcoming. “I told you. I don’t know what to take to Europe.”

James couldn’t quite believe it; his body was still tense and waiting for everything to be pulled out from beneath him. His words were spoken slowly and carefully, each one feeling like they were a second from destroying a heart that, out of every man James had ever known, had only ever fallen for this one. “You still wish to come?”

Charles’ blink was one of astonishment. “I said that I did, James.” He paused and seemed to take in James’ appearance with new, slightly grieved eyes. “James, what I said hasn’t altered. I’m still coming; I’m still choosing to explore this.” Charles squeezed James’ hand for emphasis on the word. “One night hasn’t changed how much I already do care for you.”

James’ heart felt like it was soaring and all James wanted to do was lean forward and kiss Charles’ lips. His body ached for it, but he made himself stay still, he made himself be content with simply holding the other man’s hand. This was an entirely new situation for Charles and it was his choice on where and how and when they moved; it would always be his. James would be content, no, he would be happy with whatever he had, because it was still Charles. It would always be wonderful, simply because it was him. Smiling, James returned the light squeeze to Charles’ hand, feeling so much of his misery dissipate in that single gesture before letting the other man’s hand go.

Charles frowned slightly so James was forced to elaborate, “You will have food arriving and they know they have no need to knock. It is always best to practice discretion with this, Charles.”

“Ah, yes,” Charles replied a little sheepishly before scratching his head. “So what must I know for this voyage, James? I do need more details to be able to take this trip with you.”

With you, James stored that away with many other phrases Charles had uttered over the course of their friendship. He also took a long drink of his previously ignored juice as he readied himself. It wasn’t so much the conversation as it would be filled with easy topics, it was what was underneath that simple discussion that he needed strength for; it was what their travelling would mean to them: not the discovery of other countries and cities, but the discovery of each other. It meant teaching Charles to touch, kiss and possibly even love a man. It meant learning if they were compatible and if Charles could have a relationship with him. He was going back to England but he was also placing his heart on the line. He was offering himself as an experiment to a man he was in love with, and James also knew with grim certainty that the results of their dalliance might not work in his favour. He might be starting a lifetime with Charles, but he also might be losing him in a month.

I may travel all the way to Paris with him, I may even spent a night with him, but it could all mean nothing if he discovers the next morning that he doesn’t wish to love a man.

“James?” Charles called him, interrupting James’ wandering thoughts and looking at him with slight concern.

He looked at the other; at his gorgeous blue eyes, his expressive mouth and the beautiful person who had such a dangerously handsome body. “I’m fine,” he told Charles. I’m rather doomed, he told himself, but he knew he couldn’t deny this man a thing, especially not when it meant denying himself a chance at being able to have Charles’ heart. “Where would you like me to start?”

The ship wouldn’t sail for a few more weeks. It meant James had until then to prepare himself for what was to come; an attempt to court Charles and a possibility to gain his affection, devotion and love. It could still mean rejection, but what more did he have to lose?

One never gains from a lack of risks. He had said it last night and his gamble had already gained him this. It might yet gain him heartbreak, but if James had to have his heart fractured by someone, he was willing to let it be Charles.

--

Despite spending the last few weeks of the season planning and booking passage with Charles at his side, James still found it hard to believe that it was occurring. The touches between them had never verged further than the platonic gestures of before, but there was always something more lingering underneath. They didn’t have a lot of time to themselves, Charles needed to prepare for his abrupt decision to leave the country and James needed to tidy his affairs and organise things so Franklin could smoothly take control while he was abroad.

When the day finally came to leave for England, James knew he would be meeting Charles on the ship, but it didn’t stop him from being filled with anxiety. He was led to his decadent room by a porter, but he did little more than deposit his luggage and head back onto the deck. He was quick to pull out a cigarette and bring the item to his lips, trying to ignore the slight trembling of his fingers.

He will come, he assured himself, staring into the depths of the water and trying to ignore how much a part of him still couldn’t accept it. James didn’t know how long he stood there; smoking and winding himself up into further worry and despair. He didn’t know why it was so much harder than before - perhaps because Charles had dangled the possibility of reciprocation before him? The rejection he’d prepared for when he’d confessed hadn’t come; instead he’d had possibilities laid before him, but ones that hung precariously. The smallest nudge in the wrong direction and no matter how quickly he darted, Charles would fall from his fingertips and forever disappear from his grasp.

The constant fear, the constant want, it made his heart a mess and made the sensitivity of his body and the awareness of Charles’ so much more acute. Charles could see it too; he could see the way James was struggling and James didn’t know if that made things worse. It did mean that Charles would lean against him or brush their shoulders together. He would worm into James’ space as much as he could in polite society. He would also touch James’ hand in private, yet softly and awkwardly, still growing used to this new element to their relationship yet wanting to comfort James.

James closed his eyes on the reminder, his teeth gritting and damaging the cigarette in his mouth but he didn’t care. James adored those soft, sudden touches, but he hated what they represented; his fear he would lose Charles and more than that, the reminder of how new it was to Charles and how nervous the older man was. James’ own worry almost always fell away when he was with the other. It was only alone--waiting for Charles to change his mind, stay in America and ultimately choose a woman--that James couldn’t control the darkening of his thoughts and the whispers that told him, why would he ever decide to choose this?

