#god I love how you drew her face & YES I LOVE HER DOWNTURNED EYES THEY TURNED OUT SO CUTE😫😫😫

[myokk]

😫💓😫💓😫💓

OH MY GOD !!!!!! You rendered me speechless for a bit…which is UNCOMMON with me 😭���

I LOVE THESE DRAWINGS SO MUCH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH WTF THIS IS SO CUTE & FOR WHAT REASON😭😫💓 she looks like such a sweetie pie here…my angel😇😇…and the GHIBLI STYLE!!?? 🥹

BUAH🥹😙💓

eloise for my fellow gremlin girlie @myokk!! so happy to have your beautiful traditional art in this fandom and that i got to see clora in it as well 💖😭😭and since it was your art of clora that inspired me to do the HL charas in ghibli style, ofc i had to give eloise the same treatment 🥰 (and ive discovered that drawing fat puffy braids in ghibli style is SOOO satisfying, highly recommend😋👌👌)

[harrysbbby]

Don’t Forget Where You Belong - JJ Maybank x Reader - Part Five

-Thank you guys so much for all the support on this series! I’ve gotten so many messages and comments with such nice feedback and I haven't had a chance to respond to them all so thank you! Also I think I got everyone on the tag list but if not let me know and if possible please ask to be added via my inbox just because it’s easier to keep a track of. anyway, please enjoy xx

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

The five of you sat on John B’s front porch. You had gathered there that morning after the discovery of his father’s compass, which John B and JJ had taken to Lana Grubbs for investagtion

“Her husband just die guys, give her at least a moment,” you had protested by the boys didn’t listen as they go in John B’s van and driven off.

They had now returned, and Pope and Kie had arrived, all somewhat engrossed in JJ’s dramatic retelling of what was had happened

“And we were right outside like this, and all we hear is just, "Bam! Bam! Bam!" Knocking paint off the wall, G! From the inside! All right? And I'm just looking at him, like…” JJ stopped mid sentence and he moved forward shaking his hair over the top off you,

“Wait, first off, look at this shit,” he ran his hands through his hair, white specks falling off on to your lap.

“That's dandruff, disgusting,” Kie said, mouth downturned in a look of repulsion.

“Ugh, JJ,” you scoffed, wiping your thighs as he stood back up looking around at all of you.

“That's paint,” he said, a look of dramatic seriousness on his face, “At that point, I was just, like... I'm waiting for death,” he finished.

“Wow, you’re not dramatic at all, JJ,” you said to him sarcastically. He shot you a look as if to say ‘it’s all true.’

“Oh, okay, so you saw the guys that shot at us, right?” Pope asked him, to which he nodded, “Did you get a good description of them?”

“Yeah, literally anything,” you added.

“Anything we can bring to a police report?” Pope asked.

“Burly,” JJ said curtly, turning back around to the group.

“Burly, that’s all you got?” you asked him.

“Yeah, you know like…”

“That’s not very helpful,” Kie cut him off.

“Okay, well, no, like the type of guy at my dad's garage,” he explained, “I mean, you guys know he made cargo hides for drug smugglers.

You and Kie spoke at the same time,

“Yeah. Yes. No, we know.

“We are, in fact, aware of this, JJ.”

He looked between the two of you before continuing. He leant back against the wall as he spoke, taking a melodramatic swig of his vape, “I can tell you with full confidence, these boys, these killers,” he exhaled, smoke emitting from his mouth, “they're square groupers.” He finished.

“They're square groupers,” Pope started, a very unimpressed look across his face, “like narco square grouper? Like Pablo Escobar square grouper?”

“Yeah, man.” JJ confirmed. You shook your head at the boy as you slumped further into your seat.

“You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie,” Kie deadpanned.

“What does this square grouper look like, specifically?” Pope asked again, still not convinced.

“You were’t there,” JJ defended

“You don’t know what to look for!” Pope fired back.

“Dude!” JJ exclaimed, “I wasn't taking little mental Polaroids the entire time. Man, I was under duress, okay?”

A puff of air left your nose as a long air laugh left the back of your throat. This boy, you swore to god…

JJ a playful glared at you before turning back to Pope, “But I can tell you... I can tell you by the way that Ms. Lana was screaming... that these guys are serious, serious hombres, man.” You caught John B looking down at the compass. “It's a heavy vibe right now, okay? I'm not liking this very much.”

“Okay, well we’ll let you calm down sweetheart,” you said to him in a sarcastic tone that was laced with actual concern. “Jesus Christ,” you whispered shaking your head as you turned to the group, specifically John B who had now turned his back o the group and continued to stare at the object,

“Why do they want the compass?” you asked.

“It’s a piece of shit,” Pope said insensitively, “You could pawn it off for 5 bucks if you wanted to.”

“Pope,” you started but he continued.

“No offense. I know it's in your family—”

“The office.” John B said, speaking for the first time.

“What?” Pope asked him.

“My dad’s office. He always kept the office locked because he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research,” you followed John B through his house and to the door of the locked room, “We used to laugh at him like he was gonna find it. But now that he's gone, I've just kinda... I just left it as he kept it.”

You could see the way he was staring at the door, a look of deep sadness and melancholy swimming through his eyes.

“For when he gets back.” You said, rubbing your hand along his arm.

“Yeah, for when he gets back,” Kie echoed your words immediately. You leant around John B’s body and shot a look at Pope and JJ. They looked at each other and back to you, almost as if they were confused. You rolled your eyes as John B unlocked the door.

You entered the room and took in all of the stuff in the room. Maps, files, all of it.

“I've slept over here like 600 times, and I've never seen this door opened.”

“Here,” John B said grabbing a cork board which showed the lifetime of the compass. He explained who each person was and how they all died in possession of the compass.

“You have a death compass,” Pope stated, looking directly at John B.

“I do not,” he defended, holding the object tighter in his hand. He looked around at the group for support but you scrunched up your face and shrugged- it did seem cursed.

“You have a death compass,” Pope repeated.

“Get rid of it,” JJ ordered.

“It’s cursed, and it’s made its way back to you,” Pope and JJ continued to jeer and John B moved away from you all and sat down. He flicked the compass over in his hands.

“Look, my dad used to talk about this compartment in here,” you all gathered around to watch what he was doing. “Soldiers used it to hide secret notes.”

Something fell out and revealed writing across the inside of the compass.

“What’s that?” Kie asked, you and her both leaning forward over John B’s shoulder to get a better look. JJ’s head came close to yours as he bent his neck around to have a look.

“That wasn't there before,” John B stated, looking at the word, “This is my dad's handwriting.”

“How can you know that?” Pope asked sceptically.

“Because he does these weird Rs. See?”

“Can I see it?” JJ asked, placing a hand on your back to move further around to read the word. He hair obstructed your view as he leaned across you. “"Red—Rout—”

You moved his hair to the side, popping in below him to look up at him, “it says Redfield.” You clarified, ruffling his hair as you sat moved back out of his hair.

“Right,” he said sheepishly.

“Okay, well, what's Redfield?” Kie asked.

Answers were thrown around about what the common word could mean. Everyone began talking over one another, coupled with the rooster crowing very loudly. Pope was trying to work when he said,

“How can you concentrate with that thing crowing at you?”

“Awww,” you cooed sticking your bottom lip out, “JJ loves the rooster.” You smiled up at him as you leaned in closer. He smiled down at you as he laughed, leaning his head down closer to yours.

“I love the rooster,” Kie echoed.

“Let me think.” Pope cut all of you off, growing frustrated. He kept throwing around random before John B’s frantic voice cut him off.

“Guys!”

He drew your attention to the black car that had pulled into the drive, and the two men that exited it.

“Guys, guys, is that them?” Kie started freaking out.

“Shit,” You mumbled.

“No, no!” JJ started to freak out running his hands through his hair. You grabbed his wrists trying to calm him down.

“This is suboptimal,” Pope commented.

“John B I told you,” JJ continued to pace, you moving along with him trying to get him to compose himself.

“JJ, look at me,” you said. He immediately swivelled and looked at you, before John B’s arm covered your face from hi vision, stepping forward to talk to him.

“Where's the gun?”

“Gun? I, uh, I can't—” JJ spluttered, mind running a million miles an hour.

“Now you don't have the gun, the one time we need the gun?” Kie’s shrill voice came from behind you.

You reached your arm out to JJ who was still stressfully heaving.

“Just think, JJ” you said calmly. At your words he took a deep breath.

“It was in my backpack, and then I— on the porch,” he realised looking up at John B.

“On the porch,” John B confirmed pushing him towards the door. You brough your arms up to your chest as you felt anxiety corse through your veins as JJ stepped outside.

“John Routledge!” a booming voice came from outside. JJ skidded to a halt and turn around hastily, running back to the rom and slamming the door behind him.

“They’re on the front porch, guys,” he said.

You let out an involuntary whimper as you and Kie huddled together in fear. You could hear the two men trashing the palce.

“We have to leave.” Kie said.

“Window,” you said, pointing to the only window in the room. Pope and JJ rushed to try and prise it open.

“Hurry,” Kie urged them, she moved over to them as you and John B had your backs pressed against the door, holding it in place,

“what’s taking so long?” Kie asked them.

“It’s painted shut, okay,” JJ said aggressively as Kie moved to find something to slice through the paint. She got the letter opener and began to saw around the edge. Pope moved with you and John B to stand as a shield with the door.

“Come on,” JJ said frantically,”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Kie exclaimed, fingers moving qucikly.

You and John B shushed them. You felt a harsh force on your back and you and John B pushed against the door as the man banged on it.

“You better not be in there!”

Kie finally got the window opeed and started to climb out. JJ grabbed your hand and dragged you with him. He climbed out of the window first before helping you down, hands around your waist. John B and Pope came after you as you all followed Kie into the oly hiding spot you could find: the chicken coop.  

The five of you sat inside, makig the chickens and rooster cluck loudly. You could feel your chest rising heavily as you struggled to catch you breath. John B was watching through the cracks and you could tell the men had exited the house as he tensed.

The chickens clucking rose louder and louder.

“Do something, Pope,” Kie said as he was the closest to the crowing rooster. “Shut him up.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Pet it, or talk to it,” she said frantically, tears streaming down her face, “I don't know.”

You could hear footsteps near the car. Tears welled in your eyes as you could feel your heart beating. JJ was next to you, and grabbed your hand. You looked at him and he nodded. A reassurance. You’d be okay. You nodded back.

The rooster only continued to get louder. John B sat back as he tried to hide after he heard the truck boot slam shut and one of the men start to walk over towards the coop.

You held bated breath. The rooster fluttered its wings and flew towards you and JJ.

JJ grabbed it and held it to the ground. It continued to crow loudly. Until you heard a sickening crack. The rooster went limp as JJ hurriedly let go.

You let out a quivering breath. Kie was sobbing quietly. JJ leant back and looked at you, only to see tears running down each side of your face. His eyes started to rim red as his breath became shaky. There was almost silence until you heard the men yell, their car start and drive away.

None of you moved for a moment, letting the adrenaline settle down.

You all crawled out of the chicken coop and JJ immediately made a beeline away from all of you. The four of you all looked at each other, before their eyes turned to you. You nodded, following JJ to where he stood in John B’s backyard, kicking stones.

You stood in front of him for a while. He looked up at you.

“What?” he asked forcefully, kicking another rock with your shoe.

“Just making sure you’re alright.” You said, crossing your arms across your chest, watching him.

“M fine,” he mumbled.

“JJ, you started.

“I saw the way you looked at me,” he said strongly ceasing his movements to look at you.

You sighed.

“I’m a bad person,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, refusing to meet your eyes.

You slowly moved towards him. You wrapped your arms slowly around his shoulders, until he relaxed and allowed you to fully envelope yourself around him.

“You’re not a bad person, J,” you said quietly, rubbing his back. “You’re a person who gets put into terrible situations without right or wrong,” you said pulling back and holding him at arm’s length. “Was what just happened horrible? Yes.” You told him truthfully, “but it doesn’t make me think any less of you.”

His eyebrows raised as you spoke, looking at you incredulously.

“Just shows me you would do anything to save your friends.”

He nodded at your words, wiping his nose and sniffing before rolling his shoulders back.

“Are you ready to go back to the rest of the group?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, relatively confidently. You smiled as he began walking next to you, returning slowly to himself.

You skipped along next to him, “you owe John B a rooster, you know.”

“Y/N,” he said sternly, but the sides of his mouths twitched as he suppressed a smile.

You spoke coyly, bringing a single finger to the side of your mouth as you teased him, “What? Too soon?”

Tag List:

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[mollymauk-teafleak]

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” + ThanZag feels very fitting <33

<3333333333

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment on Ao3!

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

It was when the door of the cheap motel room closed behind him that it really sunk in.

Just what he’d done. How alone he was now.

The silence pressed in on him from all sides and it was all Zagreus could do to lean back on the wall, sink his fingers into his hair and take long, slow breaths. If he tried to move, if he tried to let the thoughts in, he felt for sure he would break into a thousand pieces.

He’d done it. He’d left the old man, he’d done what he’d threatened to do for years and years, he’d thrown as many of his possessions as he could into a bag and he’d left. It had been one argument too many, a poisonous comment that had struck too hard, too many words that just couldn’t be taken back. He hadn’t even been planning on it, he hadn’t known this would be the one that broke him. He’d just gone into his room, slammed the door, packed as quickly as he could and left out of one of the mansion’s windows.

Zagreus had done what he’d fantasised about since he was a kid, over the long, hard years of his relationship to Hades becoming more tense and more strained. And it was only now that he realised he’d never once thought beyond that moment. He’d never decided what would come after the deep, deep breath he took once he was beyond the armoured gates.

It was bitterly funny. Hadn’t people always told him he never thought things through?

He’d driven here in a daze, paid for a room with too much of the money he’d been carefully hiding away for years, just needing to put something between him and the rest of the world even if that something had to be some filthy, moulding motel walls.

And now he was alone. He was alone and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

Zag’s phone had been buzzing like an angry insect since ten minutes after he’d left. Unable to face it, he’d shoved it deep into the pocket of his hoodie and let it rattle away accusingly. But it must have stopped at least for a while because now it sprang back into life and he jumped a mile.

Before he could think better of it, acting on reflex without driving to occupy his hands, he pulled it out and looked at the screen. No text, just a single emoji of a skull. Zag felt his heart squeeze painfully.

He didn’t want to be alone. He really, really didn’t. So, feeling wretchedly pathetic, he skimmed Thanatos’ simple, straightforward text- where are you- and answered with just the name of the motel he’d checked into. And he hated himself for how much he hoped.

While he waited, Zag busied his hands by making a truly awful cup of coffee. Probably not a good idea to give himself more stimulant but that's what was laid out in a little sachet next to a mug with a smudged rim and if he stayed still another moment he was going to start bleeding from the eyes.

He was sat on the bed, sipping it and at least getting some comfort from the warmth if not the flavour, when he heard the knock on the door. Rapped, precise, to the point. Just like everything else about Thanatos.

“Yes?” Zag looked up, biting his lip, “It’s, uh, it’s open.”

He looked like he had just come from work. His suit showed no wear, of course, it was neat and crisp and grey as it always was, his ornamentation fixed in place, the clasp collar around his neck, the single earring all catching the low streetlight from outside. The tiredness was only in his eyes, more hollow that usual, his mouth more downturned. He had known Thanatos his whole life and could read when that usually perfect, placid face was hiding exasperation and tiredness. Usually it was his fault.

“Was I even going to get a goodbye, Zagreus?” he murmured sadly.

Zag took a shaky breath, pushing his fingers through his hair, “I...I’m sorry...I didn’t think…please don’t tell anyone else where I am.”

“You know I won’t,” Than sighed, almost like the fact he needed to ask stung him, “What happened?”

“My mother,” Zag admitted, the word alone feeling heavy on his tongue, “I just couldn’t take it any more.”

“Is that why you left?” Than’s expression had gentled a little, he knew what a sore spot this was, “Are you going to go look for her?”

Zag opened his mouth before closing it helplessly and shaking his head, staring down at his hands, at the dried blood under his fingernails from where he’d scraped them down the tree he’d scaled to get from his window to the ground, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.”

There was a moment where the space between them seemed to grow before Thanatos lifted his head and stated simply, “You can. We can. I’ll help you.”

Zag’s eyes snapped up, wide and hopeful but scared to be. He swallowed and shook his head, “No. No, Than, I can’t ask you to do that. I can’t ask you to go against him, your job is everything to you!”

“It was,” Than admitted, unfolding his arms and resting them at his sides, though his eyes struggled to settle on Zag’s, “It used to be, I mean. Before...”

Zag frowned, not sure he wasn’t understanding because Thanatos was being obtuse or because he was being stupid or because his nerves were jangling with stress and too much coffee, “Than. I’m not asking my best friend to risk his whole life because I can’t sort out my shit.”

Now there was real hurt in Thanatos’ voice as his expression tightened and he groaned, “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it, Zagreus. So please don’t give me that. I came here for you, didn’t I, I went against a direct order from my boss and from my mother for you. I lied to them for you. Gods, the least you could do is not doubt me now.”

Zag’s mouth fell open. However he had thought this might happen, if this really was happening, it had never been like this. He was the impulsive one, he was the one who launched into things without thinking and ran his mouth off and ruined whatever he was trying to build with his recklessness. He always thought he would be the one to blurt out what had been happening between them for a while, when it became too much to bear or he didn’t keep his brain on a tight enough leash.

And the most he’d dared hope for was that Thanatos would kiss him back.

His friend flushed, shoulders coming up protectively, “I’m sorry, Zagreus. I shouldn’t be putting this on you right now, not after everything you’ve been through tonight, forget I said anything-”

“No, don’t you dare,” Zag stood, feeling everything in him ache across the gap between them, “Don’t take it back. This...Than, this is perfect.”

“Oh.” He’d never seen his friend surprised before, not like this. He’d never seen Thanatos lost for words but he was now, that small, soft noise apparently all he could muster in response to that.

Suddenly he was grinning, “I’ve felt so lost, I had no idea where to go or what to do or what to want next. But now I know.”

“You do?” There was the Thanatos he’d always suspected no one else got to see, written plain upon that lovely face with no armour to hide behind.

“Yes. I want you.” And it really was that simple.

They both surged forward together but Than was faster and they collided close enough to the bed that Zag was knocked back onto it. They were kissing immediately, hungry, messy, frantic kisses borne of wanting to do this for so long and unable to bear a second longer. It was like all their teenage years going up like flash paper, all the glances where they’d wondered maybe, if only, what if turned into pure need. Something tore as Thanatos pulled Zagreus’ clothes away, Thanatos’ jewellery was flung to the floor without a second thought for it’s expense. None of it mattered, just the sharp, wanton inhale of finally.