James took another pensive drag of his cigarette. He didn’t want to look at his watch, didn’t want to see how much longer Charles had before the boat would depart, but he could hear the people on the dock and could feel the change in atmosphere. The ship was getting ready to leave. He let out another breath and pulled his masticated cigarette away. He glared at it before tossing it overboard. He started to pull another one from his case when a hand fell familiar and firm on his shoulder. “They need to last you the whole journey, James. I’m not having you stealing mine.”

James snapped his head around, seeing Charles’ wide and happy smile, and it made him fumble with the case, almost dropping it he was so shocked. Charles darted in to help catch the item. He didn’t need to, but his fingers brushed James’ and gripped him briefly but gently. “James,” he whispered quietly, in the few moments they had before Charles needed to pull back, to be proper. “I’m here. I told you I’d be here.”

“I know,” James answered, his voice still listing every thread of painful relief that showed just how much James had feared he wouldn’t.

Charles’ smile was a little bit sad as they separated, but James just swallowed and slid his case back into his jacket pocket. He also smoothed his lapels and tried to wrap his composure around himself. He tried to ignore the part of him that was screaming about Charles’ presence; that he came and had chosen to attempt this. Charles was coming with him to England and there was nothing James wanted to do more than kiss Charles and express his gratitude for the other man’s decision - but James couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but smile at the other softly but quickly, and hope it was enough for Charles to see and understand it, without anyone else on board realising as well.

“Have you looked around yet?” Charles questioned, pulling them into respectable conversations and easier territories.

“I thought I would wait,” James answered, saying a lot of things that neither of them were going to acknowledge.

Charles just clapped his shoulder and let go; friendly and simple - everything and nothing. “Well, let us go exploring.”

James smiled slightly and happily followed after the other. It didn’t take long for James to shrug off his emotions, to distance himself from what he felt. He’d taught himself a long time ago how to control his inclinations and desires when in public. He knew what he could and couldn’t do, and it was nice and easy to get lost in the friendship he held with Charles. They discussed the people on board in playful whispers, they laughed and mocked each other and the other travellers and they played cards with skills that quickly made them reigning champions. It was easy, it had always been easy with Charles, but it didn’t stop the way James’ skin was humming. It also didn’t stop the way his heart began to race as the evening’s end came rushing towards them.

Charles was in the cabin next to his and they’d planned it that way from the start. It wasn’t uncommon for friends to room near each other, it wasn’t uncommon for friends to sit and speak in private quarters together after dinner. It still didn’t make it any easier to force the words out around a tongue that suddenly felt like lead, “Nightcap?”

Charles’ eyes flew to his nervous ones. They’d been on the deck, watching the ocean and the stars as the wind whipped around them. They weren’t the only ones enjoying the view; friends and couples were littering the railing, each group at respectable distances from each other. Everyone’s conversations were soft but they could still be heard if you listened closely enough. Charles had also tensed slightly, licking his lips as he turned back to the sea. His body language said everything and James winced slightly. “You don’t have to-”

“Yes,” Charles interjected with a nod, surprising him. “Yes, I think that would be good.”

James swallowed thickly and watched him for a few more seconds before he pushed away and took a step back. Charles quickly followed him and silently they made their way below deck. The only time they spoke was to respond to other guests who recognised them and wanted to bid them goodnight - and even though James wasn’t--even though he surreptitiously checked--James still felt like his body was trembling by the time they reached the hallway and their rooms. He unlocked his door and stepped inside, holding it open for Charles who thanked him and slipped inside. His shoulder brushed James’ chest and James’ eyes briefly fluttered closed before he opened them and stepped inside. He shut the door and locked it behind him. He also took a moment, pressing his hands to the door before he turned to face Charles. The other man was already helping them both to a glass of fine brandy, but James wanted to make things clear from the start.

“This isn’t a proposition.” Charles’ hand paused mid-pour but he didn’t look at him. “I’m not,” James paused to take a breath. “This will always be at your pace, Charles. I merely wished to have a quiet drink with my friend where we could talk, candidly, if need be.”

“Figuring out where we stand, so to speak?” Charles suggested, putting the lid back on the decanter before holding out a glass.

James nodded and came closer, but they ended up meeting each other halfway as James took the offering. They were standing in the middle of the room, a bed to their right--and James was trying not to think about that--and chairs and lounges around them. The room was large and decadent and all James wanted to do was pull Charles down somewhere and hold him in his arms; just hold Charles and breathe him in, to feel the comfort of his warm body against James’ own. He knew it wasn’t possible, not now, not yet, but it didn’t stop him from yearning for it.

“James,” Charles murmured, his gaze darting over James’ face before he reached up and lightly touched his cheek with two fingertips. James’ eyes closed. “James, you look as if you might break.”

James’ mouth twitched wryly, but he didn’t correct Charles, mostly because it was probably closer to the truth than the other man knew.

“Oh, not yet,” he replied flippantly. You’re still here, after all. He opened his eyes. “I’m fine, Charles. Now, tell me,” he gestured with his drink, “how are you enjoying the ship-”

Charles shook his head and somehow that and the slight drop of his touch was enough to make James fall silent. Charles’ fingertips weren’t removed from his skin, but they had moved further down to his jaw line and James was loath to annoy Charles to the point that they dropped away completely.

The way Charles was watching him though; it was obvious he was reading everything James was trying to hide. It made James want to turn away, he even started to - wanting to put his back to Charles and give himself a moment to find his composure. He didn’t want Charles to see all the ways James wanted him - but Charles didn’t let him hide. He moved his fingers up until his entire hand was cupping James’ cheek, he then pulled James down so their foreheads were resting together. James let out a mildly shaking breath and closed his eyes.

Charles’ hand moved off his cheek and James eyelids fluttered back open as he made a small, protesting noise. Charles just quieted him with a soft sound as his hand came down, took James’ own and brought it up to cup his cheek. James instantly curved his palm around what was offered. Charles’ hands fell away again, but James wasn’t concerned. He was curious when Charles worked the glass of brandy free from his grasp, but James allowed it. Charles’ hand just slipped into his own and gripped his firmly, linking their fingers and holding on tightly. Charles felt slightly tense and he was noticeably outside his comfort zone but he was doing it all to sooth James and the younger man almost melted into everything that was Charles. Everything that was the man he had so hopelessly fallen in love with. They stayed like that for a long time as James breathed the other in and Charles just rested against him; an anchor in a sea of worries and heartache.

“Are you alright?” Charles eventually asked him, concern in his voice and no doubt on his face.

James couldn’t stop his smile. “Yes,” he murmured, but he didn’t try to pull away. He should, he knew that, but he didn’t want to let go. “Thank you.”

He could hear the smile in Charles’ voice. “I told you, I’m here. We can’t behave this way around others, but it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten why I’m here.”

“To give me a chance,” James answered.

Charles pulled back and James had to bite his tongue to keep from protesting. Their hands were still clasped and James’ other was still on Charles’ cheek, but he hated even that small distance apart. He opened his eyes and they looked at each other. Charles’ smile was small, but honest as he corrected, “To give us a chance. To see if there can be more to us than a friendship.”

“I know,” James told him, his hand twitching slightly against Charles’ cheek before he gave in and carefully ran his fingertips over skin. Charles shivered but he didn’t pull away. “I know.”

“You sound so doubtful,” Charles immediately pounced. “Why can’t I make you believe it?”

James shook his head at the words. “It’s not you, Charles. It’s...” He clenched his jaw and confessed, “I cannot put my faith in this.” He didn’t want to admit it, but he made himself continue. “I’m risking too much of myself to blindly trust that things will work between us. I need to doubt, if only to prepare for...”

James trailed off, but Charles picked up the sentence, his eyes full of sadness. “For not having me.”

“Charles, this is all new to you. You have every right to decide it is not for you - and I will not resent you if you do.”

“But you want me to choose you.”

James couldn’t help his harsh laugh. “Of course I do, I want you...” more than I can stand, from your hair to your toes, forever and underneath me on a mattress. There were numerous endings to that sentence and James knew he couldn’t say any of them, so he shook his head to clear it. “I want you,” he repeated again, “but I know there is a likelihood that I won’t have you.” He tried for a smile, but doubted it came anywhere near close. “Allow me my worries, Charles. They’re all the preparation I’ll have should this be something you cannot do.”

Charles face twisted. He obviously wanted to say something to help, to negate his friend’s fears and to make James relax – but they both knew that platitudes and promises were meaningless. Charles could get mere moments into James shirtless and rush in the opposite direction. He could also accept James’ touch but be unable to give his own. There were too many options, too many possibilities for it all to fail - and Charles couldn’t promise that it wouldn’t. He couldn’t say anything comforting because James would be unable to believe it. Charles’ mouth pressed into a thin line before he squeezed James’ hand and swore to him, “I will do everything I can not to hurt you.”

“Now, that,” James answered with a soft smile. “I do believe in.”

James forcefully pushed away all the warnings about how much Charles could hurt him - absently, accidentally, unavoidably if Charles decided it was too unpalatable to stay with him. James knew he’d told Charles that a kiss every now and again would be enough sate him, and it would, but only if he thought it would be enough to sate Charles.

But could a man so new to homosexual relations and without love for the other give himself to such a chaste relationship? James knew Charles was not celibate. He knew he’d had physical relationships with women. So how could he expect Charles to give up his carnal desires if James couldn’t satisfy them? Was he to let Charles go out and spend evenings with women as long as he came home and let James curl around him at night and kiss his cheek? Was it truly a future he could be happy with?

You know it won’t be.

“James?” Charles drew him back to the room; a worried furrow between his brow. His voice was trying for lightness but there was concern in his eyes. “What new thing have you created to worry over?”

“Something that will not come to pass,” James assured. I may be lost to this man, but I am not so forlorn as to torment my heart so pointlessly. There is a limit to even my willingness to have him.

He shook himself and pulled away from Charles. He didn’t wish to let the other man go, but he refused to let his thoughts travel down even darker paths. The man was before him and a happier future was still a possible horizon for them. James needed to focus on it. He needed to focus on Charles. He had one opportunity to bring the man into his life. James needed to court him, to encourage him and James refused to be the cause of his own demise.

Taking a breath, he glanced down at their hands. He briefly contemplated the idea of kissing Charles’ palm, but he dismissed it. Charles was still only warming to his touch and that level of affection was still far from one of James’ options to bestow. He simple squeezed the hand before releasing it and taking his glass back. He then put distance between them by stepping to the side.

“Shall we discuss the voyage?” He changed tracks. “We can’t spend it playing cards alone, we are likely to be thrown overboard.”

Charles sent him one quick suspicious look but let the shift in tone and discussion slide. He went to fix his own glass of brandy. “We can hardly help being better than they are, James.”

“True,” James agreed, “but there are more options than just gambling on this ship and I would like to take advantage of them.” Charles shot sly eyes to James and the bed behind them, making James’ gaze skitter away as he took a sip of brandy. He didn’t flush but it was a near thing. The things I would do if only you were willing. “I, of course-”

“You should be more careful with your wording,” Charles told him, taking a seat opposite James who was trying to apologise with his eyes, but Charles was just smirking. “Gambling is illegal after all, and you are always telling me discretion is an important key.”