“My bag,” Zag panted as Than’s teeth grazed his nipples, skated along the neat, thin scars there.

“Mm?” Clearly his lover wasn’t listening and Zag found it hard to pull him away from what he was doing. But it was going to be hard to progress without the right equipment.

“My bag, on the ground,” Zag’s voice wavered as Than sucked and nipped, “Condoms, lube, it’s in there.”

Than’s golden eyes flickered up to him cautiously, he pulled up a little, lips swollen, “You’re sure? That’s what you want?”

Zagreus could have kissed him for thinking to ask, before he realised he could do that now. So it was practically into his mouth that he whispered, “Yes. I’ve wanted it for a pretty fucking long time.”

He was grateful for Thanatos’ ruthless efficiency, it was less than a minute before he was rolling the condom down his erection, crouched over Zagreus. He felt his eyes on him and looked up, smirking.

“Hope I’m living up to expectations?”

“Oh yeah,” Zag grinned shamelessly, not hiding where his eyes were focused, “You’re exactly as...well, impressive as I imagined”

“You’ll tell me more about those imaginings one day,” Than promised, though his cheeks were flushed as he leaned close and kissed Zag, hands sliding across to move his thighs apart.

It was those golden eyes’ turn to wander and Zag couldn’t deny he felt relief at the fervour he saw in them.

There was no more waiting after that. Than wrapped his arms around Zag’s chest and drew him close as he pressed against his entrance. Zag whimpered, shifting lower against the pillows, holding Than’s shoulders tightly.

“I’ll go slow,” Than promised, inching forward, eyes searching Zag’s face for any sign to do anything but move forward.

“Oh gods,” Zag choked out, breathing heavily, doing everything he could to signal for yes and more as his words failed him.

Eventually he was in him to the hilt and everything felt right. He loosely wrapped his legs around Than’s slim hips, as if to keep him there, not that Than was entertaining any thoughts of doing anything but fucking him, slow and deep and indulgently. As he rocked him against the thin mattress, Zag could only whine and beg nearly incoherently, one hand coming down to play with his cock as Than thrust. He always needed something to do with his hands after all.

Between that and the years of pent up pining, it wasn’t long before Zag was tipping his head back and gasping, “Fuck, Than, I’m there…”

Than nodded, kissing at his jaw, mumbling, “Yes. Gods, yes, Zag, with me. Together.”

“Always,” Zag whined before he felt everything tense almost painfully, paralyzed as his orgasm rolled through him. Thanatos was a moment behind, sighing his name as he came, whispering it like a prayer.

Afterwards the silence was back but this time Zag welcomed it. It was comfortable, safe, as long as he had Than’s arms wrapped around him. It was a moment he could live in without worry, without having to think about what came before and what would come after. There was only now and now was Thanatos.

Eventually they had to disentangle themselves and all the awkwardness that came with that, shifting the sheets below them so they weren’t lying in the damp spot, tossing the condom in the trash. But there was something a little giddy about it, they must have caught each other’s eye and giggled almost hysterically five times before they were cuddled up again, catching their breath in each other’s arms.

“Ah Zagreus,” Than murmured, kissing the top of his head, “Maybe I should think less. Good things always seem to happen when I do.”

Zag chuckled, “Don’t change too much. I’m going to need you.”

The arms around him tightened, “You have me, Zagreus. I promise.”

And it was then that it really sunk in.

Zag was never going to be alone again.

[kiarakhan]

Arpeggio

In a bright colored room, which was relatively small and mostly tidy, except for the several littered piles of clutter here and there, mainly containing painting equipment , a teen sketched a portrait of a young girl, slowly and gradually giving life to the image of his muse on the white canvas.

 “what are you drawing, Shouto uncle? “inquired the little chap of seven while pulling his brows together in confusion as the piece was yet to be finished.

 “she’s someone I’m curious about., Natsuo. “replied Shouto while chewing his lower lip lightly while pencilling out the rest of the details.

 His mind travelled back to the eerie memories which constituted of her.

  For the first time he saw her while he was returning from the soccer field after practicing the game with his fellow teammates. He was riding his bicycle swiftly on the shoulder of the road and slowed it down just near the staircase of a small overpass where he could see a vending machine which could quench his thirst. As he opened his lemon soda while sitting on the bike saddle, his gaze landed on a beautiful black haired girl dressed in a school uniform different from his, she held her right hand up in the night sky as though trying the grab the crescent moon. He clearly saw a faint smile on her face.

 ‘is she a selenophile?’, he wondered.

Another time briefly , when he was on a bus which was headed to his home from school, he saw her through the glass window , she was walking while reading something  which didn’t quite notice as he all attention was drawn towards the cute focused look on her face, it seemed as if she was in her own world. As the bus sped, he spotted that she wore mismatched shoes, her clumsiness brought a faint smile on his face.

 The third time while he was going to the supermarket along with his buddies, he saw her getting splashed by water in her casuals by the owner who was trying cool down the heat of the road. Again, she was holding her notes and was engrossed in them. He was totally flabbergasted as he raised his eyebrows and his jaw formed a ‘o ‘shape. She slightly shook her head sideways to shake to the water and drew a quick breath.

 ‘who is she?’ he really wanted to know.

 “why are you drawing her then if you don’t know her? “, Natsuo asked which brought the artist back into reality. The small chap was his sister, Fuyumi Shido's son who was currently spending his holidays with his maternal grandparents and his Shoto uncle.

 “um. well, because I want to get to know her. Once I’m done drawing this. I’ll give it to her and maybe ask her to be my friend. “he replied.

 “do you even know her name? “the little one questioned. 

 Shouto exhaled noisily through this nose in a deep sigh. He certainly didn’t.

----------

 In the auditorium of Osaka high school, the melodious rhythm of her violin echoed as she played with utmost passion and love for her instrument. Her fingers swiftly played the correct strings with the bow, her eyes closed while the violin was placed in the neck rest. She ended her performance with the virtuosic cadence. 

 “wow she is indeed talented. What’s her name?” one of the German judges asked his assistant for they were to do the panel selection of the students who’d be getting a scholarship in Berlin school of popular arts.

 “ . Its Momo Yaoyorozu , sir “ the assistant replied while scanning her eyes on the applicant’s form.

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

 After a few days when he was done with her portrait, he often carried his drawing sheet holder in the hope of meeting her unexpectedly someday. One day though, on the very place where he first saw her, he found her again standing in the same position on the small overpass with the same hand gesture as if trying to play with the moon. But she was wearing her gym uniform on which the name showed, ‘Inari.’

‘oh, it’s Inari. Her name his Inari. ‘he thought to himself. He never knew that even knowing the name of this girl could give her so much contentment. 

‘Todoroki you have a small crush on her. Admit it or not, but that’s the truth burh’  

Well, he could be honest with himself and shook off his joyous look or else he’d probably seem a little crazy to a bystander. He thought he should write,

‘To Inari

From Shouto.’, at the footnote. So, he decided to let go of the opportunity of giving her the portrait.

-----

 NEXT DAY

As her school bag on her back and her violin case hung over right shoulder, Momo was walking with spring in her steps. She held her music notes and continued to climb up her way to her school, unmindful of anything except of the music that she can feel from the music notes.

Her best friend Inari Sato spotted her as the latter was about to bump into a yellow colored movable road barrier placed at the vicinity of the pole. “watch where you are going, Momo.” Inari held Momo’s hand in order to avoid her getting physically hurt.

Latter downturned her gaze and flushed in bit embarrassment after being brought back to reality. “Hi Inari.”

“what’s wrong with you? didn’t I tell you to not think about music while walking?” inari sounded worried and tried to feign anger in her voice.

“by the way, do you know that you accidentally took my gym clothes again?” she asked with a faint smile on her face.

“I am sorry. I asked my aunt to wash it and I brought it with me. Wait let me check.” She slung her bag forward and unzipped one of the chains to look for her friend’s gym clothes and realized that she forgot to pack them in her bag.

“I thought I brought it. But I think I am wrong. I am sorry. I don’t know what to say…” Momo apologized while averting her gaze in embarrassment.

“Momo, you better not let anyone know that you are this clumsy.” Inari amusingly said while circling her arms about her friends’ shoulder “if your soon to be music school gets to know that you are this clumsy, I am afraid they’ll reject your acceptance application. Well what do you think should I tell them so, maybe then you won’t have to go, and I don’t have to miss you?” she asked while giggling.

“um. well you are right. I should keep this discreet. But wait, can you say so in German language?” Momo asked.

“no.” and both had a hearty laughter and continued heading towards their school.

---------- 

Shouto kissed his little nephew natsuo on his cheek as the seven-year-old gleefully enjoyed his hamburger that the former brought.

“you shouldn’t mess with someone who is eating.” Latter complained about getting perturbed. He looked adorable with his mouth stuffed food. “okay lil champ.” Shouto replied while softly caressing his hair.

He saw a old lady hurriedly walking in order to catch the bus that was going to stop near him. He stood up and chatted with the driver trying to stall for her.

“mister?”

“yes?”

“do you know the direction to the nearest soccer training centre?”

“ah yes it’s. cross the road from the left and take the the bus number 14.” as the driver answered his query, the old grandma reached.

“oh god I almost missed it.”

When old lady got on in, Shouto thanked the bus driver and turned towards his nephew. The moment the bus departed; latter saw the girl that his uncle has been painting for past few days. “the painting person!” he exclaimed while getting up from his seat and pointing his hand towards the person he recognised.

“hm? the painting person” shouto repeated and titled his head sideward in confusion unable to comprehend what the little natsuo and trying to say.

“yes, over there.” He enunciated.

Shouto turned his gaze towards the direction in which natsuo was pointing and spotted the black-haired girl. She was again immersed in he notes, he noticed. Wait was that déjà vu or what? She was about to pass by the same supermarket shop where she was almost drenched and same was about to happen. Just in time he shouted her name and for some unknown reason he tried to hide from her by kneeling in front of natsuo as if he was attending to him or something.

“Inari!”

Upon hearing her bestie’s name Momo halted and turned her head towards the source of the voice and failed to see anyone. Were her ears ringing or what?

“I am sure I heard someone call her name..” she mumbled under her breath and continued walking towards her home.

“what are you doing, shouto uncle?” natsuo asked.

“why is she always reading something? It’s dangerous,” shouto murmured, worried about her.

--------- 

After a day or two when he was boarding a bus to his soccer training centre. Suddenly he felt side tape on his shoulder, and he looked behind... and oh boy it was the same black-haired girl.

{AN : HOLA READERS ITS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY FIRSTE EVER WRITTEN FANFIC. HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT, lIKE IT IF U DID AND LET ME KNOW HOW I CAN IMPROVE. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS WELCOMED  ’}

[jack-andthestalk]

Our Son, Arc II, Sunrise, Chapter 4.

Firstly a huge thank you to @missclairebelle who listened to my weird legal ramblings and made good on them, also for her shouty DM's and encouragement on this chapter, her talent is phenomenal across the board. @balfeheughlywed's feedback is so astute, and her support on this fic has been amazing and I just love the bants with her. This Arc is testing me and I was struggling to write anything for a while but I seem to have found a rhythm and that is partly thanks to @ladyviolethummingbird and @laythornmuse writing tips. So thank you!

A horrible feeling of bubbling nausea swirled relentlessly around in my tummy. Jamie's defeated face fixed on me, waiting for a reaction. Any words that were likely to come from my mouth would be so full of venom, that I dared not open it. Not to protect Jamie, it was to stop me sharing anything of my reaction.

   "I wouldna leave you for anything Claire" Jamie's eyes beseeched mine, “I had no choice”.

  I couldn’t look, wouldn’t let myself meet his eye.

    I had inhaled his every word since he woke me an hour before. A lot of it was things I had already known from what Jenny had explained. Right up until the end, when he came to that bit I knew it was bad before he started.

  Jamie seldom cried, maybe when Willie was born? I thought absently, apart from that I couldn't think of another time. Now standing on our cold cement door step, as the sun mounted the sky, he pinched his eyes to stem tears from streaming down his face, his cheeks stained with the ones that had already escaped.

  I couldn't muster one ounce of sympathy for him, it scared me, complete detachment. My brain was protecting my heart allowing me just numbness for a moment or two.

  It gave me the chance to look at him, really look at him as if he was another person's partner. What advice would I give my friend if she had moved herself and her son from their home thousands of miles to set up a life with someone she loved deeply, the father of her child, only to arrive and have he tell you that he actually was moving hundreds of miles away to run another business?

   I knew that I would tell her to pick up whatever dignity she had left and run, run, run.

  Thoughts of Willie fleeted through my addled brain. How would I tell him? When would we leave?

  “How long?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t speak and I felt the rage boiling in me again, this time now through gritted teeth,

“how fucking long Jamie?”

  He sniffed and cleared his throat, "two years as long as it takes to finish it."

“And how long until you go?”

“Claire” he whispered imploringly.

"I need to prepare Willie," I said briskly, ignoring his plea.

“Ten weeks.”

A nod and I was on my feet, brushing myself down. ”Ok”

“Where are ye going?”

“I am not sure,” I replied distractedly looking out at the vast amount of hills and fields I could wander through.

 Jamie rose to grab me back. “Alone Jamie, leave me alone.”

______________________

Four hours later with bleak black clouds hovering over me, I found myself at the stables, watching Brian brush down a great big stallion. Methodically covering each inch of the horses back with long even strokes.

  He swung around when he heard me approach.

"Just me” I said meekly, wrapping my arms around my waist, suddenly feeling the cold.

  Brian's startled expression softened instantly and he looked at me with utter sympathy causing tears filled my eyes abruptly. "Thank god, are ye alright?"

  A nod, while I stunk my teeth into my bottom lip. “Fine”.

    “He has been out looking for ye twice lass, his temper is frayed enough, I thought he might kill someone if ye dinna return to him soon.

    I snorted, but the downturn in my lips made it appear more of a sneer, "when I do go, I won't be leaving on foot", my tone was biting, and I regretted at once using it on Brian but the regret quickly waned when I pictured them all knowing, they knew before me and did nothing. Fuck them all.

  Brian's face creased in pity, I couldn't bare it. I turned to leave again not sure of where I would go. "Claire I ken ye are hurting ..."

  My voice was brisk now "Brian if it’s all the same to you...I don't want to..."

  His hand was firm yet gentle on my shoulder as he turned me, "ye have every right" he said softly. Jamie feared it most of all that it would hurt ye, lassie, ye were his only care, I can promise ye that."

  A dense lump climbed up my throat, painfully reminding me that if I spoke it would unleash a sob instead of words. I placed the flat palm of my hand to my forehead but it was too late, tears were coming again. It was as if my eyes were so practiced at it they couldn't stop. I tried breathing in and out deeply, in the hope of bringing back some calmness. Suddenly I could feel Brian's arms folding me into him, holding me to his chest. "Ach Claire...dinna weep a leannan."

  That was all it took before big rasping sobs escaped my chest and vibrated against Brian's.

  He held me for some time before he gently guided me over to a hay bale and beckoned me to sit, handing me a tissue.

  "Claire I dinna ken how much the lad told ye, and I dinna want to make things worse, but I hate to see the two of ye hurting...and I ken Jamie is too"

He looked down at his hands shamefully, "he might even feel worse because it's his fault", sighing deeply, trying to summon up words that could make things a whole lot worse or in the vien hope it might ease some of the pain. "having my own hands soiled in this sorry affair brings me nothing but shame too." he said quietly.

  I put my hand over Brian's hand, "It's not your fault" I whispered.

  He shook his head avidly, "I should have checked the contract with him, he was under such pressure...I shouldha kent."

  I couldn't follow the jumble of words falling from his mouth.

  I turned to him now, my brows creased "From the beginning" I said firmly.

  A long intake of breath, Brian rubbed his hands nervously up and down his thighs, after tapping his fingers lightly against his thigh for a moment or two, he began to speak slow halting words, "Jamie was trying to secure a deal” hands upturned now in demonstration…he dinna say it but I kent he wanted it for our pensions", another nod and he swallowed "mine and Ellens".

  "Since my accident, the lad has been very firm in that he wanted me to retire properly, have a life outside of here, ya ken?"

  I bobbed my head receptively, suddenly needing someone to fill in the gaps that I wouldn’t allow myself to ask Jamie. A red mist had blocked any further need for information.

  "When the Dunsany's offered him the contract to buy exclusively from Lallybroch...well we thought it too good to be true", "I shouldha fucking known that spineless bastard Dougal could only bring harm on us" he hissed, throwing a piece of straw he had been playing with forcibly to the ground, standing abruptly he began pacing over and back in front of me, temper subdued enough so he could continue. "Jamie saw it as a way to secure Lallybroch's future and allow Ellen and me a healthy pension to retire on. 

  They offered us a large amount of money to secure the right to exclusively buy any stock that was bred and raised here at Lallybroch. If there was stock, they had a need of, and  we dinna have it here, the contract included provisions for Jamie to buy on their behalf, train the animal and sell it on to the Dunsany's."

  Another slight tilt of my head acknowledging my understanding. 

  Brian ran his hands along the edge of a stable door, pausing over grooves with his long fingers considering. "They drew up the contracts a few months ago, but Jamie held off on signing…it was something he was thinking on. Then the stud got that virus, the poor lad was day and night with them, trying to keep the infection at bay. He missed yer birthday on the head of it.

  "I remember," I said hoarsely.

  “He returned from his last trip to Boston, and he had decided he would sign”.

   Brian looked imploringly at me now.

  "We were still reeling from nearly losing all our livestock if it hadna been for Jamie’s quick thinking…” he trailed off, and smiled meekily at me “for the first time we realised just how vulnerable we were…" He tilted his head shyly ", and I know now that Jamie had asked ye to marry him on that trip…so the lad had his plans too."

   My heart fluttered in my chest, and fresh tears slid down my cheeks. So much hope and now it was snuffed out. Thinking of the stress, Jamie must have been under yet he flew to me in Boston proposing during it all. My thoughts must have been apparent on my face because Brian's face softened "it puts things in perspective lass, Jamie was fair desperate to see ye."

  I wiped a stray tear from my face. "That is when Jamie signed the contract," he said sorrowfully, "When he came back from Boston" Brian pressed his bottom lip into his mouth and shook his head dejectedly.

  "There was no reason to think the worst of them...it all seemed above board”.