James couldn’t tell if Charles was applying that subtlety to more than just one thing. He decided to err on the side of caution. “It is wise to be careful, but it is also important to know when to stop and change one’s path. I will always stop.”

“James,” Charles sighed, but there was humour in the gesture. “We are alone, we are aware of what you desire. Please don’t make the mistake of thinking I will ever stop trusting you to stop. I was amused by your wording and could not resist. Really, if I’m unable to joke about something I am probably dead.” He grinned. “I’m not going to be offended, but I am going to tease you.”

James stared at his friend, at the amusement in his eyes and the relaxed sprawl of his body. He was comfortable around James despite his desires, despite their tentative attempts at courtship; Charles was still Charles. There was just a new layer that he was now able to recognise and raise his eyebrows at. It made him realise, quite suddenly, that even should Charles discover he was unable to have a relationship with James, they might still remain friends. James might always love him, but Charles would never let that stop their friendship. 

It made something that had been far too tight and panicked in James chest suddenly release its hold. He smiled and his muscles uncurled so that he could sit more easily. He didn’t feel they were ready enough for him to respond back with the purr he wanted - you may tease me as often and as long as you want, dear Charles - but it was more than just a start; it was multiple steps further than he’d expected into a relationship. James found he was the one who needed to catch up.

“I’m glad,” he told the other. “It would hardly do for your verbal skills to slip further below mine.”

Charles made an indignant noise, but didn’t bother for much more. He still continued their banter, but it was with the lazy air that said he knew it was all in jest. James responded in kind and while they never once moved closer that evening, while Charles still departed to his own room an hour later with nothing more than a smile and a goodnight, James still felt bolstered.

He is here with me. His rejection might yet happen, but for now he is here.

It was only the first night of their trip; James had time to tempt him, to show him what being James’ lover could be like. He does not need to touch me as long as I can touch him. There were many things James could introduce him to; he only needed a chance and the confidence to draw Charles in.

James had time, he had patience. He didn’t need to win Charles in a day; he just needed to show him what James could offer - and for Charles, James would find a way to offer the stars.

Next Part

And that ends chapter two! Now we move into the courting stage of the relationship, hooray! I was never 100% happy with the first two parts, probably because I wrote them a year ago and my writing style has changed since then. I’m told they still flow well and fit in well with the rest of the story though, so, here’s hoping you all agree :)

The next part will be uploaded in two weeks, or, if the story is well received, I might be persuaded to update it in a week. So please reply, reblog and like this post! The more people are keen to hear more, the sooner I’ll be uploading more prose!

And, if you enjoyed my writing and would like to see more, please consider supporting me by checking out and/or purchasing my self-published novels and telling your friends!

Every purchase helps me to fund my career as a full time writer (meaning more content can be generated) and every review, ask and reblog helps me know what kind of genres/tropes you’d prefer to see written.

Thank you to everyone who reads my work and continues to support me!

[quis-on-flightrising]

I have just finished what I think must be the longest lore thing I’ve ever done. It’s almost 3k word count.

It’s full of feelings. I made myself sad.

If anyone was wondering what has become of Kimer’s fortune-telling service...

(Edit: I just realized that to someone who doesn’t know them, this thing starts out sounding like it’s about cheating. *facepalm* I DIDN’T INTEND THAT.)

Arlandria flitted from tree to tree with careful, silent movements, keeping the blue flash of sunlight on Kimer's bright wings just barely in view up ahead. She hated that it had come to this. 