"This trip was just to iron out the specifics, work out what stock they would need over the coming months, talk to them about what Mares were in foal, breeds, that kind of thing,"

Brian ruffled the thick black hair on top of his head, and it struck me how not only alike Jamie was to him but Willie too, absently thinking the Frasers had strong genes. "Then last night they turned around and said they wanted Jamie to oversee this big expansion at Hellwater!”

  My mind suddenly was in the drawing room watching this nightmare unfold, and I idiotically could see Geneva Dunsany, leering gleefully in a corner because she knew all along they had this trick up their sleeve.  

      Brian's foot started tapping agitatedly, "Jamie refused outright…said there was no way, and then they drew their sword." He finished bleakly.

My heart started hammering fast in my chest, I hadn't let Jamie explain earlier, he had looked at me, eyes empty and said "they have the power to shut us down if I dinna go Claire", I hadn't cared then what justifications he thought he had.

  To up and leave after I had given everything up to come to be with him. He had never been able to leave before when I needed him.

   I didn't want to hear it from Jamie, but now in the cold light of day and Brian's sad face before me, I had to learn the full truth whether I wanted to or not.

  "There were small clauses built into the contract Jamie signed; what he thought were insignificant details, they are using them against us Claire."

I opened my mouth to ask, had he not sought legal advice? could we fight these contracts?  The resignation of Brian's face somehow told me there was little hope for any of that.

     Brian sat down beside me again, putting his big hand over mine, “He has a huge talent, clever man when it comes to farming, horses, even business..but Jamie has a kind heart…he never wouldha thought that people would be capable of being so underhand.”

  "What are the clauses?" my voice sounded cold, I didn't mean it. I was trying to protect myself from something, and I wasn't even sure what.

“The Dunsany’s have exclusive rights to buy our stock, and they may take up to 180 days to decide if they want them and are entitled to the first refusal." They made it clear that if Jamie decided not to go to Hellwater, they would apply that right on every horse they look at. Even though last night they told us it would be their intention not to buy any. It means we wouldna be legally allowed to pursue another sale…for some time."

  Brian's head bent slowly, and he appeared for the first time as if he might breakdown himself. "the second clause is we canna sell within 200 miles of Hellwater Claire. They effectively can make it so we willna be able to sell our stock to anyone that could offer us a competitive price and by the time ye take in the delay they can impose on such a sale…well ye may as well close us down now.”

Brian’s head dropped and he clasped his hands together “I ken ye are angry with him and it willna help him for me to say this to ye but Ellen and I dinna want him to give into them…”

He sat up straight now, pride in his voice when he spoke again “Jamie isna an ordinary man, he was born to lead, and he saw hundreds of years of work by our kin about to be robbed by those bastards, and I knew we could argue all night, it wouldna mattered, he will sacrifice himself to help us.”

I said nothing, the stillness in the stables, grew thick.

    Brian's choked voice broke the silence, "It kills me, my son has to do this Claire…I would do anything so he mightn't have to but he willna leave us without a home or business, and we canna persuade him otherwise."

  I wiped the dust from my thighs and stood up.

   "I am so sorry a Leannan" he said quietly.

  I squeezed Brian's shoulder as he stood, pulling me to him and embracing me without another word. "We will be yer home still?” his face searching mine. I realised that they had just got used to the idea of Willie living here.

“I don’t know…Jamie doesn’t even know how often he is likely to be able to get home…and I would never go to him there…not now especially." I replied flatly.

  It was only then I heard rustling behind me that I realised Jamie stood watching me with hollow eyes, taking in the sight of my red and tear-streaked face and his father's arms around my shoulders comforting me, something I hadn't allowed him to do.

[whatdoyouthinkmyjobis]

Hunters on the Hellmouth

masterlist

first chapter

previous chapter

AN: Inspired by events in BTVS 7.22 “Chosen.” Here’s a cheat sheet for keeping track of the Potentials.

Thank you for coming with me on this journey. If you think this story was worth five years of my life, please reblog any part of it (or every part of it).

Warning: Character death. Gore.

Chapter 43: Awake

Beautiful, Spike thought. No wonder she didn’t want to come back.

He felt warm and light, like he was floating in tropical waters. Beyond his closed lids, he could sense something bright, but he couldn’t will his eyes to open. He was happy. Peaceful. Heaven had to be even better than this; although, he didn’t expect to experience it. Hell was waiting, but it could wait another minute.

No. Spike tried to move. The soft warmth that embraced him held him tighter. It felt reassuring. He wanted to go back to sleep.

He had to get up. He had to go somewhere. Where?

Comfort gripped him. He was light. Floating. Guilt-free. Was this righteousness?

Spike groped around his mind for something solid. A feeling. A memory.

Where was Buffy? That had to be it, didn’t it? Spike tried to picture her face. Her downturned eyes alight with laughter.

His throat grew dry as he dwelled on her. His skin felt like it would crack. If he lost focus for one moment, he slipped back into warmth and security.

The sharp slope of her nose. The alluring angle of her neck. The lilac smell of her skin.

A cry of agony replaced his peace. If felt like a hot wind would tear his skin from bone if it didn’t cook him alive first. Everything felt unbearably hard.

With herculean effort, Spike opened his eyes. He fell to the ground, scraping his palms against the sidewalk, coughing as if he’d been buried in sand. Even the fading sun felt too bright.

Hello, said a voice in his head. I am relieved to see you.

“Me too, Feathers. You weren’t going easy on me, were you?”

No, I did my best to suppress you. We’ve been wandering around Sunnydale for hours.

Hours? He had to get faster at breaking through. Hours was long enough to lose everything.

Spike, we’re not alone.

Spike could feel it behind him. He got up slowly and turned to see a Bringer -- an eyeless spy -- a few paces behind him. “Enjoying the show?”

It drew a blade from its belt.

The glint of a knife failed to stir any emotion. The creature may as well have brandished a toy for all the alarm it raised in Spike. Who was a Bringer to a divine being like him?

The Bringer charged. Spike raised his hand, catching the creature by its head. A second. A cry. A corpse, eyes burned out from a glimpse of the horribly holy.

Spike’s second tussle with Castiel was shorter, though no less draining. As he pushed himself back up off the street, the sun gave one last gasp before giving up to night.

Night in Sunnydale.

Spike looked around to get his bearings. Storefronts, old brick buildings, and -- he let out a sharp laugh when his eyes landed on the ‘67 Impala. “Were you just aching to see your mates?” he asked his angel passenger.

No. As you’ve grown stronger, I’ve found you more and more difficult to steer.

The lights blazing in the Winchesters’ apartment window flipped off. A minute later, the purring of an engine stopped. They were turning off the generator for the night lest it attract vampires and Bringers.

The sound of Spike’s beating heart would attract monsters, too; not that he needed to worry. Rather than have a brawl in the street, he decided to head up the stairs and drop in on the Winchesters.

A few minutes after Spike had knocked, the locks clicked open, and Sam threw open the door, embracing Spike in a bear hug.

“Where were you?” Sam asked before shouting back into the apartment, “Guys, it’s Spike!”

You seem surprised by Sam’s affection, Castiel said.

“Come in. We’re just doing research.” Sam smiled warmly.

Buffy appeared at the end of the short hall, a faint flush on her cheeks, a large grin on her lips. “Thank god, you’re okay! You freaked us out with your disappearing act.”

She cares about you, Castiel said.

Shut up! Spike batted at the better angel in his mind.

Sharing his mind -- his darkest fears and dirtiest secrets -- with any creature was Spike’s least favorite part. He’d rather remember his cruelest kills then have another being picking at his scabs.

Inside, the candle-lit living room looked cozy. Homey. Dean and Bobby gave brief hellos before returning to scour through books Spike himself had studied many times. He knew exactly what they were looking for. “Still trying to find an escape route?” he asked Sam.

Sam nodded somberly. “They’re determined. But I’ve read through all the books we have, and there’s not a single chapter called Sam Gets To Live.”

“Not funny,” Dean grumbled.

Sam looked at Spike and shrugged.

This is where Sam and Dean live? Castiel asked. For some reason, I expected more neon beer signs.

“You want a beer?” Dean asked.

“I’ll get some.” With a downcast look, Sam didn’t even wait for a response. “I don’t feel like looking at books right now.”

Spike sat in an armchair across from Bobby. Buffy had reclaimed her seat on the worn leather couch beside Dean. She looked happier than she had in weeks. It wasn’t a leap to imagine them gathered around a dinner table, Bobby carving a turkey, Dean bouncing a blonde baby on his knee, Buffy -- surrounded by family and friends -- glowing with happiness.

He imagined the scene with Sam, of course. Whenever he tried to imagine Sam gone, sacrificed to the Hellmouth to save them all, it broke the spell. In that scenario, Spike imagined Dean hollow-eyed, sour beer on his breath, looking for a fight every night. He imagined Buffy rescuing Dean over and over, trying to save him from his own depression until it finally swallowed him whole.

Spike couldn’t let that happen.

Buffy’s eyes kept darting to him. Finally, she gave up on her book. “Where did you go? Jo said you got all weird and left.”

“Just needed to think,” Spike said.

Sam returned with an armful of beers. “We’re glad you showed up when you did. We were thinking about sending out another search party.”

“For me?” Spike asked with genuine surprise.

“The whole lot of us went Marco Poloing for you for a few hours.” Buffy’s eyes were soft and glowing. “You’re important to us. Sunnydale at night? Come on.”

You’re important to us. Her words sent a warm ripple through Spike’s body.

You still love her, Castiel observed.

Seriously, I don’t need a highlight reel, Spike shot back. I love her, yes, but I don’t crave her. And she doesn’t need me. Dean will take care of her just fine.

“You missed Castiel’s funeral,” Buffy said.

“Not Cas,” Spike and Dean said in unison. They locked eyes for an awkward second before Dean added, “Jimmy, his vessel.”

“Got an inside look, thanks.” Spike sipped his beer. It was warm, but he didn’t mind.

Was the funeral nice? Castiel asked. Jimmy deserved something nice.

Spike sighed internally. “I’m sure everyone ‘ad a good sniffle.”

Sam nodded. “We weren’t sure about his religion, so Keisha sang some hymns, Rachel recited the Mourner’s Kaddish, and Maya made a flower garland for his remains for good measure.”

That sounds lovely, Castiel said.

Bobby snapped his book shut and tossed it on the pile near where Sam was sitting on the floor. “Where are those new books you brought?”

Sam pointed to a duffel against the wall. “They aren't going to have an answer either.”

“Still worth a look,” Bobby grumbled as he got up.

It didn’t seem fair, not that the world ever had been. Sam was a good man. Kind-hearted, smart, sensitive, self-sacrificing. Why was he Lucifer’s chosen vessel? Spike knew about the demon blood Sam had been fed as a baby. It was one of many revelations he’d made when they’d been captured by Lucifer’s minions months back. But why did the Devil want someone so good?

“I’m glad you made it back,” Spike said, looking at Dean.

“Now we’re just waiting for the Apocalypse.” Sam sipped his beer ruefully.

“Not what I meant,” Spike said.

“We’re not ready, anyway,” Dean said, glaring at his brother.

“Sure we are.” Sam returned the stare. “We have the key to the cage. We have a location to open it. We even have get away cars all ready for the girls. All we need is Michael.”

Michael will be here soon. I can feel him.

“And a way to save you,” Buffy said quietly for Dean who was a mix of clenched teeth and red eyes.

“What if,” Spike asked tentatively, “Michael comes soon. Tonight, maybe?”

Dean turned to him with unmasked alarm. “Why tonight?”

Spike shrugged. “I figure if the equivalent of Heaven’s bell’op can bring you two through, there’s no way the reigning angel can’t find a way through with ‘is vessel.”

I am not a bellhop. I’m a warrior class. Heaven doesn't even have bellhops.

“Then I say yes, and we end it,” Sam said firmly.

“No,” Dean said, quietly.

“What’s the point of opening the cage if we can’t get Lucifer in?”

“Goddamnit, I will push the asshole in myself before I let him possess you!” Dean snapped.

“You ain’t strong enough to hold the Devil, anyhow,” Bobby said calmly, resuming his study in the old plaid armchair.

“Then I’ll get ready!” Sam countered, weakly.

“Ready?” Spike asked.

Sam sighed. He seemed more and more beaten as the conversation continued. “To strengthen my body for an angel as strong as Lucifer, well, I’d,” he scanned the group and dropped his eyes to his hands, “I’d have to drink a bunch of demon blood.”

“How much?” Spike asked, aware that wasn’t the comforting response.

Sam shrugged. “A whole demon, maybe?”

Spike took a long final pull of his beer then stood up. “Right. I’m going to leave you all to family business. I need to see if Jo taped Passions for me.”

What’s Passions? Castiel asked.

Everyone in the room looked at him just as quizzically as Castiel sounded.

“It’s dark out there, boy,” Bobby noted.

“I’ll drive you.” Sam quickly popped up and grabbed the car keys from a tray.

Spike bit back his urge to protest. It would have looked too suspicious.

They care about you, Castiel said.

Stop, please, Spike begged.

I just think that you should be fully informed before committing to this decision. People will miss you.

They’ll miss Sam more, Spike shot back as he and Sam descended the stairs. Anymore heart-warming details you feel like sharing?

I think Jo might be interested in you. Romantically.

Thanks.

“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ll walk back,” Spike said once they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“That’s insane, Spike. The town is crawling with vampires and Bringers.”

That was his hope. “Look, I can’t explain it to you, but I’ll be fine. Just stand in the stairwell for a while and pretend you drove me.”

The determination on Sam’s face was clear. “You’re my friend, Spike. I don’t want you to get killed.”

Spike patted Sam’s shoulder and smiled. “As my friend, could you just trust me?”

After a moment, Sam nodded.

“Thanks, and Sam? Don’t say yes. No matter what.” With that warning, Spike turned away into the night.

“Watch out boy she'll chew you up / (Oh here she comes) / She's a maneater,” Jo sang along with the music as she flipped through a stack of CDs. The best part of crashing in this stranger’s home was the owner's extensive collection of 80s music, some of it even on vinyl.

Not long after the Harvelles arrived in Sunnydale, they, Andrew, and several Potentials had moved out of Buffy’s house and into an unoccupied brick ranch two doors down. Her mom, she’d noticed, spent her days fussing over all the girls and baking. So much baking. Jo knew this was a stress tick, but she wasn’t going to argue about fresh cornbread muffins.

Jo split her time putting on a brave face for the girls and quietly sobbing into a beer in her bedroom. She’d been given a second lease on life only to have it jerked away again. The painful memory of having her guts ripped open by a Hellhound was still hot and putrid, and the idea of going into another situation like that with the burning knowledge of what could happen made her newly healed stomach turn.

For the first time in her life, Jo Harvelle wanted to turn tail and run. Thankfully, that wasn't a problem for today. They were in a stalemate until the Winchesters found a way to spare Sam, or until Michael arrived.

She leaned back on her elbows and looked at the Potentials she’d been charged with. The youngest, fifteen-year-old Rachel, danced carefree to the Hall and Oates song currently blasting through the stereo. Like Jo, Rachel had lost her father at a young age, and she’d already seen her share of bodies here in Sunnydale. She’d survived the battle at the winery, yet she still danced.

How could Jo turn her back on a girl like Rachel?

Jo got up to dance with her until the stereo shuffled to the next song -- “Purple Rain.” Betje and Lara -- two of the strongest, most experienced girls who had both witnessed the murders of their Watchers -- stood looking out of the big picture window.

“Vot do you think they are doing?” Lara asked, arms crossed protectively. She was not one to express much other than rage.

Betje combed her fingers through her short blue hair. “No idea.”

Jo joined them peering out into the street. In the moonlight, she could made out dozens of figures looking back at her house, at Xander’s, at Buffy’s. At every occupied home remaining in Sunnydale. At this point, they were used to vampire spies, but this was the first time she had seen the creepy robed Bringers.

Jo shivered slightly. “They can’t get us in here,” she said for herself as much as for the girls.

“This isn’t our house.” Betje was all business.

“But it’s warded,” Jo reminded them. “Let them look. They can’t get in.”

The cd player shuffled again and belted out the first chords of “Bad Reputation.”

A cunning grin spread across Betje’s face. “Let’s give them something to watch.” She jumped into the middle of the room, dancing with Rachel who played air guitar. Betje sang along at the top of her lungs, for the moment, carefree.

Willow felt confident the Potentials would not destroy the house. Well, not her Potentials anyway. Ever since That Day (Buffy’s possession followed by the angels’ visit and Hecate’s appearance tended to be referred to only in whispers and ambiguities), Willow had been teaching her quartet of magically-inclined Potentials how to cast a protective shield spell. None of them were top tier fighters, but shielding the others could prove useful.

They’d started by trying to keep a paper crane still while Willow blew magical gusts of air at it. The cranes had flown all around the room. After weeks of practice, not only were Ella, Alma, Ju and Eva able to keep the cranes still, but they could also work together to cast a shield the size of a car; with Willow’s help, the size of a house.

A warm cup of tea in her hands, Willow left her mini coven as they tried to teach Margo -- who showed no magical skills at all -- how to levitate a pencil. This was the perfect night for turning in early with a book.

For a moment after she opened her bedroom door and saw Dawn making up a cot, Willow was surprised. Ever since the Potentials had arrived, Dawn had bunked with Willow and left her room to Giles. In the three weeks since That Day, Dawn had been staying with her sister at the Winchester’s apartment.

But now the boys were back in town.

“Hey, Dawnie! Just like old times, huh?” Willow said, sweetly.

Dawn groaned and flopped onto her cot.

“Oh, sweetie! Bummed about being left behind?”

“Not really. This is way better than crashing in Jada’s apartment.” Dawn propped herself up on her elbow. “It’s just -- Did you ever find a shirt that you used to wear when you were a little kid, and you couldn’t believe you were ever that small? That’s how the house feels.”

Willow sat on the edge of her bed. Pajamas and books would have to wait. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there aren’t any old times. I feel like this whole Apocalypse thing, especially That Day, sort of ripped time into before and after.” She added quietly, “Like when Mom died.”

“Things will settle down again, you’ll see. This is what? Our seventh Apocalypse? Things get rumbly, we knock them down, things chill out for a bit. It’s the circle of Sunnydale. Once the Potentials go back home, everything will feel normal again.”

Dawn shook her head but said nothing.

“You know, no one’s wanted to claim Buffy’s room if you want a big bed all to yourself,” Willow said with a pleasant smile.

“Nah, I’d rather crash with you if it’s okay.”