There was a pathetic feeling to secretly following your husband, sneaking and hiding behind massive tree trunks and using the sounds of wind and the calls of wild animals to cover the sounds of your own movement. There was no better option at this point. If he was doing what they accused him of, better that she should be the one to catch him in it. She wished it was harder for her to believe that the claims were true. Part of her, numb, distant corner of her thoughts, realized that she wasn't trying to figure out some other, more innocent thing he could be sneaking away to do, wasn't wondering if he really was just off for a walk in the safer parts of the Labyrinth like he claimed. Instead she was thinking about how to say goodbye. For just a moment she felt a pang of sadness before the numbness spread to that thought, too. Eventually he stopped near the moss covered stump of a fallen tree. He shrugged off his traveling clothes, the bland outfit they had found for him when they went into hiding with the Wild Orchard clan, and packed it way in a hollow part of the stump; instead he changed into what was obviously a performance outfit. Wispy cloak, hood pulled up over his head, a string of shining beads to trail along the length of his tail. The gossamer thin, moth-eaten-for-effect material that stood up around his neck in a dramatic collar looked like it had been repurposed from her own old performing cloak. Son of a, she thought. A sting of anger jabbed at her, sharp as a wasp bite. He made a new performing character without me. Safely transformed into whatever phony identity he was going by now, Kimer moved on- runestone bag hanging heavy at his waist- and Arlandria followed. It was enough proof for her, but it wouldn't be enough to make him feel really cornered into facing reality unless she walked up on him in the middle of the performance or after he was finished. They stopped again at a wide, open place near a beautifully still pool of water. (Of course; he always did like to play up the whole 'Water is the element of prophecy' bit.) He walked over to the water and stared down into it with a heavy sigh. As the minute stretched on, Kimer not moving from looking down at his reflection, Arlandria's heart twisted and seemed to skip into her throat for a beat- was this it? Was he finally pausing to look himself over, think about his choices, realize what a mess he was making of their lives? A low surge of Water magic hummed at the edges of her Fae senses for a moment, trickling into the pool and staying there, present but sleeping like a cat curled up in the sun. A breeze through the clearing carried the marshy scent of brine up to her hiding place in the trees. Arlandria's fins all fell back flat against her neck as she rolled her eyes up to the sky. Really? He'd used his magic to turn the little pond into seawater, just for the atmosphere effect of reminding the client of the ocean? So sorry and too bad for any of the fish or frogs or other things living in that pond. She wanted to smack him for doing something so unnecessary and selfish… and she wished that there wasn't one stray thought in the back of her mind that quietly admired how clever he was to think of it, even if it was wrong. That admiration of his creative thinking was what that had led her to this life, back when it had been the only thought in her head. It was no more than a whisper now. Even though the whole point of this stealth trip had been to catch Kimer in the act, Arlandria was almost bored as she watched what she already knew would happen. The client who had agreed to meet him here, an icy blue Tundra with their fur shaved back short to help them survive the heat of the Labyrinth, showed up and sat down at the side of the salt pond, a respectful distance away from Kimer. They asked a question, and Kimer launched smoothly off into his routine, graceful as a swan sliding into a lake. He'd even had a new drawstring bag made for the runes so it would be big enough for his hands to fit into, since she wasn't there to use her magic to gracefully pull the tiles out for him. Arlandria considered sending a poke of her Arcane energy over there to push the first stone out of his fingers and, bloop, into the pond, easy as poking it with a finger; but she sighed and let it play out, keeping her 'hands' to herself. After a long while, her muscles starting to grow stiff from stillness, the Tundra seemed satisfied with the 'mystical' advice they had received. They paid Kimer, the two of them bowed respectfully to each other, and the Tundra turned and left the way they had come. Kimer stayed still for a long while to make sure they weren't going to return. That had always been a fear of his, that he would let his character drop and a customer would come back to clarify something, catching him as himself and ruining the illusion. After several minutes of sitting and seeming to peer mysteriously into the pond he must have decided he felt safe again, because he let the magic fade from the water and turned towards home. She knew how this would go as clearly as if she had already watched it happen. He would go change his clothing back into the incognito garments the Orchard had given him to wear, given him as a gift to hide his markings and color from anyone who might recognize him from what was supposed to have been his old life. Hang around for a while, maybe go take a walk in some nice safe part of the Labyrinth and let himself be seen by a passerby there to reinforce the story he'd told before going out as at least partly true, then eventually wander home to her. Change of plans, my dearest. Even the voice of her own inner thoughts had gone flat. She dropped from her tree and glided down, keeping pace alongside him for a moment before landing. He startled at first, probably mistaking her for an annoyed bird swooping at him, but the light catching on her wings was unmistakeable. He staggered to a stop, his mouth opening as if he was about to say something but then flicking into a crookedly apologetic grin instead. "Hello my love." She stared up at him with tired eyes. "Why are you doing this. Let's skip past any pretense that I didn't just completely catch you in the act of lying to me, lying to all those decent people who've agreed to take us in, and get straight to why." He sighed and shrugged out of the tall collar of his costume, shooting a dirty look at the trees all around. "I'm suffocating out here, Ari. Everything is so dense- closed in and weighing down and stifling. Everyone is broken up from each other by all these trees and roots and hedges. I need the road! The flow of people, like the current of a river! Here it's just walls, green walls everywhere." "Green walls that we have to hide because you lied to everyone for so long that we're not safe out in the open any more." "Me! I lied to people! Excuse me, you were there too, every step of the way, every flourish to draw in the clients, you helped. You can't throw it on me like a muddy overcoat now, as if I'm dirty and your hands are clean." "I thought you would outgrow it!" She was shouting now too, although it was more in a Fae's way of body language than tone, her wings flared in agitation. "I thought eventually, when you saw how dangerous it was getting, when you saw how you were risking hurting people with your advice, you would find some other way to get your crowds!" "Oh, 'hurt people with my