Unzipping her bag, Dawn pulled out a familiar pair of sushi pajamas and Mr. Gordo. She hugged the plush pig to her chest. “Assuming we all live through this, do you think Buffy and Dean are going to get married?”

That question threw Willow for a loop. She still hadn’t processed Buffy’s pregnancy revelation -- something she was sure Dawn was in the dark about. Married? “Where does that fall on the scale of not normal?”

Still playing with the pig, Dawn grinned. “Not all change is bad. So if we’re in a before/after situation, it’d be cool if one of those events was actually, you know, nice. Besides, a proposal after the adrenaline rush of saving the world would be super romantic.”

“Pretty sure Buffy would prefer a nice dinner. Minimal fighting.”

“I guess. That sounds like her, too.” Dawn set Mr. Gordo on her pillow. “Was there a line for the bathroom?”

Dean stripped before quickly dashing under his covers. “Ahhhh!” He’d missed the feel of his flannel sheets against his skin. His pillow that smelled faintly of Buffy’s shampoo. His bed. His home.

Returning to the road life after months in Sunnydale felt like ripping open a scab. Every little thing he used to think of as a quirk of the life -- the stale smell of cigarettes in the room, bad coffee, bumpy mattresses, scuzzy gas station bathrooms -- got under his skin. Needling reminders that he was far from home. Far from Buffy.

Apparently, he didn’t hide his irritation well. At one point, Sam had popped in Dean’s favorite Led Zeppelin tape and suggested they not speak until the state line.

But now he was home (for a little while at least) and waiting for the woman of his dreams to come to bed.

He could feel his length stiffen the moment she stepped into the room. Her hair was clipped up, exposing her long neck. Wearing only one of his t-shirts, she shivered slightly as she climbed into bed.

“Is it warm enough to have the windows open?” She scrunched up her nose disapprovingly at the small crack letting in the night air.

“We could get warm.” He grinned boyishly and removed the clip from her hair. Her tousled waves cascaded over her shoulders. “I never get tired of that.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully. “You know, I dreamed of you every night you were gone.”

He’d dreamed of her too. It was their wedding day. With Sam riding shotgun, Dean was trying to get to the church; only they kept stopping to save people. With each turn, another monster. Another innocent. Eventually, Dean’s tux was splattered with blood. He wasn’t sure if he ever made it to the altar, but he knew it was the first time in his life he’d dreamed of getting married.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he said.

The first flaming bottle crashed through the window.

Screaming wrenched Willow from her sleep. Before she could dash downstairs, a molotov cocktail smashed her window, breaking on the frame and catching fire. She yanked the flaming curtains from the wall and smothered the fire with her quilt.

Dozens of Bringers and vampires gathered on the lawn. In the middle of the crowd stood Buffy.

Willow’s vision went white.

Sam and Bobby met on the landing where the old hunter handed him an axe. “Guess Spike was right.”

“We don't know if Michael's here,” Sam said, but he knew in his gut this was the end. They had to get to Sunnydale High. He should have plenty of demons to drink there.

“Dean?” Bobby asked.

“On his way.”

“Good thing we were ready,” said Bobby.

Sam adjusted the bag of books on his shoulder. They hadn’t unpacked after arriving home. Instead, Sam and Dean had packed up their few mementos -- photographs, cards, Dad’s journal, even a few of Buffy’s things -- knowing that their time in the apartment would be limited.

They hadn’t expected it to be this limited.

Two duffels landed with a thud just outside the Winchesters’ door quickly followed by Dean and Buffy.

Buffy snapped her cell phone shut. “Dawn said it's cocktail hour over there, too.” She readied her glistening bow. “Dawn's with Giles,” she said to no one.

Smoke began pouring out of the apartment. They hurried down the stairs, away from the fire and towards the monsters.

Something heavy and snarling hit the street door.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Dean mouthed one, two, three. He kicked the front door open and fired into the monstrous crowd.

They had barely doused the last fire when a second volley of bottles assailed the house. One crashed against a Potential’s skull, bathing her in accelerant and flame, sending the girl to the floor screaming while others tossed wet blankets on her in vain. The blankets sizzled and smoked.

The stink of charred hair still hung in the air when the third assault began.

Beyond the broken window, Giles could see Potentials streaming from the other houses. Better to fight than to burn. “Everyone grab weapons!” he shouted, shoving a sword in someone’s hands. "And shoes!"

Immediately, girls gathered at the door. The best fighters first, followed by the girls whom Willow had taught a protection spell, then everyone else. Robin had parked a school bus on the block, and Bobby had hot-wired dozens of cars in the last few weeks. They just needed to get in the vehicles and rush to the school.

This was the simple part of the night.

“Giles, we have a problem,” said Dawn, rushing down the stairs.

He passed out weapons in a flurry -- crossbow, stake, bo staff. “Bit of an understatement.”

“What’s our Plan B for if Willow goes all Hec-a-no?” She pointed outside.

Moving closer to the window, Giles saw Willow, phasing between three forms, screaming at and floating over Buffy. “I take it that isn’t your sister.”

“Nope. She called. She’s on her way to the school with the Winchesters and Bobby.”

“Lucifer still doesn't have a vessel, so at least Hecate isn’t fighting It. I suppose, if it comes down to it, we can tie Willow to the bus like a balloon.” Giles turned back to the girls waiting for his signal. “The plan hasn’t changed. Everyone go!”

Flame licked up the curtains and jumped to the ceiling. The heat in the packed house squeezed their lungs.

“We can’t fight them!” said Ju. Usually flippantly cool, now she was trembling. The vampire bite she got at the vineyard still blazed, two angry pink dots, on her neck.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, Giles looked into her eyes. “Ju, you can do this. You can save yourself. You can save others.”

“But I’m not a Slayer!”

He slipped an axe into her unsteady hands and closed her fingers firmly around it. “You will be.”

Betje burst from the front door, slicing through two Bringers in one stroke. She rolled to her left, cutting a swath through the crowd.

Keisha and Lara stepped forward with aerosol hairspray and lighters, setting four vampires on fire. Other girls streamed out from behind them, plunging their stakes in the in vampire’s hearts, hacking off the heads of other monsters.

“Go! Go! Go!” Karen blocked for some of the greener girls as she fought her way to her car. She swung open the back door, shoving three girls inside with one push. “Come on!” she screamed, cursing for those left behind. She tossed Rachel and Mio in the crowded backseat and slammed the door closed.

Before Karen could shove anyone up front, something grabbed her ankles. She dropped to the driveway, air knocked from her lungs, where she saw a vampire under her car. It hissed, bared its fangs, and bit her leg. Gritting her teeth, Karen plunged a stake into the monster’s eye before scrambling into her driver’s seat. She backed up, the front wheels thumping over the vampire. For good measure, she drove over it again before throwing open the passenger door and collecting three more Potentials.

A light, the same icy blue that kept cracking through Castiel’s skin, flashed in her rearview mirror. Bodies flew threw the air. Karen gunned it.

From the across the street, Spike watched the Impala pull up to the high school and spill out its heroes -- three divine vessels and Bobby Singer. Wedged between the Winchesters, Buffy and her golden bow seemed impossibly small. The rag-tag family crept into the school, prepared to follow through with Sam’s suicide mission.

Spike lit a cigarette and took a long drag. The smoke burned his new lungs, but he kept the cough down. He’d missed smoking. “Lucifer, we need to talk.”

He waited.

“Lucifer?”

At his right hand, the image of Buffy appeared, a mixture of surprise and pleasure on her face.

“You don’t need much ceremony, do you?” Spike said.

“You’re an old friend, Spike,” she replied. “Although, you did disappoint me.” She pouted at him playfully. It struck Spike that the real Buffy would never do this. Lucifer had had access to so much of Buffy inside of Spike’s mind, but the archangel still didn’t understand her.

He still underestimated her.

Spike sucked on the inside of his cheeks. “You wanted me to hurt her.”

She grinned. “And now I don’t need you to hurt her.”

“‘Bout that.” Spike hoped the fallen archangel couldn’t sense what had been in him. “There’s no chance of winning here, is there?”

Buffy, or the cold and capricious idea of Buffy born of his broken heart and shattered mind, shook her head.

A few vampires entered the school. He wondered how many it would take to open the Hellmouth and what horrors lay beneath.

He tossed his cigarette on the grass and ground it out with his toe. “Then you can use me.”

“What?”

“Yes, the answer’s yes.” Spike held his arms wide in surrender. “I’ll be your vessel thing for the end of the bloody world.”

The-First-as-Buffy cocked her head to the side, inspecting him for cracks, for schemes. “Why? Why now?”

“Like I said. End of the world. I don’t want to see how it ends.”

“But I want you to,” she said with syrupy slowness. Stretching on her toes, she whispered into his ear, “I want you to watch her burn.”

“A fine and dandy thing for the Devil to want,” Spike shoved his hand through her chest, “but you’re still short a body. Unless you think darlin’ Sammy’s going to change his mind. Your big brother’s coming, isn’t ‘e? Pick a pony or you’ll lose the race.”

Right and left, tires squealed as carloads of kids took off for the school. Ellen, Karen, Jo, Anya, Xander, Dawn ticked them off as they escaped. She shouted at remaining pajama-clad army to get on the bus, in the safety of the shield Willow’s small coven of Potentials had put up.

“I think we’ve routed most of them,” Ella, one of the witches-in-training said, optimistically.

Dawn played along. “It’s a good thinning. Monster pattern baldness. Now we have to get in and go.”

Out of nowhere, a spear pinned Ella to the bus. Blood trickled from her mouth as she tried to pull it out.

The shield collapsed.

Before she could scream, something yanked Dawn down by her hair. She scraped her palms against the asphalt. A vampire dropped on top of her, laughing.

Dawn yanked a cross from her pocket and slapped it against his cheek.

The vampire howled but did not move.

Her stake was underneath her, grinding into her back. She felt around her for anything and came up with a rock. She bashed it into the monster’s face, snapping a fang.

Another vampire ran over and tugged on her assailant. “We gotta go, bro!”

Blood oozing from the burn and the bash, he snarled at his friend. “Not until she’s dinner!”

But there was a nervous urgency in the other vampire’s eyes. The vampire punched Dawn in the jaw before running off.

Then, Lucifer-as-Buffy disappeared, and Willow-sans-goddess fell to the earth. The sudden lack of vampire snarls and Hecate’s chorus of shouting cast an eerie quiet.

Giles rushed to where Willow lay prone on the lawn and scooped her into his arms.

Dawn stumbled onto the bus.

“Dawn! God!” Robin eased her into a seat.

The bus stank of sweat and blood. Ella hung limp on the spear just outside Dawn’s window. And beyond that. “What? Noooo! No reinforcements! Not for the bad guys!” Dawn whined.

Robin peered out the window. “Cover your face.” Using the butt of the gun, he broke the window, then raised his shotgun loaded with Bobby’s modified bullets, to his shoulder, and shot at a pair of Turok-Han that had appeared down the street.

Click. Click. BOOM!

Robin leaned out of the bus window shouting, “ON THE BUS NOW! MOVE!”

Before the monstrous vampires, stinging from the bullets, could make it down the block, the sky lit up with a blue streak of lightning, touching down where the uber-vampires stood. In their place stood a young man, tall and thin. He would have looked handsome if the sight of him wasn’t so terrifying.

“Did he just fall from the fooking sky?!” Kate shouted.

Someone shushed her. The hair on Dawn’s arms prickled. She felt the shush in her soul. Don’t draw attention to us. He. Is. Dangerous.

The remaining Potentials bolted for the bus. Giles followed, crashing into girls, Willow slipping from his arms. Their bodies jerked as Robin threw the bus in reverse.

“Who is that?” Wook asked quietly. Her close-cropped hair was matted down with glossy blood. It looked like the blood now soaking her shirt would never stop.

“I believe,” said Giles as he checked Wook’s head for the wound, “Michael has arrived.”

Blue lightning arcing from his back, the young man down the block raised his hands, sending all of the Bringers and remaining vampires into the air. With a clap of his hands, the monsters turned to mist.

Xander held his breath until the bus arrived at the school. Buffy had given him marching orders: pack his car full of Potentials and drive. Do not stop to collect Willow or Dawn or $200.

“Since when do we leave people behind?” he’d asked her.

Tears had rimmed her eyes, but she’d been too determined to let them fall. “This is beyond us. If Heaven and Hell break loose, we won’t have time to stop to look for people. Get the Potentials to the school. Save the world.”

“Dawn, Willow, Giles. Dawn, Willow, Giles,” Xander muttered under his breath. Saving the world was Buffy’s fate. He just wanted his family to be safe. “If we’re cutting deals, I can live with just Dawn and Will.”

A small, familiar hand squeezed his. Xander turned and locked eyes with Anya. “I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of him without thinking. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Anya pursed her lips. “I’m here, Xander. If I survive, no promises I won’t take off, but for now I’m here.”

“Me too,” said a voice from behind him.

Anya and Xander both turned to look at Andrew, hand over his heart, gazing at them lovingly.

“Oh goody,” Xander deadpanned.

The bus pulled up, blood decorating the side in an ugly smear, and the door sighed open. The girls -- in pajamas, pigtails and retainers -- streamed out, their chatter an equal mix of saddened and excited.

“Did you see--?”

“She didn’t make it.”

“Do we have first aid?”

Finally, his eyes fell on Dawn, scraped and bruised but alive. She cut to the point: “Michael’s here.”

“Isn’t that good,” asked Rona, who’d escaped in his car. “Ain’t he here to put Lucifer in line?”

“It’s good in the ‘Golly, I want to die young as a sacrifice’ way,” said Anya.

Xander patted Anya’s shoulder. “Not helping.”

“Best to not gather outside. Into the school now,” Giles said.

"Oh my God, no!" shouted Anya, pointing at Willow, unconscious, in Robin’s arms.

Xander rushed to his friend's side.

"She wears those on purpose to give me nightmares, doesn't she?" Anya pointed at the offending bunny slippers on Willow's feet.

“She went full goddess, but didn’t bother to fight a single monster,” Robin explained ruefully.

“Why am I always missing this goddess thing?” Xander asked as he checked his friend out for injuries.

Anya shook her head. “No way. Dark Willow, Vampire Willow, and straight Willow are enough alternative Willows for me. I draw a line!”

“We’re at the big game without a QB. Can our B team pick up the slack?” Xander asked.

Giles looked at him quizzically. “Suffice to say, our fate would look rosier if we woke her up.”

Inside the school, the walls were covered in graffiti - of both the dumb kid and the occult varieties. A trashcan fire blazed in the hallway. Reddish-brown smears and flecks peppered the walls and floor. One streak had the distinct look of hands being dragged. An undisturbed layer of dust coated the floor. Five Bringers lay dead or dying by the office door where two more were trying to break in. Jo shot one in the head. Maya gutted the other.

Behind the door, someone moved a barricade of furniture before finally snapping the lock open. Sam peeked out of the office, grinning at them with his boyish dimples. “About time you got here.”

Buffy rushed to Dawn, sweeping her up in a tight hug. When they finally released, Buffy looked at her sister from head to toe. “Are those my pajamas?”

“Is that Dean’s shirt?” Dawn tugged on the large tee Buffy had knotted just above her jeans.

“Where are zee vampires?” asked wide-eyed Eva, visibly shaking.

Bobby, holding up the intercom, waved from inside the room.

“Exorcised,” Dean said. “They didn’t have souls, so poof.”

Robin nodded his approval. “Do you think that will work on Turok-Han?”

No one knew, so they didn’t lay odds.

Buffy took Willow in her arms and sat on the floor cradling her. “How long has she been out?” she asked quietly.

“How long was the drive?” Robin replied.

“We need her.”

“Understatement.”

Suddenly, Xander knew how to help. He leaned over and clapped his hands by Willow’s head. “Hey, Will! Time for the Algebra test!”

Willow sat up, surprised. “But I haven’t studied!” She quickly patted her body. “Okay. Dressed. Not that nightmare.”

“Different nightmare. More fangs.” Xander extended a hand to help her up.

"Speaking of nightmares--"

Giles cut Anya off. "Timing. Apocalypse."

With Buffy, the trio of old friends pressed passed the cubicles to Robin’s old office. Everything they needed to summon Hecate was laid out on his desk -- sand, candles, honey, and Artemis’ bow and arrows.

“Should be a cake walk, Will.” Xander clapped her on the shoulder. “I hear your goddess has already given a good tongue lashing tonight.”

“Cake.” Willow traced her fingers over the curve of the bow. “Mercurial, powerful cake that could swallow me. Oh! I need anchors.”

The Slayer snapped into leader mode. “Bobby, Xander, Dawn, help Will. Giles, Anya, Robin, take the north hall. Andrew, Ellen, Jo, take the south. I don’t know what the Hellmouth holds, but I’m betting it’s not a BOGO sale on shoes. We have to keep it in. Dean, Sam, girls, you’re with me.”

“Where’s Spike?” Kate asked, looking around eagerly.

“Spike took off this afternoon,” Jo said.

“He what?” cried several voices.

“No, it’s okay,” Sam said. “We saw him tonight. In fact, I saw him heading down the hall before you all got here.”

“Alone?!” squealed Rachel.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Buffy said. “Let’s go.”

Candles cast creepy shadows across the principal’s trashed office. Willow and her anchors had cleaned enough space to draw Hecate’s symbol with sand.

Placing Artemis’ weapon in her lap, Willow encouraged everyone to lay their hands on her. “Anchors don’t have to do anything. Just keep my soul from slipping into whatever soul-dimension Hecate is in. ”

“That don’t sound good.”

“It’s okay, Bobby,” said Dawn with a nervous smile. “Willow’s the most powerful witch in the world.”

“That don’t sound good either.”

Willow clutched the bow, focusing on its vibrations. Ka-thump! Ka-Thump! A strong rhythm, like a heartbeat, like a battle march.

Before Hecate’s name had finished falling from Willow’s lips, her world turned black and cold. Above her, pearl moons eclipsed one another -- two, now four, now six.

“Where am I?” Willow twisted and turned in the darkness, floating free.

In the distance, stars flickered to life in the shape of a woman with a series of smaller women in her, a nesting doll of light.

“You are in me as I am in you,” said Hecate’s alto chorus.

Willow tried to refrain from rolling her eyes. She didn’t have time for metaphysics when lives were at stake. “I heard you gave Lucifer the what for of his life. Surprised me. Those whats and fors.”

The stars in the distance flickered into an image of wings that quickly exploded into darkness. “My world is filthy with angels.”

“But you said that didn’t matter.” Willow struggled to keep her voice even. “You said they’d only destroy part of the world, part of humanity. That’s like losing an eyelash, right?”

Suddenly, the inky blackness was alight with a mural of people engaging in every human experience from the banal to the exciting. “I did not create this world, but I have enjoyed caring for it. I have enjoyed letting you humans play with magic that would normally be beyond your reach. I have enjoyed watching you walk and war, fight and feast.”

“Not to be a grammar stickler, but I’m not into your use of past tense. We humans are still alive. Michael just arrived. We can fight them!”

The glittering stars faded. “I tried to block them, to banish them to no avail. The world is infected with angels.”

“If you would just unchain Artemis--”

“No!” The stars flared so brightly, Willow had to close her eyes. “The Huntress betrayed me once. I will not count on her in this hour of need.”

Something in the distance caught Willow’s eye. When Hecate said Huntress, a star twinkled.

Focusing on the star, Willow whispered, “Artemis.” The star blinked again. Unsure how to move in this space, Willow willed herself to the star.

Without warning, something grabbed her, and they flew.

When Buffy and company arrived at the seal in the basement, they found Spike already tossing dead Bringers on it. Piled against the far wall were dozens and dozens of pale bodies.

The hairs on the back of Buffy’s neck stood on end.

“You’re not doing it,” Dean said in a low voice. “You’re not even ready anyway.”

Buffy shot Sam a quick glance. He was eyeing the bloody seal hungrily.

“You’ve been busy,” Buffy said. Something about Spike instinctively made her grip her weapon tighter. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

Spike smiled as he watched the blood spiral out of the Bringer, filling the goat-faced design. He swayed back and forth happily, as if he was listening to music. “Wasn’t sure ‘ow long you’d take.”

“‘Ow long we’d take?” said Kate with a smirk. “Would a been a wee bit faster ‘ad you not gone rogue.”

The small room was getting more crowded by the second as more Potentials pushed in from the hallway. Buffy stood firm across the seal from Spike, but Kate rode the wave of people closer to him.

He looked hungry.

There’s blood on his lip. What was happening dawned on Buffy in a flash of horror, but there was no time for her to cry out.

Spike patted Kate’s cheeks as she gazed at him, happy to have his attention for a moment. “He always liked your spunk and pessimism.”

Then, he snapped her neck.

Dani raised her sword to strike him, and he blasted her against the wall with a sickening crack. She fell to ground limp, leaving a streak of blood and brain behind her.

The other girls, unsure of what was happening, shuffled back toward Buffy.

Spike clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. “‘ow ‘bout we unleash a little Hell?”

The seal exploded.

The school rumbled, shaking loose plaster. Jo choked up on her axe, its weight reassuring her. “So, Andrew, this gate ever opened before?”

He glanced at the ceiling while he chose his words. “I think it skipped its annual eruption last spring.”

“What’s come out of it?” Ellen asked.

“Well, I was kind of focused on surviving graduation, but I think I remember a dragony thing.”

The weight of Jo’s ax no longer reassured her. An army of vampires she could fight, but a dragon? How on earth could she keep that in the school, let alone kill it?

Something snarled behind her. Two dozen yellow-eyed vampires stood at the school’s entrance, grinning at them hungrily.

“Showtime.”

Buffy fell, the rubble of Lucifer-in-Spike’s blast battering her, cutting her, until she landed with a thud, all the air and fight knocked out of her. Roughly thirty feet above her, the door to the seal room hung open at a funny angle. The rocky stairs under the seal remained intact, though perilous, with large gaps in spots.

Unphased, Lucifer-in-Spike sat beside her and caressed her cheek. “I’ve dreamed of touching you since I landed on your little Hellmouth. I’ve dreamed of ripping off your skin and snapping all of your fragile bones. Earth’s protector is just one girl.”

Ears still ringing, Buffy patted the ground around her for a weapon. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see blurry Potentials wearily trying to stand.

Lucifer continued, “I knew Spike was obsessed with you, but now that I’m in here -- goddamn, he doesn’t think about anything else. In fact, this bastard thought he could save you by controlling me. Isn’t that funny? He’s screaming right now, wants me to leave you alone, but I want him to watch you suffer first.”

He snatched a sword that had landed near her, and plunged it into her gut.

Dean had landed near the edge of a chasm. Rachel landed closer, the hard fall of her small frame enough to widen the cracked edge of the ledge. She was barely sitting up, wiping blood from her nose, when the ledge collapsed. Dean grabbed her hand, her body stopping with a jerk and bouncing against the rock. Far below her, a slew of monsters -- Turok-Han, Gorgons, Hellhounds, Hydra -- looked up and unleashed a deafening roar.

Rachel shook her head, fat tears flowing. “Don’t let go. Please.”

A cry of pain to his right. Buffy. He tried to block it out as the monsters raced up the walls toward Rachel. “I got you, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Dean said, pulling her up.

Suddenly, Dean was flying through the air listening to Rachel scream as she tumbled into the abyss.

Spike stood over him, yanked him up by his collar and grinned at him. “Hello, Dean. Time to play.”

Willow could not twist to see what was carrying her. Whatever it was made her feel warm and safe, like sitting beside a fire.

The ka-thump! Ka-Thump! of the bow’s energy grew louder. As Willow drew closer, she saw the star was actually a glistening cage. Inside the cage, a golden figure teetering between girl and woman, trapped in a heavy sleep, lay curled on a bed of evergreen boughs.

Willow alighted near the cage, hovering in space. She turned to behold a creature at least twice her height. It had a face and hands of mirror-like molten silver. Its many wings covered its eyes and feet while another pair furled out from its back. The feathers glinted like diamonds and rattled like swords. Small arcs of lightening traveled between the tips of the wings haloing its entire being.

“Do not be afraid.” Its voice sounded like the thunder of a thousand kettle drums. It’s mouth flicked like a blue flame.

Willow tried to scurry back -- for she was very much afraid -- but there was nothing for her to push against. She twisted and turned in the void, helpless.

“Willow, I am Castiel.”

She stopped twisting for a moment and considered the possibility. “Then why am I not angel-blinded like Steph was?”

“Because you’re not physically here,” he replied. “I am also trying to mask myself as much as I can.”

“Mask what?!”

Suddenly, Hecate landed with a primal scream so deafening, Willow feared it would snap her ribs. “Get ooouuut, angel! GET OUT!”

The stars flared so brightly, Willow squeezed her eyes shut lest she go blind.

The angel held out its mirrored hands in a gesture of openness. “I have not come here to fight you or to violate your sanctity, Goddess of Witches. I am merely here as a messenger and a witness.”

Two of her heads roared at him while the crone face snapped, “Why should I believe a filthy angel?”

From nothing, the angel produced a needle-like dagger. “I offer you my blade as assurance. If you feel I am an imposter, if I am here for any purpose other than to talk, you may kill me.”

For a fleeting moment before Hecate’s snarling heads blurred back into one, her pearl eyes blew wide with surprise. Slowly, she reached out to take the blade.

Willow exhaled in relief.

Hecate twirled the blade in her hand. “What is your message, Witness?”

Castiel’s flame tongue flickered. “My brother Gabriel and I took the Winchesters back to our world. Lucifer followed.”

“I am aware.” Hecate paced between them and the golden cage. “I tried to lock all the doors upon his departure, but not even I could seal the crack through which he slipped.”

By concentrating, Willow slowly moved away from Castiel. Perhaps she could rouse Artemis while Hecate was occupied.

But Hecate was no easily distracted monster. She began to phase in and out of her three forms. One pair of pearl eyes focused on Castiel, and another fixed firmly on Willow. “What are you doing, small one?”

Willow froze. Of course Hecate would notice. I was moving with magic! “I’m doing exactly what you think I’m doing.”

One of the goddess’s heads yowled like an injured animal. “Did you think,” another face asked calmly, “that you could trick me with this ruse?”

“No trick was intended,” said Castiel. “How could we possibly hope to best you? Especially here?”

“It’s just,” Willow bit the inside of her cheek, “could I see her? She’s been powering my friend for so long.”

For a moment, Hecate closed her eyes as she phased back into one form. “After I deal with the angel.”

Confident in Willow’s obedience, Hecate turned her full attention to Castiel. She held up the blade threateningly. “What is your message?”

Castiel gave no sign of fear. “While in our dimension, the Winchesters -- of course -- stumbled upon a meeting of several gods discussing what to do regarding the angels’ war.”

“I received word of this meeting.”

“Lucifer arrived. He killed them all.”

Silence fell between them. Hecate lowered the blade.

“All?”

“Odin, Ganesh, Mercury--”

The scatter of stars on Hecate's skin faded to black.

“Even my brother Gabriel. Kali and I were the only divine survivors.”

The goddess turned away from him. She wore only one broken-hearted face as she crouched beside the golden cage. “I am not surprised you found her, small one. After all, you found her vessel.”

Willow looked to Castiel for some clue what to do, but his frightening face was inscrutable. “What did Artemis do to you?” she whispered.

Hecate reached her hand through the bars to stroke the sleeping goddess’ hair. “Long ago, there was war. I only entered into the fray on behalf of you, my witches. I feared War and Father would be the death of you.”

“I thought you didn’t care about us?”

“I lied,” the goddess said. “Unlike the other deities of this realm, I procured the keys to wander where I wish. I have seen world after world at war. The people always lose. Demons take over. I do not share your view of demons as beings of evil, but I prefer humans. Their worship is deeper, more sincere, more powerful.”

“And Artemis?”

The goddess closed her pearl eyes. “She tried to bring Father back.”

Passing her arm through the cage and resting her hand on Hecate’s, Willow said, “Friends… disappoint you sometimes. The closer they are to you, the more it hurts. But friendship means you’re willing to give them another chance. I mean, I tried to end the world once -- which you seem totally cool with?”

Something almost friendly flickered across the goddess’ face. “You tried with magic. It was thrilling.”

Willow swallowed hard. Thrilling wasn’t the word she’d have used. “Anyway, when I tried to end the world, my friends were there to stop me and help me. Right now, they’re fighting demons and angels who are trying to end the world. Let me use my magic, your magic. Let’s lead an army of Huntress-led Slayers and tell these angels to go to Hell.”

Hecate rose and stretched to her full height. Higher and larger she grew. A slight smile was visible under her moon eyes. “You have planned well.”

Artemis began to glow.

Jo gasped for air. Why did the damn exorcism have to be so long? The fighting was wearing her down. The muffled roars beneath them didn’t help.

Andrew staked the last vamp before the recording finished. He bounced on his toes, looking like a joke of a boxer.

“Kid, save your energy,” said Ellen, leaning against a door.

“But I’m doing it! I’m a Scooby, and I’m heroing.”

Ellen smiled at him warmly. It had been a long time since they’d seen a happy hunter, let alone a green one.

The smile didn’t last. The door behind Ellen swung open, sending her toppling back into a classroom. She fell at the feet of a Bringer, his wicked blade raised high.

Andrew threw himself into the room, his stake held up to block the blow. His angle was off, and the dagger sliced through his wrist.

Boom! One blast from Jo’s shotgun blew the Bringer away. She fished for more shells in her bag as more monks crawled through the classroom window.

Ellen pulled off her sweatshirt to wrap around Andrew’s gushing stump. “That was so brave,” she told him over and over, trying to keep him from panicking.

“I’m a Skywalker! I don’t want to be a Skywalker!” he screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Jo struggled to keep the tremble from her voice. “Mom, we gotta go. He smells like bait.”

Andrew started to protest. “But our post!”

“Is lost! We can’t fight dragons. We’ll hunker down in the office.” Or die there.

Sam swung a sledge hammer at Spike, sending him into the pit. That should be me, he thought. Why Spike?

Sam rushed to Dean’s side just as the first Turok-Han breached the cliff’s edge. Dean’s handsome face was purple and thick, one eye swollen shut. Blood gushed from his broken nose.

“Guess I don't have to worry about saying yes.” They'd argued over the decision for weeks. Once the words spilled from Sam’s lips, they sounded like a shallow victory.

Dean, his mouth full of blood and broken teeth, tried to smile for his baby brother.

Through his tears, Sam looked around the cavern at the tattered army of girls trying to push back what the Hellmouth offered. The less-trained girls were falling left and right. He had to stash Dean somewhere and guard the spot. Guard him until they finished and could get help.

Help from where? Their army was thinning fast.

“Can you walk?” he asked Dean.

Dean coughed, spraying Sam with blood. “It’s the end of the line. You know that.”

Not again. Not again. Hot bile rose in Sam’s throat. “I don’t accept that.”

Karen picked up the abandoned hammer and with one swing, knocked the Turok-Han back into the pit.

“Whoa!” She couldn’t contain her grin. “Did you see that? God, that felt amazing! I feel amazing!”

A large demon with four curved horns and long tusks crawled out of the pit before her. She swung again, this time the demon’s face dented the hammer. “Guys, you need to move.”

With the flap of charred, fiery wings, Lucifer-in-Spike soared from the depths of the Hellmouth. He looked amused. “Sammy! I was so ready for a new toy.”

He swooped down, grabbed Dean by the collar and tossed him to the monsters below.

Xander worried he’d cave under pressure. He rolled his shoulders, but it didn’t help. He tried reaching with his free hand, but the spot was too far away.

Eyeing him curiously, Bobby asked, “Someone starch your shirts with itching powder?”

Keeping one hand on Willow, Xander shimmied uncomfortably. “It feels like a million bugs in the middle of my back and I just can’t reach!”

“Maybe it is a million bugs? Spell side effect,” said Dawn with a giggle.

Remembering the time a classmate’s textbook exploded with spiders, Xander’s shimmying increased.

Dawn scooched over to scratch Xander’s back with her free hand.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

All of a sudden, Willow’s hair and skin glowed silvery white as if she’d eaten the moon.

Everyone snapped back into place with two hands each on Willow.

“What’s happening? Did we anchor wrong?” Xander asked hurriedly.

“She’s warm! Does she feel warm?” Dawn added with equal panic.

Slowly, Willow opened her eyes, now two white pearls. As she rose, she began to phase in and out of three forms. Pinpricks of light dotted her skin. Clutching Artemis’ bow and arrows, she looked down on her awestruck anchors. “Flee.”

In a flash of light, she disappeared.

Giles’ heart pounded as he staked another vampire. He heard a wet slice and a thud before turning around in time to see a headless figure turn to dust inches away from him.

“--fortitudinem plebi Suae,” droned a recording of Bobby playing on loop over the school intercom.

Robin nodded a you’re welcome.

“Benedictus deus. Gloria patri.” The remaining vampires turned to dust.

“Oh thank God!” Robin said, relaxing his arms for the first time in what felt like eternity.

“Could he speed that tape up or does the exorcism not work at chipmunk pitch?” asked Anya, taking a seat on an overturned vending machine.

A powerful wind like a sudden tornado knocked them to the ground; an ear-piercing squeal and blinding light followed it.

Their ears still ringing, they dared look around. “What the hell was that?” Anya asked.

“Not Hell,” said Giles.

Pinned to the rock, Buffy cut her hands trying to pull the sword from her abdomen, trying to save the man she loved, but she couldn’t do more than watch as Spike tossed Dean into the Hellmouth.

The air left her lungs. Her heart stopped beating.

Lara ran up to her, pulled the sword from Buffy’s gut, and put it in her hand. She was screaming something, but Buffy couldn’t hear.

Dean was gone.

Spike -- no, Lucifer-in-Spike -- had his hands around Sam’s throat.

Karen, Julia, and Ginika took turns chopping at what looked like a violently mutated bull.

Mio lifted a Turok-Han over her head and tossed it back into the abyss.

Dean was gone.

Molly and Wook tossed boulders into the abyss, celebrating as each hit knocked a monster back into the depths.

Maya grabbed the stinging tail of a lion-like creature and stabbed it in its eye.

Using a demon’s tentacles as a rope, Betje swung up on its giant shoulders and plunged her sword into its head.

Dean was gone, but her girls were radically present. Her Potentials were Slayers.

Suddenly, the cavern shook so hard, the kicked up dust obscured everything. Rocks crumbled all around Buffy accompanied by screams and roars as the crumbling cave impartially culled the warring armies.

An eerie quiet fell over the expanse as a blue light cut through the settling haze. Across the cavern, high up, what looked like a comet had crashed through the school. Only the comet was unfolding into a handsome young man, slimmer and sadder than his brothers, with lightning arcing from his back in spectacular wings.

Adam.

Michael was barely keeping his vessel together.

A few demons ran straight for the visitor who promptly ripped them in half.

He’s running low, Buffy thought. He’s saving his energy for Lucifer.

A few demons, upon seeing their kin mutilated with ease, ran back to the Hellmouth. Several more charged Michael, weakened from his previous efforts, who resorted to beating the hoard back with his fists. Most of the demons resumed fighting the Slayers.

Buffy reached out to her nearest Slayer, Margo freshly finished with a Tuork-Han. “Tell the others we need to run. The angels are going to blow.”

Margo’s blonde curls bounced as she nodded and set off to warn the others.

Adrenaline pumping, Buffy launched into the fray. She sliced through the leg of a giant, cut off the slithering head of a demon, and threw a rock in the eye of a cyclops while trying to get to the beast who killed the man she loved.

“Hey, Lucy! Ready for round two?” she shouted.

Lucifer-in-Spike dropped Sam, gasping at his feet. “Why can’t you stay dead?”

She shrugged. “It’s kind of a thing.”

He grinned at her with a bitter hunger. With Lucifer’s flaming wings unfurled, he moved lightly through the chaos, leaving a trail of ash in his wake.

A large serpent passed between them, blocking her view. Buffy plunged her sword in its side, cutting its length. It hissed, wrapping its body around her, cracking her bones. Suddenly, the serpent exploded in a spray of blood.

She fell to the ground, coughing and coated in snake’s blood. Lucifer-in-Spike stood before her, pale blue lines criss-crossing his skin.

“Spike?” she said, “Spike, you're a good man.”

He was on her in a flash, hands around her throat, turning the edges of her vision black. She tried to kick, to punch, to pull, but it felt like fighting stone with sand. “A sad little end for a pathetic little--”

He stiffened, his eyes softened as his hands eased up. He dropped to the ground screaming and clutching his head. Spike looked up, his eyes rimmed with tears. “‘ello, love.”

Free-falling into the Hellmouth, Dean thought quickly. He couldn’t dwell on Sam or Buffy, not while they were still in danger. Not while he could still save them before he died. He jammed his hand in his pocket for the horsemen’s rings.

Before he could throw them and open the cage, Dean stopped in mid air with a jerk before slowly rising. His feet found solid ground. A hand cupped his face, and his bones shifted back into place. The pain stopped.