advice,' really. You want to punish me because people are gullible? They can choose to do or not do whatever they please. If they're going to take the word of some peddler they just met at the market instead of their own common sense, that's hardly my-" "You did everything you could to be more than 'some peddler they just met' to every one of those customers. The stones, the things you always said about Water being 'the element of prophecy'-" "Shouted out into the public market, a hawker's sales pitch, from a cloud of cheap incense and decked out with costume jewelry!" "You did everything you could to make it look and sound real to them! If you just wanted to be some kind of fun carnival game that people laughed off as soon as they went home, you could have been. That is not what you do." A sneer of disgust twisted his face, and for a heartbeat Arlandria almost recoiled from the ugly flare of anger sparkling behind it. "You want me to be some two-copper-bit clown, playing with shiny pebbles in the dirt to entertain children and lovesick teenagers who want to know who they're going to fall in love with and how many children they'll have." "I want you to get your crowds and your respect in a way that doesn't lead to people ruining their lives and then coming after you for it. I want to sleep peacefully at night instead of worrying that someone is going to be searching for you with a knife in their hand because they did what you told them to do and it turned out a disaster. Don't you want that too?" "We had that already. I'm sorry you were losing sleep over worrying for our sakes, I really am. I'm sorry. But we were doing fine. We kept on the move. We watched our trails. We changed our appearance often enough. I know we both felt anxious from time to time, but lots of people get a little twitchy in the dark of night when the campfire shadows are long. It was just nerves. We were fine." "There were rumors of people looking for a Pearlcatcher and a Fae travelling together with cart like ours. Some of them even described our eye colors specifically." "And when we heard those rumors, we moved on from those places right away and nothing ever came of them!" He gestured with one hand in the direction that would lead them back to the Wild Orchard's territory. "Can you really say we're safer now? Living there? On top of a magic laced bomb waiting to blow, surrounded by hungry spirits and possessed machines and wild beasts trying to break through the borders every other day?" "We only had to come here because it was the only place that would take us in! And even that was on the condition of you swearing off the old business. Add one more set of people to the list you've lied to now- a bunch of dragons who were charitable enough to give a second chance to a pair of liars on the run. Which, by the way, is another door slamming shut in our faces, since I'm sure they'll be furious about us leading our troubles right to their door like you've been doing." For the first time in all their years together Arlandria saw him actually freeze with true, undisguised shock. Eyes wide, tongue stilled, no witty answer easily rolling out. "You're going to go report me to them?" She shook her head wearily. "No. Eleven help me, even after all this, if it was up to me I would let you get away with it. But it's not. I didn't catch you- one of their scouts did, yesterday. The clan's leadership thought it would be better to tell me and let me talk to you first before they decide what to do." Kimer shifted uneasily from foot to foot, pearl clutched tightly against his chest. "I guess it's just as well that I hate it there, then, since they probably wouldn't take kindly to me coming back to say goodbye." "They would give you one more chance." The words prickled like dust sticking to the sides of Arlandria's throat. This wasn't how she had wanted it to go, but how else could it have gone? She knew what his answer was going to be, but she still had to say it, still had to make the offer. "They told me they could work out some kind of enchantment to set off an alarm when you're being deceitful, so you really wouldn't be able to do this any more. If you're willing to do that, at least for a while, they would trust us one more time and let us stay." "Never. Ari, I'm not going to put on some kind of magic collar so a bunch of angry strangers can control what I say. That's disgusting." His voice was getting softer and softer. She nodded sadly, not looking at him. He knew too. "You're not even going to lie to me and tell me that if we leave together it'll be different this time. Give me some nice story about how we'll find something else to do with our lives, or a different clan to hide behind." "I've never lied to you. I'm not going to start now." No, she thought distantly. Laughed off the things I'm afraid of, shrugged off the things I worry about, put my hopes for us at the back of the line every time- but never lied to me. I'll give you that at least. Her head felt almost too heavy to lift as she looked back up at him. His eyes were apologetic, but clear. No hesitation. No regret. Had her presence at his side really meant so little, that he could go through with this without even a tear? "I'm sorry Ari. I don't know what else to say. I love you. If you ever want to come back out on the road with me I would be so happy. But I can't. I can't live the way you want me to." "I know." She fluttered up next to him one last time, gave him a peck on his nose. "Keep the enchanted bracelet they lent you. Maybe it will help warn you about other kinds of danger besides the ones they made it for." "What? You're encouraging me to steal now, after all this talk about moral behavior?" He gave her a crooked smile, inviting her to laugh, but she only sniffed and flicked her frills at him. "Oh stop it. Just… try to keep yourself safe. Please." "I will. You do the same. Love you, Ari." "Love you too." There were a dozen other things she wanted to shout at him- that he was an idiot for being so stubborn, for being so selfish, for letting her believe for all those years that things might be different some day. That he could be so much more than this and he was wasting it all. But she had said enough, and anything else would just make the goodbye more bitter. He dipped his head slowly in a low bow to her, turned in the direction that would lead him most quickly out onto a major road, and walked away. Arlandria waited until she couldn't hear his footsteps through the underbrush any longer, leaving only the wild sounds of birds and distant running water to fill the warm air. He was gone. Really gone. For the first time in years, she was alone. She had been ready for this, had known this would probably be the end when she'd set out to follow him hours ago, but she still felt almost dizzy. As though she had just lost a limb and still wanted to lean her weight on where it should have been. Where will the music in my life come from now? The adventure, the laughter, the sense of pride? She would have to find it again, somewhere. Surely it was out there. Her only happiness in the world couldn't be tied up in the drawstring bag of a liar and a cheat, rattling along mixed in with his counterfeit rune stones, could it? She let herself sit there and be still for a while, until she felt her thoughts were settled enough to watch where she was going. Then she turned and began the long flight back to the Orchard.