Willow, the now white-haired, glowing vessel of Hecate, hovered before him. In cat pajamas and bunny slippers. “You can open it?” she asked in her chorus of voices.

She’d set him on a small ledge on the other side of the abyss, giving him a clear view of the Slayer army as well as Lucifer -- prone on the ground near Buffy -- and Michael, swarmed with hell beasts and burning through Adam.

“Why’d you save me?”

One of her heads cocked to the side while the other two met his gaze. “I have never wished you or the other vessels harm. I try to not interfere, but the angels have made no such promise. To survive I must change. I have awoken the Huntress.” She held out Artemis’ golden bow and quiver.

Dean looked across the abyss once more. The Potentials -- even the quiet ones, the frightened ones -- twirled and slashed their way around and through the monsters rising from beneath. They were kicking ass, but they couldn’t overwhelm what was coming.

“Little late, Sabrina. Artemis won’t be enough.”

“My vessel tells me you are the holder of a key; you can keep the angels from ever returning to my realm. Can you open the door?”

He snatched the bow and grabbed her hand. “Get me over there.”

“William the Bloody can’t even play hero correctly.” Lucifer-as-Buffy’s voice rang in Spike’s head, judging him short. “I gave you the chance to be my right hand, and you chose stinking humanity.”

Spike remained on his knees clutching his head. Bein’ a man is my highest aspiration, he replied. For her. For her.

It took all of his focus to stay in control, to press the Devil down. He’d been reeling and trembling since letting Lucifer in. People had died while he got his bearings; Spike could still taste the blood. He'd watched in agony as his fists had beaten Dean to a pulp, as his hands had thrown his former rival into the pit -- as he'd destroyed Buffy's dreams.

Buffy cut off the head of a large hound made of maggots and kicked it away. A Turok-Han got the same. Left and right, Sam used his sledge hammer to crush demons to dust. They were protecting him.

“Killing Dean wasn’t the plan. Kind of the opposite of the plan,” he shouted over the din.

Mourning painted her face. She couldn’t even give him words.

“What was the plan, Spike?” Sam asked between blows. “Did you honestly think you could beat the Devil?”

“Didn’t you?” Each time he looked at Sam, Lucifer's rage sent a seering burn through Spike's limbs.

Spike got to his feet. “Look, I’m keeping Lucifer down. I can still trap him,” he promised. “Lock up both the feathered bastards.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean had the key.”

Something in the abyss unleashed a thunderous roar. A great dragon flew up, dark blue like the night, with piercing gold eyes; its tail knocked against the back wall, and its leathery wings stretched across the cavern.

“I don’t remember this in training!” shouted Ju.

The dragon’s throat glowed like it had swallowed the sun. It reared back and blew fire at the ceiling, cracking loose several rocks. The Slayers ran for cover. Ju screamed as a large rock landed on her leg.

Buffy, Spike and Sam were perilously close to the dragon’s wing. One stray flap would toss them into the pit.

The dragon’s throat glowed again, and it belched fire all around them. Around them. High above floated Willow, her hands out held, giving each of them protection.

All save Michael, whose own protection caused more cracks in his imperfect vessel.

Small fingers interlaced with his. The dragon, the screaming, Lucifer -- everything fell away. He locked eyes with Buffy as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Now's your chance to be the hero you were meant to be, William.”

Michael’s weak. He’s alone, Spike realized.

“Anything for you, love.” Spike took off across the room, dodging the dragon’s scaly mass and the Slayers descending upon it. Without the cage, the Hellmouth would have to do. Spike ran full force into Michael, sending him flying toward the edge.

With Spike in pursuit of Michael, Buffy turned her attention to the dragon. She climbed onto the dragon’s wing. Its head constantly swayed, knocking over Slayers and charred monsters alike. Some of the girls near its abdomen tried to slip their blades in under its scales. Pulling a dagger from her pocket, Buffy poked it through the wing, ripping and slicing as she ran toward its middle.

A tall figure ran up the dragon’s back and neck. It reared up when the person reached its head, sending him rolling back down its neck and off at the wing. He landed at Buffy’s feet, dizzy, dirty and smiling.

“Dean!”

He staggered to his feet and delivered Artemis’ bow and arrows. “Hey Girly! You miss me?”

Her heart raced, and her body warmed. The air stank of fire and blood, but she had never been happier. “Make out session later, for sure.”

“Making out? I just came back from the brink of death. That’s gotta be worth at least a blow job.”

Buffy smiled, “Surviving first.” She loaded two arrows on her bow, and fired. The arrows sank deep into the dragon’s eye, sending the creature flailing it’s head and tail. A shrinking scream pierced the air as one of the girls was knocked into the abyss. Buffy fired two more arrows into its eye as Hecate-in-Willow continued to protect them from its fiery wrath.

Lara and Keisha latched onto the arrows and swung onto its head. Other Slayers tossed them swords. One went for the other eye and the other the soft spot by the ear. The pin cushion stumbled and collapsed as the Slayers cheered.

More demons and monsters climbed over the edge of the Hellmouth.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked.

Buffy quickly looked around the cavern, which was rapidly filling with smoke. “You know, Sam seems so spottable until something dragon-sized pops up. Maybe he followed Spike to fight Michael?”

“Followed Spike? The Devil-possessed ex-vampire who’s sadly still a punk fan?”

“He’s in control now.” She didn’t want to place bets on how how long he could last.

“Great timing. He’s still the Devil’s suitcase.” Dean took off to where a blue light glowed beyond the dead dragon.

Buffy resumed her fight, calling on the girls to retreat to the stairs, praying to live another day.

Spike and Michael wrestled on the ground, the dragon’s wing keeping them from rolling off the edge. A few yards away, Sam fought off any demon that tried to come close.

Relieved and confused, Dean joined his brother. “There a reason we’re protecting these feathered shits?”

Sam dropped his sledge hammer in shock. Tears filled his eyes.

“Hecate,” Dean said. “Chick flick moment later.”

His baby brother wiped his eyes before picking his hammer up again. “The demons only want to attack Michael. If he keeps fighting them instead of Spike, he’ll blow his vessel before we can get them in the pit. Or the cage. I guess the cage is an option again.” Sam, sweaty and bloody, smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Oh yeah!” Dean pulled the rings from his pocket and tossed the them near the struggling angels. The ground around the rings gave way to a black pit. Pebbles began to roll into it, then stones.

Spike, difficult to make out through the blaring light he emitted, looked up. “You’re alive!”

“I tried death once or twice. Didn’t like it.” Dean pointed up to Willow phasing in and out of the forms as she blasted demons back into the Hellmouth.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Spike replied.

Michael punched Spike in the face hard enough for Dean to hear bones crack. Stunned, Spike rolled on the ground.

With a sneer of pride on his lips, Michael stood over Spike. “You weren’t even strong enough to best one pathetic vessel. I win, little brother.” In that second, three golden arrows landed -- pfft! pfft! pfft! -- in Michael's heart.

Spike leapt up and shoved Michael into the cage.

A small laugh escaped Sam’s lips.

All around them, demons howled as Hecate-in-Willow continued her assault. The air was thick with sulfur and smoke. Girls continued to rush towards the escape -- towards life. “C’mon, Spike!” Dean called, hand outstretched. “Time to hit the road!”

Spike looked as his hands, a shattering shell, as if something holy were about to hatch.

But there was nothing holy inside him.

“I’m glad you two ended up in Sunnydale,” Spike shouted over the din. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Sam. Probably the best mate I ever ‘ad.”

Sam swallowed hard, holding back tears.

“Uh, okay. Let’s buddy comedy on the road,” Dean said.

Spike shook his head and took a small step towards the cage. “Dean, Buffy likes men with demons. Don’t let your demons get the upper hand, like I did.”

“Spike, you were literally possessed. We can unpossess you again,” Dean promised, knowing it was a lie.

“Love her. Have a life. Make little ankle biters, okay? She deserves everything.” Spike spread his arms wide, and fell backwards into the black hole of the cage.

The ground began to shake and crack as the entrance to the cage grew bigger, sucking in the dragon’s wing, then the dragon. Sucking in the Hellmouth. Sam and Dean sprinted for the exit. A girl in blood-stained nightgown tripped near the ledge and the cage claimed her.

Potentials raced up the broken stairs, leaping to the doorway back to the school.

The Winchesters and Buffy gazed down on the Hellmouth from the school’s basement door. Bodies and blood littered the ground. Monsters still climbed over the edge, some immediately being consumed by the ravenous maw of the cage. A light appeared from within that black abyss, and a hand grasped the cage’s edge.

“Stay out!” commanded Hecate-in-Willow, flying to the mouth of the cage and pushing the surviving angel back into its depths. The cage snapped shut behind her with a deep boom, and the cavern started to collapse.

They dashed through the basement and through the main hallway upstairs, shouting through the building smoke for people to run. The roars of demons followed them.

Outside dawn was just starting to break over the waiting cars. The packed bus took off as the sidewalk cracked beneath Buffy and the Winchesters. Buffy dove into Giles’ car with her sister, hugging her tight. Cramped in the back of the Impala sat the Harvelles holding a pale, sweaty Andrew; Bobby was already revving the engine as the Winchesters slid in. Tires squealing, they took off, the streets collapsing behind them.

Just past the city limits, the ground stopped quaking. To be safe, they drove on another mile before daring to stop. Slayers poured from the bus; some somber, some injured, some delighted at the power running through them.

Ignoring the hoops and hollers, pushing past the questions, Buffy and her friends slowing walked back to the edge of the Hellmouth. The Sunnydale city limits sign was singed and still boasting several thousand residents in the crater of a town glowing red in the early morning light. Soon the low whir of helicopters filled the air.

“That was maybe overkill,” Anya said as she cradled her arm.

“Was it though?” Sam retorted.

“What should we tell them?” Dawn asked.

“I’m going with wild slumber party.” Xander gestured at the girls still in their pajamas. “Hey, where’s Will?”

Giles put his arm around Buffy’s shoulder and they rested their heads together. “You’re not the only one anymore. What do you want to do first?”

Smiling, Buffy met Dean’s gaze and then collapsed.

They filled the waiting room. Dozens of Slayers -- bandaged, stitched, bruised -- spilled from the chairs, leaned against the walls, claimed space on the floor. They’d survived. They’d arrived.

Dawn, her legs curled up under her, was fast asleep in a chair. Giles, Robin, Bobby and Ellen sipped coffee from cups too small to combat their fatigue. Xander’s eyes were battle-weary, his gaze hollow.

Dean trudged into the waiting room and slumped into a chair between his brother and Bobby. “They’re taking her in for surgery.”

“She’ll be okay.”

“‘Course she will. She’s Supergirly.”

Within minutes of Buffy’s collapse, helicopters had landed on the now-useless highway out of Sunnydale. Blood from her stab wound had gone unnoticed, mingling with the monster blood soaking her clothes. Officially, she was one more anonymous injury of “the sudden sinkhole incident.”

The doctor said she may have some organ damage. Was that in the realm of Slayer healing? He also said Buffy was lucky. “Whatever impaled her just missed an artery. She would have died in minutes.”

Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Spike had pushed Lucifer off target.

“Do you guys want anything?” Andrew asked, quietly.

“Coffee. Irish,” Dean grumbled.

“I think they only have American and Colombian, but I’ll ask. Anyone wanna give me a hand?” Holding up his bandaged stump, he smiled at his own joke.

Anya pointed at her arm in a sling. “Together we can make a whole person.”

Jo put down the magazine she’d been staring at but not reading. “Come on. Maybe we can rummage up some snacks for the refugees.”

Looking at the crowd of girls flush with new powers, Sam chuckled.

Robin raised his eyebrows. “Care to fill me in on the invisible joke?”

“It’s not a joke, just irony. All of the Potentials are Slayers now, but we closed the Hellmouth. All this time it’s been one girl against everything Hell could throw at her. Now it’s an army against Hell's stragglers.”

“I wish it were that simple, Sam,” said Giles, his voice raw from tiredness and tears. “In addition to there being more Hellmouths --”

Dean threw up his hands. “Of course. Where?”

“Detroit for starters, but that’s an ongoing problem. There are more Potentials-turned-Slayers out there, girls pulsing with power they don’t know what to do with. We have to find them, train them before someone else gets to them, before they hurt someone. Trouble is, we’re low on Watchers.”

Ellen smirked. “You gotta have a posh British accent and glasses to be a Watcher?”

“Well, no --”

“‘Cause I see nearly a dozen people right here who’d gladly pitch in.”

“Gladly my ass,” said Bobby, squinting at Ellen like she’d volunteered him for the ballet. “I raised those two. I’m done!”

Ellen grabbed his face and turned it toward a circle of pajama-clad girls giving each other back rubs as they swapped stories. “Look at them and say no. You’re not that much of a gruff asshole.”

Bobby sighed. “Fine, but they ain’t living with me.”

Looking lively for once, Giles stood and stretched his shoulders. “Traditionally, a Watcher moves to the hometown of a Potential to train her, but seeing as we have so many Slayers at once, I was hoping to take half of them to England and while the other half remain to train with Buffy.”

“In Detroit?” Dean asked.

“Excellent idea, Dean!” Giles said with a half grin. “Of course, all of our resources were in Sunnydale.”

It was Sam’s turn to smile. “Good thing Anya, Willow and I put together a database of most of what was in Buffy’s books.”

“About that.” Xander’s voice was full of bite. “Can we stop daydreaming about the future for a second? Willow is dead.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Head thick with sleep but thankful to be yanked from her terrible dream, Buffy was positive she’d not set the alarm. She reached out to turn it off, but couldn’t find it. Had they slept in the bed funny again?

A large, calloused hand found hers. Her heart hummed. She wanted to start every morning holding Dean’s hand.

“Dean, will you kill that thing?”

“What thing?” he whispered.

“The beep beep. Death to beep beep.”

“I think the nurses would be pretty pissed if I turned that off.”

Buffy opened her eyes to find monitors and tubing on and in her body. A hospital. It wasn’t a dream. The fire. Spike possessed by Lucifer. Dean nearly dying. The Slayers. The dragon. The Hellmouth collapsing.

Spike.

Willow.

Agony sat on her chest, crushing her heart, drawing out a wail from her throat. Dean’s arms were around her, her face buried in the crook of his neck as the tears flowed. Other arms joined her. Xander, Dawn, Giles, Anya and Sam filled the room. She let go of Dean to hug Xander, his eyes bloodshot from crying.

“I know. I know. She was the best of all of us.” His voice was low and raw.

She wouldn’t argue. Willow was sweet and strong. Even before becoming a witch, she embodied power and bravery, standing up to vampires and throwing herself into the fray not because she had super strength or because she was chosen but because it was right.

Her friends stayed to share memories of Willow. Eventually, the conversation turned to Detroit and the new Slayers. All the while, Dean hovered by her side, keeping her in tissues and water.

She didn’t remember falling asleep.

When she awoke again, everyone had gone save Dean. “The local news is calling us refugees. Everyone who isn’t in recovery left to settle in. Some center is putting everyone up for the night, pizza dinner included.”

Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Throwing off her blanket, she swung her feet to the cold tile floor. “Cafeteria?”

Lacing his fingers with hers, he grinned. “Does this count as a date.”

“One of our better ones, hopefully.”

In the elevator, he kissed her hand, his lips lavishing over each knuckle. She was sore and exhausted; both thrilled and so upset she kept reminding herself to breathe at a normal rhythm. But his kisses calmed her.

“Dean, I--”

He was pressing his lips to hers, one hand cradling her back, the other tangled in her hair. The kiss was long, firm, with his tongue lightly tasting her lips. Heat spread from core to her toes.

Ding.

The elevator doors opened on a man holding flowers and three small children holding pink “Welcome Baby!” balloons gaping at them.

A different sort of heat rushed through Buffy, but Dean just put on a charming smile and pushed past them. He grinned at her embarrassment. “The guy’s got four kids, Girly. I’m sure that’s not the most action they’ve stumbled across.”

He brushed his fingers over her neck to play with her hair again. “You were awesome back there.”

“In the elevator?”

“In the Hellmouth.”

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“You’re stuck with me now, like that one jingle.” He started to hum a tune from a cheesy local car lot that bought excessive air time on all the radio stations.

“No! Now I’m going to be singing it forever!”

“Just like me. I’m here forever, even if I’m annoying. In fact, I was thinking with this whole Detroit thing --”

“Ew.” The idea of winters and driving everywhere did not appeal to her.

“-- I was thinkin’ maybe we could get a place together.” His face shifted from sexy to boyish as he spoke, the implication almost overwhelming him.

“Absolutely,” she said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in for another kiss.

“You must be my six o’clock wedding.” A priest stepped out of an office near them, wrenching them out of their moment. “You don’t look like a cancer patient. Glad to see you’re on the mend!”

“Oh, we’re not--!”

“We’re here!” said a man coming down the hall, pushing a wheelchair. The woman in the chair was sunken-eyed, a scarf over her head, and an oxygen mask over her face. Buffy didn’t know much about cancer, but she figured the woman couldn’t possibly live to see Christmas. Still the woman couldn’t stop smiling each time she glanced back at the man who rolled her into a nearby chapel.

“Sorry, uh, carry on,” the priest said before following the couple.

For years, Buffy had feared hospitals. They were places for the sick and dying. Places where the newly departed roamed. But could they also be places of hope? A place full of babies and newlyweds. Of people who would walk again. Of people granted a second chance to get things right.

Hope.

The Slayer’s gift was death. Her role costarred monsters. But death could co-exist with life. Beauty with pain. Hope with horror.

Buffy and Dean considered the closed chapel door, then stared at each other, hoping to read what the other was thinking.

“You feeling impulsive?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.”

New beginnings. New cities. New Watchers. New Slayers. The same Dean Winchester.

Hope.

He bit his lip and looked back at the door. “It’s not just you anymore.”

“We could have a life. Are you feeling impulsive too?”

epilogue

[fletcher-fr]

The Brand Saga - Void and Water

Aansaiyasi-- “Calm as still water.” The slender skydancer was indeed as calm and still as the glassy pool before her. Her eyes stayed downturned, transfixed by the water, as Water acolytes poured in for the Saturnalia. Wavecrest, for the Fletching Clan, was unlike any other holiday, just as its priest was unlike any other priest. Instead of the usual festivities, games, and markets, under Yasi’s direction, Wavecrest had become a time for peaceful contemplation. Never was the Fletching Clan so beautiful, yet so still. Glass bubbles and scrying mirrors hung from the domed ceiling refracted the light of the stained glass wall behind Yasi, scattering prisms all over the surface of her pool. There is peace, she had taught pilgrims of times past, in any thing you might set your senses upon. Now, she set herself upon the beauty of the rainbows playing in her unwavering sight. The dragons filing in were humming--a hymn she knew well. It was a melody that had originally been used by ancient Guardians to find one another while exploring the darkness of the Leviathan Trench. Now, it was a call for the Tidelord; Come home. Yasi hummed, a little, but did not let her focus break. Serenity of mind is not an emptiness, but a quiet concentration. The pilgrims to the Temple of the Eleven settled around the pool, and their trance-like humming eventually tapered off. They watched eagerly was the water priestess lifted her head with a serene smile, surveying each of them in turn. There were no opening rites to the Saturnalia; no texts to read and no ceremonies to be held. Only Aansaiyasi’s wisdom, spoken so soft and musically that all of the Tidelord’s followers leaned in, hanging upon her every gentle word. In truth, Aansaiyasi had not always been a priestess, nor had she been raised in a temple. Quite the opposite, in fact. The now-dazzling skydancer was born into a heavily stratified kingdom, at the bottom of the social ladder. As a hatchling, she had watched her father’s gruesome execution; punishment for his relationship with her untouchable mother. That same mother had fallen ill not long after, and Yasi had only lived by the sacrifice of her two elder brothers. “Don’t think about it,” Mahorai had told her, covering her eyes with a wing, while Ahanrial wrapped their mother’s body in a burial shroud. “Doesn’t the rain sound beautiful?” It was this moment that stayed with Yasi as she fled her home, the screams of her brothers echoing in her ears as the guards pinned them to the ground. The rain sounds beautiful. The rain sounds beautiful. The rain sounds beautiful. Her philosophy had drawn crowds in her wanderings thereafter--train your mind to focus, truly, and your pain will be forgotten. She had helped many suffering Water dragons learn control over their minds even before coming to the Fletching Clan. Now, surrounded by jewels and finery, she was no different. Still as water. Steady as the tides. Calm as the sea on the horizon. And Yasi was just as calm as ever, when Ghadrael came for her.

“I’ve decided what to take from you, little water priestess. Will you pray to the Tidelord to save you?” Yasi did not answer. She sat cross-legged before her personal altar--a hollowed-out stick of bamboo, clacking softly against weathered stones as a stream of water tipped it first one way, then the other, dividing itself into two pools. “I know you are not deaf. You listened and spoke with your precious followers this morning.” Clack… Clack… Clack… “Do you want to know what I’m going to take? I’m going to take your body. I wonder if your soul will go with it. Does that not frighten you?” Clack… Clack… Clack. A sharp claw appeared in Yasi’s vision. It held up the bamboo rod, spilling all the water to one side. It bubbled up over the stones and began to pool onto the floor. “Answer me, little priestess. You have nothing to say before you disappear? The Tidelord, I am sure, will not miss you.” Yasi did look up, now. The dragon before her was strange. His form fluctuated in the moonlight, like smoke made solid. He laughed. “Are you afraid now, silly priestess?” “No.” The smoke seemed to writhe at that. “Do you not wonder who I am? How I do what I do?” “No.” The room was filled with a very quiet screeching, and the smoke plumed and curled and frothed. “Am I nothing to you? Very well then. I will show you what it feels to be nothing.” Yasi hummed in response. Then, in an instance, she found herself tumbling. If she was honest, this was the one moment when she felt fear. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she trashed out for something to hold onto. For an eternal moment, she was spinning wildly through what she supposed to be time or space or reality; scenes of all proportions flashed incomprehensibly around her. Sounds battered her ears and crawled under her skin. Her mouth was filled with all the words she had ever said, or ever would say, and she could not understand any of them. It felt as though a million million different sensations were jostling in her mind all at once, each begging to be felt. She was unravelling. Then, suddenly, all was silent again. She had not moved. Still, she sat cross-legged. But the Fletching Palace was gone. Instead, she sat beneath a sky of pure white. The horizon was unbroken in every direction, and beneath her... a dizzying sea of stars. Nebulae cartwheeled through space, planets whirling wildly around suns of all colors. It stretched out below her infinitely, yet somehow was completely flat. And then it all began to move. Like it was dragging her down. Yasi got to her feet, watching the masses of stars and blackness slithered up around her ankles. She tried to pull free, and couldn’t. Another blip of fear crossed her, but she took in a deep, quiet breath, and focused on one pinwheel of a galaxy. How beautiful, she thought. Like flecks of bronze. As she sunk to her waist, she only focused more intently on the galaxy; every star, every planet. She tried to count each one but lost track. She watched it move one way, and then another, while blackness sucked at her clothes and pulled, pulled her down. Her ears were filled with laughter like none she had ever heard. The darkness sprouted eyes, a thousand thousand eyes, all bronze and glittering and wide and staring as whatever it was caught her hair and her head snapped back. The white sky was gone now. Then, she was sailing through the air. Hitting the ground was not as painful as she had expected (really, she ought to have been dashed to pieces), but it was all her training to keep from crying out. She sat up, slowly, and turned to look at the eyes all around her. If I am to die, she instructed herself, How lovely to see such beautiful eyes before I do. As she thought it, she realized that her mouth was moving, forming the words in her head aloud. The eyes all blinked in surprise. A bellow of cacophonous screeching nearly knocked her on her back again. The eyes looked at her expectantly. Like they were waiting for a response. Yasi blinked back. It’s alive, she thought, and as she did it seemed like an incredibly obvious conclusion. “I don’t speak eldritch horror,” she said gently, righting herself into a cross-legged position again. There was a brief pause. Some rumbling. And then the darkness began to recede. The eyes rolled up and closed as all the color was sucked from the plane around her, shrinking back into a single point. Yasi watched it curiously as it seemed to flash through a variety of odd shapes, each time collapsing again into a tiny pool of universe before her. Then, a man rose up from it--blurry at first, as though taking a moment to chisel himself into the right shape. Wisps of stardust clung to him, cascading down his back and from his fingers. He was covered head to toe in constellations. He looked at her. His eyes were starry amber.

He opened his mouth. A few odd sounds came from his throat before he shook his head and went quiet for a moment. “Kaja qa tenil nan jai?” Yasi shook her head. “Nor do I speak... that. Sornen?” She made a vague attempt to revert to her draconic form, but couldn’t. She had figured as much, but unclasped an earring to hold it out to him. A tiny spiral was coiled around its edge. He stared at the earring for a moment. Then, “This? This tongue?” His accent was the oddest she had ever heard, but it was Sornen. Yasi nodded. “Who are you?” she asked, replacing her earring. His face split into a wide grin--wider than any natural smile. When he talked, Yasi noticed that it was black behind his teeth--not that his tongue was black. Like there was nothing there. “You--a dragon? Yes. For who I am, you would say, ‘god.’ Or, a god.” Yasi cocked her head. “Of what?” He threw his arm out in a gesture around them. “Void.” Yasi hummed. “You wanted me to be part of that void? Why did you decide not?” It was at this point that he finally mimicked her, sitting on the now-white “floor,” still staring at her as though she were the alien and not he. “I… I’m unsure how you came here. You’re the first. To come here. Aside from me.” “How did you get here, then?” He made a face--as he did, the constellations across his skin stuttered and shifted color. He scooped up a handful of the stardust wreathing him and clapped it between his hands. When he drew his fingers apart, the figure of what was obviously another god in miniature swirled between his palms. “Him,” said the god of Void. Yasi leaned back on her palms. “Tell me what happened.” He squinted at her, as though he was considering swallowing her in blackness again, but then the figure crumbled in his fingers before resurrecting itself in the shape of another miniature galaxy. Beside it, the god of Void himself--but younger somehow, more naive. Yasi would have wondered how she could tell such detail from simple stardust figures, but then again, no part of this strange world between worlds had been very logical so far. As she watched, the miniature god of Void’s mouth opened nearly to the size of his whole body, jaw unhinging impossibly, as he swallowed the stars and planets and nebulae like they were nothing. The scene repeated, over and over--the god galloping through universes like a hatchling on unsteady legs, happy just to be alive. Eating worlds upon worlds. Yasi could almost hear the screams of those devoured as though they were here with them. Then, the other god appeared again. As Void was about to gobble up yet another cluster of planets, he was seized by the other god. Yasi felt a shock of confusion and panic as though it was her, captured by an unfathomable creature. “Ahamkara,” the god of Void said, watching the figures wrestling. Yasi put up her hand. “What is your name?” He paused to look at her. Something behind his eyes seemed to dull. “I have none.” Yasi hummed, watching the ripples of starstuff billowing around his head like hair made of clouds. “Nebulos, I think, would suit you. Do you like it?” He stared at her, then back at the scene he had constructed. He shrugged, and Ahamkara had finished throttling the miniature Nebulos. Finally, in a flash, the scene turned to mimic the one around them. “A prison,” said Yasi. “He put you here.” Nebulos nodded. “For how long?” With a wave of his hand, Nebulos dissipated the images he had built. He mimicked her again, leaning back on his hands. “Sornieth… To you, a hundred hundred years. Or a thousand thousand. Impossible to say.” He tipped his head back, looking up at the vast blank sky above them. “And no other creature here with you?” Nebulos shrugged. “You must be very lonely.” His eyes turned down to her. He laughed, showing shining silver fangs. Those are new, thought Yasi. He really is lonely. He waved his hand again, and above them appeared a crumbling mass of towers that reminded Yasi of home. With another gesture, the towers became a whole jungle, swelling with vines but eerily silent. Again, and it turned to a volcano erupting violet lava. Yasi didn’t flinch as the lava came to land on them--it disappeared to stardust as it did. “I have all of this. The things I swallowed.” It was Yasi’s turn to shrug. “That is no replacement for life.” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned toward her. “You speak truly. Millenia without a real world to eat. Millenia of hunger. Millenia without the breeze of air on my skin.” He was twisting stardust into shapes to illustrate his words again--spinning planets, grass blown by a warm wind. “No water--” A jug spilling sand appeared, “No light--” A blazing sun swirled into existence, “Not even the sound of music, the touch of another living being…” There were a few tuneless notes of music made of screams, and he reached out his hand to touch Yasi--but before he could, he recoiled suddenly, staring at his own hand. There was a short silence as all of the stardust fell and scattered, glittering, around them, before Yasi grabbed his hand back. She could feel his pulse in his wrist. Nebulos was frozen as the pulse sped up and the coils of stars that made his hair glowed like candle-flame, before suddenly he burst into another fit of laughter. New eyes peeked out at her from his forehead, and his mouth split two ways, like a cross. “You see what I do,” he said, and his voice felt like it came from inside Yasi’s own head. “Do you truly wish to touch one such as I? I feast. I am Void. I am God.” Yasi nodded. Hummed. Rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand. “And you are lonely.” The monstrous creature before her throbbed. Yasi smiled. “If there is no-one else here, then you needn’t pretend that you aren’t.” Nebulos tossed his head, looking away from her as the eyes disappeared and he shrank back into his “humanoid” appearance. “I once ate an entire universe in the blink of an eye,” he said haughtily, not looking at her. “There were unfathomable screams that day. There were other gods in my stomach afterward. I’ve eaten stranger. I eat languages. I eat knowledge and art and names. I have a hundred thousand forms. I ate one of my own forms, once. I swallow seas of stars and entire civilizations by the millions, but I’m… always hungry. I have never been sated, and now never will be, alone here, alone in this prison, alone for millennia… I…” He shrank with each word, folding in on himself like he might be crying, but did not know how. Yasi tugged on his hand--he yelped in surprise--and pulled him into an embrace. The galaxies of his hair smelled like magic. His skin was dancing wildly with constellations and colors, thrumming like any moment he would dissolve back into the fathomless expanse she had seen first. But he was speaking. “Alone... I am--I have been--who are you? Why? Please, whoever you are... please touch me…” There were the tears. Glowing brighter than the rest of him, like rivers of light, as he turned his strange horned head and buried it in Yasi’s shoulder. He was still trying to speak, but the words were garbled with sobs. Yasi smiled into his hair and obliged him, running a hand up and down his starry back. And she hummed a lullaby. When the tears had subsided enough for the god of Void to speak again, Yasi still did not let go of his hand. He was trying to apologize. “You act as though, after millennia, a few minutes of tears and a hand on your back are enough.” He looked at her helplessly. “How do you know these things?” he asked, in a whisper now. “Who are you?” “Aansaiyasi,” said Yasi, standing and tugging him to his feet. “Among all the things you’ve swallowed, is there somewhere more comfortable to lie down?” The god started at her, dumbstruck, for a moment longer, before nodding. He gripped her hand tightly as the ground underneath them shifted, and then the sky. The change went in trickling stripes, like water running over a window, only upside-down. Then they were somewhere completely other. Yasi couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto her face as she looked around; it was like nowhere on Sornieth, nothing she ever could have imagined. Gauzy, phosphorescent plants waved and fluttered beneath towering willow trees with trunks and branches of stained glass. Beneath their toes, the moss glowed in reaction to their steps. The whole world pulsed with blue light. Yasi let Nebulos guide her through the leaves like strings of lanterns and to a small hillock beside a pool of black water. When the water priestess leaned over to look for her reflection, there was none; instead, every bead of dew that dripped from the trees above created dizzying, ever-shifting fractals of color. But Yasi could tell that it was not real. It was only an echo of what it was before it was swallowed by the void. There was no birdsong, no buzzing of insects, no scent of plant life or water. When Yasi went to dip her toe into the black pool, it rippled around her foot, but she couldn’t feel it. She looked at Nebulos, who was staring, unseeing, out at the water. All of the beauty and wonder--it was all hollow. - Yasi found that while she could if she chose, she no longer needed to sleep or eat. But some of the worlds Nebulos showed her had suns like Sornieth’s, and so Yasi assumed that it was a few days that followed, during which time Nebulos let her explore dozens of new places, each more dizzyingly beautiful than the last. But she began to understand why the god had never been sated. As soon as anything entered the void, of course it was no longer real. As many illusions and replications as Nebulos could create, nothing would ever bring back the full of the things he had swallowed. Nebulos began to grow more accustomed to Yasi’s touch. It still made him jump, from time to time, but he relaxed more quickly now, spoke Sornen with greater ease, remembered how to cry and smile alike. The only thing that seemed real in all of this gilded cage was Nebulos himself. His skin was the only warmth she could feel, pulsing under her fingers, and his hair was the only thing she could smell--the soft cassia-smoke scent of magic. And she knew that to him, she was the same. So it never bothered her when his hands lingered on her arms or curled into her clothes, seeking every ounce of sensation he had been starved of for so long. He sometimes brought her odd tokens, but ones she eventually recognized as rarities in his prison; snippets of languages that were still spoken somewhere, dances of long-lost civilizations, clumsily performed as they were by him. One day, as Yasi was leaning against a balcony carved entirely of pearl, looking over the iridescent, bubble-like spires of a centuries-dead civilization, Nebulos approached her with an unwieldy-looking object in his arms. When he spoke, his Sornen was suddenly slippery again. “This is a… a music-making… an instrument. An instrument. I can’t use it well. I’ve tried--many many instruments, but I’m probably best at this one, I think. It’s probably about three... Four thousand years old? Any… In any case, I--there’s a song, from the civilization--the one that made it--and it reminds me of… you…” He trailed off, looking down at the dusty thing. The ribbons of starstuff that made up his hair whipped and snapped like they were caught in a fierce wind. Yasi grinned. “Are you going to play the song for me?” For a long moment, Nebulos looked quite like he was about to say “no,” but then he sucked in a breath and nodded. “It is something I wish to give you.” It was… clunky. The instrument was badly out of tune, and Nebulos was obviously unskilled with it--not to mention the way that his fingers shook so badly he could barely hold it--but the melody he managed to pick out was pretty enough. When he looked up at her as the last notes faded, his expression was so intense that it almost took Yasi by surprise. She offered a soft smile and rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “That is a wonderful gift.” And she meant it. But he stared at her a moment longer, and shook his head. He dropped his gaze to his hands on the instrument again, and then his whole body was shivering like a leaf on the wind. “I forgot,” he said, almost to himself, and then cursed in some long-dead tongue. “What did you forget?” Nebulos hugged the instrument to his chest. “The--the civilization this comes from. The instrument. Their language, it was musical. So it was like a--a poem? Like words.” “So it had a specific meaning? What was it?” His whole form seemed to turn fizzy, and then glassy, like he would have disappeared if he could. There was a faint cracking sound as he clutched the instrument so hard that its brittle wood began to give way under his grip. “Love… a love poem,” he said. Then he looked at her, still vaguely transparent, searching her face for her reaction. Yasi chuckled. “Come back, you,” she said gently, rubbing his arm in soothing circles as he slowly became opaque again. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.” Crack. “Oh, I should say that I don’t mind,” Yasi added, noting how he trembled still. “What does that mean?” Nebulos burst out desperately. “You accept?” Yasi looked at him curiously. “Accept what?” Nebulos dropped the instrument altogether--it disappeared in a wisp of blue smoke before it hit the floor--and ran his hands through his starry hair. “It’s--it’s…” He swore again. “In Sornen--in Sornieth, you have, between two people…?” His language grew more and more garbled, and he gesticulated helplessly to try to illustrate his meaning. Yasi’s smile widened as he did. “You stay with one another, you have a celebration and then you are each other’s… I don’t… I shouldn’t have…” “Marriage?” Yasi suggested. Nebulos flickered briefly as he blew out a breath and nodded. “If you don’t… It’s… We’ve not known one another that long--and maybe you’ll escape, and then you shouldn’t feel tied to me, but I just… I only…” “Of course.” Every part of Nebulos froze in place, including his ever-swirling cloud of hair. He stared at her, and she leaned against the railing overlooking the city, resting her chin in her hand and smiling at him. “Do you know anything else about romantic customs in Sornieth?” she asked him. Still almost completely frozen, Nebulos just looked at her. Yasi shrugged. “Well, in a humanoid form like this one, kissing is a common way to express affection. You know it?” Nebulos, still staring, nodded slowly. Yasi cocked an eyebrow. “You should kiss me.” One more frozen moment went by, and then Nebulos reached out trembling hands to take her shoulders. His expression was an open book--overwhelmed joy, relief, surprise-- as he tugged her to him. When he kissed her, his nose bumped against her cheek, and Yasi laughed into his mouth. She wound her arms around his neck. He was still shaking; it felt like he might crack her spine with how hard he pressed her to him. His lips were hot and clumsy, but the way he laughed too made Yasi’s serene heart skip giddily. - Nebulos was much more talkative after that. His hands always seemed to find Yasi, and she didn’t mind. He shared everything with her. Yasi lost track of time, wandering through hundreds of worlds, hearing of unimaginable histories and cultures. Sometimes, she wondered what had become of the Fletching clan, but her years of training and her new and fascinating life meant that it didn’t plague her. That is until, one day, Nebulos was showing her some of the more abstract and strange things that had found their way to his prison of void. And she recognized these things. They were put on pedestals, like a museum. Nebulos had showed her a spell of invisibility that had gone wrong, the soul of an animal that was both real and not at the same time, and then… a set of inhibitions. “This showed up not long before you, actually,” he said, as Yasi stared at the abstract thing, trapped in an orb like a light sprite might hold. “I don’t know how someone managed to extract them. It seems like they were from a person not dissimilar to you. A religious figure, I think.” Next was a coherency, a wreath of flame which whispered incomprehensibly--but Yasi could have sworn that she heard Sornen. Then, a scroll. It looked almost exactly like a breed change scroll, but black, and an intense negative energy surrounded it. Yasi stared at it. “This is… a dragon whose breed was taken away.” Nebulos nodded. Yasi slowed to a halt, looking down the line of pedestals, realizing the pattern. She turn to look at Nebulos, who slowed, expression turning to concern. “Yasi?” “These are from my clan,” she said. “The priests… Some creature of void has been attacking. Sending things here. That’s what happened to them. To us.” She thought wildly back to her encounter with the creature who had sent her to this realm in the first place. ”I’m going to take your body… I will show you what it feels to be nothing.” “That’s… how I came here. Void magic.” Nebulos’ expression was falling. His hair cascaded slowly down his shoulders, pooling at his feet. “You have to get home,” he said quietly, offering a small smile as he reached for her hand. Yasi looked into his face. Focused on the dark amber of his eyes. She had to, or she would feel his heartbreak. She nodded. “You know how I can return,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Nebulos nodded. “I am sorry.” Yasi stroked his hair. “I would not trade this time with you for anything.” He closed his eyes. Nodded. Tears clung to his eyelashes. “You have nothing left,” he said. “If you are to take something real, it would follow that you can’t stay here anymore.” “I thought that I took you when we exchanged vows.” “Those only bound us to one another. I belong to you, but you do not have me.” Nebulos shook his head. “But you can. Take a part of me,” he said quietly. “If you do, perhaps I could experience something again--anything. Please, Yasi, I--” his voice caught in his throat, and he reached for her with his other hand, too. He took a deep breath. “It would be a wonderful gift.” Yasi stroked his face. “Tell me what to take.” He leaned into her touch. Turned to kiss her palm. “You could take my eyes,” he whispered against her skin. “That I might truly see again.” He looked at her. “Or you could take my claws, that I might truly feel again.” Yasi stepped closer to him to catch his mouth in a kiss. “What if I took your children,” she asked, “That you might truly love again?” A flash of confusion crossed his face before his eyes widened. He clutched her hand to himself and nodded, swallowing. “That… would do.” - The next two nights, Yasi fell asleep to the steady sound of Nebulos’ breathing. He slept, too, though neither of them needed it in this place. Something about the warmth and quietude and rhythm of it soothed the parting that they both knew would come soon. His breath tickled her ears. Whoosh, hiss. Whoosh, hiss. Then, in an instant, the sound changed. Clack. Clack. Clack. Yasi opened her eyes. Her bamboo fountain bubbled next to her, its two pools glittering in the dawn light filtering in through her window. She sat up from the floor, touching a hand to her stomach. - It had only been a week and a half, as it turned out. What had felt like--or actually been--months and years to Yasi and Nebulos, in Sornieth had barely been a handful of days. When Yasi emerged from her chambers, swallowing tears with focus, a great cry went up from the Fletching Clan palace. Her friends ran out to embrace her with fear and relief on their voices. The sunlight feels wonderful. The sound of the ocean is soothing. The bamboo smells so sweet. It was everything Yasi could do to maintain her composure while she explained all she had learned to the Council of Suns. A monster was preying on them, one with the power of Void. It had taken from the priests; Ishkari’s inhibitions. Khorzaad’s breed. Hyaki’s comprehension. Salsadra’s consciousness. Ilsaire’s motion. Ahazraal’s memories. The others, she could not explain. She left the chamber as Whisper was positing that this monster had acquired an accomplice. It all seemed terribly unimportant, now. Somewhere else in the universe was a man made of stars--her husband--with worlds and worlds of only hollow beauty to keep him, now. Aansaiyasi returned to her chambers. She knew that she ought to prepare a nest for her children to be born, but the tears were so close to the surface that she couldn’t bring herself to face the hatchery right now. She tried to sleep, but everything seemed so much louder, after so long in a realm of silence. She grew accustomed to the hypnotic clack of her fountain again, but the sound of the insects she had missed so sorely at first seared into her mind. She laid awake, aching for Nebulos’ touch, and thought that the sound of crickets might just drive her mad. I wish whatever insect it was plaguing me would just disappear, she begged the unfeeling cosmos, as she shifted in bed for what felt like the thousandth time that sleepless night. And it did. Yasi sat bolt upright as the unfamiliar magic fizzled in her arms. She looked down at herself. Could it be? She pressed her hands to her stomach again. Perhaps she now had some of Nebulos’ power… She looked around for something to test it on. “I want my water jug to go to the void,” she said. Without a sound, the jug disappeared. Her heart was pounding. Please… “I want the song that Nebulos gave to me.” The moment the clumsy notes came drifting to her, she stood up on her bed and, shaking, said, “I want my husband.” And there he was. Nebulos looked just as surprised as she did, standing dazedly with the gauzy wing of a cricket still sticking out of his mouth. Yasi laughed. He quickly swallowed it and grabbed her hand, pressing her fingers as though checking that she was real and not a dream. “How did you do that?” he whispered, then closed his eyes and shivered as a breeze of warm bay air came in through the window. Yasi couldn’t help it. She was crying now. “It must be the part of you I took--I must have your powers, at least for a while.” Nebulos opened his eyes again and looked at her, his face breaking into a grin. “I feel everything,” he gasped out, tugging her closer. “I feel it, I feel everything again. But I don’t… I don’t feel hungry, anymore.” Yasi buried her face in his hair. “How? You said you have always been hungry.” He gathered her in his arms, laughing. “I have something now, given to me instead of taken. I think it’s because you’ve given me love. No other creature has.” “Well, I have no intentions of stopping,” said Yasi, before he kissed her.