[genuivity]

Rule of Thirds | Oneshot by genuivity  | READ ON:  ao3 

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Pairing(s): Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki (victuuri) Story Rating: General Audiences Genres/Tags: photographer/model au, photographer!yuuri, model!victor

(For #victuuriweek2017 - day 1: firsts, au prompt: other sports/careers)

Victor sent the camera a smirk, taunting, seductive, come and get me, and it hit Yuuri like a punch in the face. He clicked the camera a few more times than necessary, partly to hide his own blush but mostly because he was so caught off guard. There were too many attractive men in this industry. He wasn’t cut out for this. Victor winked at him, and yeah, Yuuri thought, he should’ve gone into nature photography.

Three months. Massimo Magazine spent three months planning the photoshoot with Victor Nikiforov, a world-renowned supermodel. Meanwhile, Yuuri Katsuki, professional photographer and avid Victor fan, spent the same amount of time both anticipating and dreading it.

A model of Victor Nikiforov’s caliber called for the best they could offer. He had everything a model needed: charm, poise, grace, confidence. Not to mention his natural good looks and experience. How their up-and-coming L.A.-based magazine already managed to book such a sought-after name in the modeling world sounded like a lot more negotiations, finances, and luck than Yuuri was willing to think about.  But more importantly, Victor Nikiforov was Massimo Magazine’s chance to gain more national, maybe even international, traction. This shoot was a make-or-break deal for recognition, and Yuuri would be damned if he broke it because he couldn’t keep it together in front of the object of his affections.

The setup began at five in the morning, the actual shoot at seven, because one, Victor was a busy man (his agent’s words), two, he needed time to play with his dog later (Victor’s words), and three, he apparently didn’t mind getting up at the asscrack of dawn (Yuri the intern’s words). The staff was to wait on his hand and foot, to treat him like a king. They certainly dressed him like one. He wore a large fuchsia overcoat, embellished with black cuffs and lapels and accented with gold trim. Under that was a white dress shirt and black slim-fit pants. Gold buttons and chains adorned the outfit, and gold piercings decorated the shells of his ears. They decorated the set modestly with white, magenta, and sky blue roses, letting Victor take center stage.

And he did. He commanded their attention, elegant and artful. With each passing moment, it became more difficult for Yuuri to keep his composure.  The opportunity was just as anxiety-inducing as he imagined. Just being in the same room as him was enough to make his palms sweat, and the looks he gave the camera only made it worse.

At least the noise was bearable. The only sounds were camera flashes and the photoshoot director’s voice as he gave instructions. And that was all fine and good, until the director said, “Victor, could you take off the coat and unbutton the first few buttons?”

Victor smiled, nodded, and did as he was told while Yuuri both sincerely thanked and fervently cursed the director. To flush at the sight of collarbones, collarbones, for heaven’s sake, Yuuri felt like he was back in his teen years.

Yuuri hoped no one had noticed how flustered he was, especially not Victor, and just like that the universe told him to screw off.

Victor sent the camera a smirk, taunting, seductive, come and get me, and it hit Yuuri like a punch in the face. He clicked the camera a few more times than necessary, partly to hide his own blush but mostly because he was so caught off guard. There were too many attractive men in this industry. He wasn’t cut out for this. Victor winked at him, and yeah, Yuuri thought, he should’ve gone into nature photography.

***

Three hours later, Yuuri was loading and editing images from the shoot onto his computer.

Sometimes, the model or client might join him for the editing process to give their input and decide what they need to do moving forward.

This was one of those times.

“Oh, that one has great lighting,” Victor said. He was at his side, leaning forward onto the desk with one hand on the table and the other behind Yuuri’s chair.

Yuuri kept his eyes on the screen, barely nodding to acknowledge what he said. His hand on the mouse shook, and Yuuri prayed Victor didn’t notice the cursor wobbling as well. He added basic adjustments, experimenting and modifying to keep himself from losing his mind in front of, in Yuuri’s humble opinion, the most gorgeous guy in the world.

Yuuri added a new adjustment, and Victor hummed. “Mm, I’m not sure how I feel about that filter. Also, can I have your number?”

Yuuri toggled the layer on and off. He thought it looked fine, it heightened the shadows, brightened the lights, drew attention to the angles of Victor’s face. Victor was a world-class model, not a world-class editor, and sure, Yuuri would probably drop everything in an instant to marry him, but he did not get a college degree to get schooled by—Wait.

“Wait.” Yuuri blinked up at him. “What?”

Victor leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes still trained on the screen. “Sorry. That was unprofessional of me. The filter looks good.”

Forget the filter. If Yuuri’s ears didn’t deceive him, there were more important matters. “It’s okay, but, sorry, I just- I didn’t catch that last part?” His voice grew quiet and rose at the end as he spoke.

He tapped his lips. “Ah, I asked for your number. But that was unprofessional too…”

Yuuri looked at Victor like he had grown a second head. His number? As in, the number to his personal phone? The one he used for texting and Instagram and saving pictures of Victor? No way. Surely he meant—

“I can... give you my business card?” He mumbled through it, unsure of what to say.

Victor looked thoughtful, pressing a finger to his chin. “Actually, that works for me.”

Oh. So he had meant business. He stood and fished out a card from his wallet, clumsy and graceless and shaking, much to his own horror, and handed it to him. He couldn’t muster up enough composure to look him in the eyes, so he stared at the Victor on the screen. As if that was any better; the Victor on the screen wore a roguish grin and sly eyes, exuding confidence in a resplendent outfit. He glanced back at the Victor before him, and it was the same person in the same clothes, but the expression was completely different.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he read, tone mild. He looked at him with a small smile on his lips, eyes gentle and head tilted. “Did I pronounce that right?”

Wide-eyed, Yuuri looked up at Victor, with his soft smile and kind gaze, and found himself returning the expression. “Yes.”

Victor paused a moment, then said, “Great! Now, do you have a pen?”

“Oh, here.” Not thinking anything of it, he handed him one.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the card on the table and writing on the back. To Yuuri’s shock, he slid the card back to him with a wink.

“I must go, but it was very nice meeting you, Yuuri. Call me, okay?” And with that, he left, taking all of Yuuri’s presence of mind with him. The second Victor exited the room, he dived onto the card.

Written in quick, messy penmanship, was a phone number, followed by a winking face.

***

Three days had gone by, but Yuuri found himself still in the same sense of disbelief.

He was at a crossroads. Should he call the number? What if Victor had given him the wrong number? What if Victor had given him a prank number? And even if he did call, what would he say? What did Victor even want with him?

When he told Phichit, makeup artist and certified best friend, about it, he had jumped at the chance, taking Yuuri by the shoulders and shaking him. “You have to call him, you have to.” He made Yuuri look into his dark gray eyes. “It’s your duty, to your past self and future self and everyone who would kill to get his number. Including me.”

Meanwhile, after Yuri the intern demanded to know what had gotten into him these past few days, he was met with a disgusted look. “Block the number,” he had said. “Burn the card. Change your name, become a pig farmer in some remote, off the grid corner of who-cares-where.”

Conflicting advice, see. Granted, Yuri was probably joking, though his deadpan snark made it hard to tell. Either way, Yuuri was seriously considering it.

But after enough days of it eating up at him and much reassurance on Phichit’s part that no, Victor was not out to dupe him, but yes, he found him cute enough to give him his number, he decided to text him. He hoped for both possibilities, that Victor’s phone either could or couldn’t receive text. If it didn’t, at least he could say he tried.

When two days passed without a response, Yuuri was ready to drop it. He had spent an inordinate amount of time reading over the texts he sent, the first a simple, ‘Hello, Victor? It’s Yuuri’, the second saying, ‘The fashion photographer’, and the third saying, ‘If I have the wrong number please ignore this’. Phichit told him he sounded too impersonal, but Yuuri thought he was really putting himself out there. He even triple-texted.

When the third day came around, Yuuri received a picture from the contact he had labeled ‘Victor(?)’. He opened it, and a large, brown poodle filled the screen, looking at the camera with its tongue out.

It was followed by a text. ‘Look how happy my dog is! I’m happy too!!’

***

Three months had passed, and while Yuuri’s disbelief had died down, it was quickly replaced by a warm feeling in his chest and a bigger phone bill.

Victor and Yuuri texted often, almost daily. Victor was adamant about getting to know him, and his candid interest and natural flirtatiousness eventually got Yuuri to open up. It also helped that he sent pictures often, mostly of his dog Makkachin, but occasionally scenery or a set he was on, and once a blurry selfie he thought was artsy but too messy for Instagram. Yuuri melted. He didn’t stand a chance.

One day, Yuuri was woken up by a text at three in the morning, but its contents had shocked him into full alertness: ‘I’m going to LA in a few weeks, can I see you?’

The prospect of seeing Victor again made his fingers shake as he typed. ‘Sure, where/when?’ He thanked texting as a medium for making him sound much more collected than he really was.

They worked out a meeting at a frozen yogurt place close to where Victor had a photo session. Victor closed it out with, ‘It’s a date! <3’, and going back to sleep was a lost cause.

***

Three weeks later, they were eating frozen yogurt and hiding in a shopping mall from the bright L.A. sun.

“When I first saw you,” Victor said, taking a bite of yogurt. “I thought I was modeling with you. Really, I think you should be in front of the camera.”

Yuuri blinked at him. “I-I think you should start wearing my glasses.” There was no way he thought that. Not a chance. The day they met, Victor looked like royalty, while Yuuri looked like a raccoon who woke up on the wrong side of the dumpster.

“You underestimate yourself, Yuuri. I bet I can teach you to be a great model.” Victor said, smug.

“Or, I can teach you photography.” Two could play at this game.

“Hm, I might take you up on that.” Victor laughed. “I don’t know much about photography, but I think I can already picture us together.”

Yuuri gawked at him, bashful, and lightly hit him on the shoulder. “That was… Wow. Where did you even get that one?”

“I’m just that smooth.” After Yuuri gave him a disbelieving look, Victor said, “Google. Look up ‘pick-up lines for photographers.’”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Victor grinned. “So are you. You know, a picture is worth a thousand words, but there are no words for a picture as beautiful as you.”

Yuuri swore his frozen yogurt tasted like mozzarella, it was so cheesy. His blush deepened, and it was a while before he could think of a response. “Yeah, well, are you a model?” He started off, not able to meet his eyes. “Because you’re… super?”

He regretted the words the second they left his mouth. That was so pathetic, it made Victor’s lines sound great in comparison. But Victor didn’t seem to have the same reaction; he let out a laugh and wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Would you believe that I am a model?” His voice was elated now. “And you must be a camera, because every time I look at you, I smile.”

Okay, two could not play at this game. Google gave him too much power. “I give up.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Because now,” Victor pulled out his phone, “you’ll have to let me take a picture of us.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking the photos?”

“Think of it as your first lesson to me, then. How do I take a good selfie?”

They sat on a bench in the mall, posing for pictures, most ending up out of focus as Victor’s arm shook from laughter and delight. Yuuri took Victor’s phone at once and snapped the perfect image: he’s resting his head on Victor’s shoulder, hair pushed back, cheeks dusted pink, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Victor’s head is tilted against Yuuri’s, blue eyes crinkled up in a genuine smile.

Yuuri watched as Victor, fond and endearing, made the picture his phone background.

***

Three years passed since they met, and Yuuri had another photoshoot with Victor.

Though this time, as Victor had said, Yuuri was with him in front of the camera. They were outdoors, surrounded by white, magenta, and sky blue roses. They faced each other in black tailored suits, holding hands that featured matching gold rings.

The wedding photographer was quiet as he snapped photos of the couple, the sounds that filled the air a serene mix of birds singing, wind blowing, and camera clicking.

Yuuri leaned up to touch their foreheads together, noses brushing, and they smiled.