[il-michael-corleone]

The Godfather II: La Continuazione Read below.

"Remorse is the poison of life" 

The quote whispers itself in such a way that Michael is seduced awake. He slowly blinks up at the ceiling, repeating this quotation in his mind. Kay had said it—read it, spoken it aloud for him, the way she had many pages of many books. Her voice was soft and intimate as she had recited it, in that yellowing evening.

      Just as quickly as it came, the thought is shut down. Rejected from memory. 

      A week had passed. Seven days since the death of his older brother, all of them meaningless in the stagnance. It was as if time had stopped, and all natural order was lost. Perhaps this is how it feels to fall from the grace of God.

      Michael squinted in the soft pervasive sunlight, rubbing at the soreness in his temple as he fumbled for the bedside table. He placed a cigarette loosely between his lips. He had begun to rely on them.

     With deep exhale, Michael's brow knit. There was a soft rapping on the door, despite his explicit requests for no disruptions. Neri listened intently for a response—or any other sound—knowing as well as anyone Michael typically rises early and without hesitation.

      "Go see to my children." Michael commanded, his voice rough and strained. Satisfied with this, Neri moved from the door as he was told. His closeness with Michael was such that he found comfort even in the Don's reproach.

     Michael brought himself to stand, listening as Neri spoke to the children from a separate room. Their voices, though muffled, expressed polite discomfort. They were desperate to return home.

      The day would have to begin. Michael was head of the family—of course he had to emerge and tend to his responsibilities. There was no one else. Lifting his chin to keep his cigarette upright, Michael gave his tan suit jacket a critical look over, holing it out and away from his body. And as he went about dressing, Michael found himself avoiding his own reflection, keeping instead far from the mirrors as he passed by them. This is a peculiarity he would not acknowledge, even within himself.

      Stepping into the softly-lit entry room of the suite, Michael gave Tom a brief glance in greeting. He felt distant, from his surroundings, from himself. Like a ghost, or someone in a dark dream. As he passed into the children's room, Connie was there, sitting in a rocking chair, keeping watch. She didn’t weigh on him the way Tom did, or Neri. His little sister still knew him—needed him, much the way his children did.

      "Good morning." He said, bending to kiss his little girl's forehead before flicking a glance to Connie. "Have they eaten?" 

      "Yes, I've taken care of it." She swallowed, watching him with wide eyes, very desperate for direction.

   "Good." He gave his sister a brief glance of acknowledgement, but it would be the only gesture of his appreciation for now.

   "Michael," she said, her voice shaking, “what’s.. Well what’s on your mind?”

      Her tone of voice caught him off-guard, seizing him in the stomach. Her grief and uncertainty was palpable, but what relief could he offer? The corners of his mouth were downturned as he looked to her. The situation couldn’t be discussed. Not now, in front of the children, who knew nothing about the passing of Fredo. It was the wrong time. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

      Michael pat his whimpering sister on the cheek, as their father often did. "I'll talk with you. Soon."

      Young Anthony sat in silence, facing away from them in his own emotional distance. Michael approached him from behind, gripping his son by the shoulders in wordless affirmation that everything would soon be alright. In truth, it meant little to the boy. The children's understanding of the situation was purposely limited, and Anthony—who was only eight years old—had already suffered enough. His fear of death and loss is severe; Michael was unprepared for his questions.

      He stepped out with a heaving sigh, a new cigarette dangling from his lips already. Tom made cautious approach out of love and concern for his brother, who looked physically weighted.

      "Save it." Michael said lowly, the cigarette bouncing with his words.

      "Ah, c'mon, Mikey," Tom rested a supportive his hand on his Don's back. "What's all this about?"

      Michael looked down over the dining table, touching a small toy Mary had left behind. Tom took a minute to study his brother, trying to find appropriate words of comfort. Michael was a difficult man to comfort. "Hey. They're children. It won't be long before they've outgrown the grief."

      Michael rubbed his eyes, the lit cigarette jutting from between his fingers. After a long silence, he softly exhaled.

      “Do you see the way Mary looks at me?"

      "Sure." Tom smiled.

      "I'm not a heartless man." Michael glanced to Hagen, studying his face for authenticity.

      "I know that, Mikey. I never.. I never said that." He whispered, apologetically, realizing now that Michael must’ve overheard a private discussion.

      "And my son," Michael continued, "he looks to me for approval. It doesn't matter what he's doing. He looks to me."

      Tom laughed quietly. "Well he admires you. That's quite an hon–"

      "I don't want him thinking he requires some stamp of approval from me. I'm his father, not his Don." He began to pant angrily, but softened expression for Tom’s sake. "I said we would become legitimate and I intend to follow though."

      Tom paused, watching Michael for a moment. His forehead had begun to sheen with sweat, which he would occasionally wipe away with his cigarette in hand. The Don's desire to legitimize the Family was earnest, but it would require support, patience, and many years. There is no "off switch" in the world of crime—there could be no immediate change.

      Taking a moment to overlook Reno from the floor-to-ceiling window confirmed that he had certainly lost all affinity for the city; Michael drew the vertical blinds to a close, darkening the room.

      "I'll not allow my children to live like this, Tom. They will be protected. I want guarantees," his voice was soft as he stood in pause, the smoke leaving warm off the tail of his sentence. "there are no guarantees in Our World. Changes must be made, and they will be by my hand."

[emoboijk]

Jeon Jeongguk—To Know a Person (08)

You’ve been calling, texting, emailing for years. But is that really enough to know a person? You’re about to find out. —fluff and angst

01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 :: 05 :: 06 :: 07 :: 08 :: 09 :: 10 :: 11 :: epilogue

2,834 words

photo cred

Mark—He sounds like a big baby

You laughed: 

Omg stop It’s understandable for him to be upset I’m upset

Mark—But you’re not throwing a tantrum

You grinned: 

…You’re mean like an American person

Mark—Wtf does that mean

Thinking of other things, you paused and typed: 

I should tell him about my study abroad plans

Mark—You’re coming here to study abroad! That’s awesome! Nice subject change btw ;)

You typed quickly: 

If you like that, you’ll love how I end this conversation C u later

Mark—Ugh. You’re mean like an American person

You chuckled at your screen, the humor fading as your eyes rose to the empty kitchen. Everything seemed darker, and you wondered how your surroundings could be so affected by your mood. But a quick look out the window and you realized it was actually cloudy outside. It was raining.

You slid off the bar stool and walked quietly over to Jeongguk’s room. He hadn’t been on the couch, which meant he must have been taking refuge in his own space.

The door creaked as it opened but Jeongguk didn’t move. He was laying on his back on the bed, the sheets in a pile on the floor (after the second day you both hadn't bothered putting them back on the bed) and he was staring intently at the ceiling. He dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “I forgot.”

You nodded, standing between his feet that were dangling off the edge of the bed. “Me, too.”

He sat up, his knees brushing the sides of your legs as he straightened himself out. Without thinking about it, because everything was moving so quickly that you had given up trying to keep borders on your interactions, you ran your fingers through his hair. He smiled at the sensation, forgetting again.

“I have something to tell you,” you said. His eyes widened with a perfect mingling of fear and hope in them. You opened your mouth to tell him, but before you could get the words out a loud commotion from the entryway drew your attention.

“You two better have your clothes on!” someone yelled, laughing loudly and familiarly so that it echoed across the apartment.

“Oh my god,” Jeongguk groaned, his head falling against your shoulder. He felt at once relieved and disappointed. He had no clue what you were about to say, and now that had time to fester. “They’re early.”

You chuckled and ran your fingers through his hair again, your heart racing in your chest. You heard multiple sets of feet hitting the floor and your brain flooded with fear. You could handle meeting one at a time, but how many were here now?

“Where is she? Where is she?” a sweet voice chanted, running across the apartment with delight.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, trembling in front of Jeongguk.

“They are pretty terrifying,” he said, standing to his full height, so close that he pushed against you. His hand traveled down your arm and clasped your own. But it felt different, as if something had shifted, only noticeable because of how acutely aware you were of him. Hearing the voices outside, you wondered when you would be able to talk to him alone again.

“Why are you checking our rooms?” someone said, “You know she’s staying in Guk’s room.”

Someone sighed and said, “It’s no fun if I already know the answer, hyung.” Their Korean was smooth and easy, fast as they joked around.

“Who is it?” you whispered, holding Jeongguk’s hand tightly to keep him from walking outside. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to delay meeting them for as long as possible as if this bubble the two of you had constructed over the last week would dissolve as soon as an outsider entered.

“Jin-hyung, Hoseok-hyung and Jimin-hyung.”

You exhaled slowly, your hands shaking. Jeongguk watched you with wonder, “Why are you so nervous?”

“These are the most important people in your life,” you said, your eyes as wide as saucers, “I want them to like me.”

Jeongguk kissed your forehead, “They already do.”

The introductions had been a whirlwind of excited laughter and genuine smiles, and lots of bouncing up and down on the part of Jimin and Hoseok. After Jeongguk had introduced you, you had bowed respectfully, trying to hide behind a curtain of your hair.

“Aigoo,” Hoseok said, “So cute!”

You blushed and turned into Jeongguk like a child hiding behind her mother’s skirts. His arm wrapped around you, but it felt...different. His body seemed tensed and guarded, a stark contrast to the relaxed boy you’d been alone with all week. You looked up from where you’d buried your face in his chest with questioning eyes, but he was looking up at his hyungs. He was smiling, yes, but there was something about it that didn’t seem right.

Over the next hour, the rest of the infamous K-Pop group stumbled into the apartment looking rested and antsy. Namjoon had come in with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a beanie resting low on his eyebrows. Taehyung came in after him with his nose in his phone, a baseball cap sitting backward on his head. Yoongi was the last, headphones securely in place until he spotted you, a traditional gummy smile transforming his face as he said in chirpy Korean, “Foreigner!”

You were on the couch, surrounded by five gorgeous Korean boys who were chuckling at Yoongi’s comment. He abandoned his luggage in the entryway and sat next to Hoseok comfortably, bumping fists and slapping hands as a way of greeting the members he hadn’t seen for awhile.

After the introductions, Jimin’s stomach interrupted the clamor of conversation as they all asked you questions. Everyone’s eyes turned to him, and a communal chuckle as Jin twisted around numerous bodies to reach the phone. His fingers hovered over the keypad when he paused and looked at you nervously, “What to eat?” he said in English.

You blushed as all seven pairs of eyes turned on you. Your glance turned to Jeongguk, who was sitting to your left. His body was tense and as soon as his eyes met yours, he looked away. His forearms were resting on his thighs, leaning heavily against them and looking at the ground, his body tensed.

One by one, each of the other members’ gazes slid from you to Jeongguk, seven downturned frowns transforming their faces, quickly going back to smiles as you looked at them. Fiddling with your fingers, you answered quietly in Korean, “Noodles?”

“Alright!” Hoseok exclaimed, patting Jin’s back excitedly as he dialed the number for their favorite noodle place. After Jin ordered and confirmed how long it would take, the members dispersed to unpack and get ready for dinner.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Jeongguk whispered, rubbing his hands against his thighs and standing, walking away quickly towards the bathroom. Jin and Jimin sidled up to him, chatting away about their breaks as they walked.

You watched him walk away and Namjoon watched you. He’d been skeptical about your and Jeongguk’s plans to meet in person. He figured it wouldn’t go very well—it was a very big lie that Jeongguk had told you. And he hadn’t liked how hurt Jeongguk had been after the incident in the airport. But looking at you now, he could see your...devotion, plain as day. But there was something off. Yoongi had described the two you during a phone call, and it didn’t seem at all like he described.

Namjoon sucked on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the members filed out. He stood slowly, your eyes never shifting from Jeongguk even though he had disappeared. “Want some water?” he offered, your head finally turning away from the place Jeongguk had been walking.

“Um, sure,” you said, following him into the kitchen.

“How do you like Korea?” Namjoon said as he slid the glass across the counter to you.

You sighed, pushing Jeongguk’s coldness from your mind for a moment as you recalled all of the things you’d seen in Korea. Your response was like an exhale, a breath you’d held in your lungs and suddenly released, “It’s amazing,” you ran your finger along the rim of your glass and looked up at him, sincerity shining in your eyes, “Feels like home.” You looked over your shoulder, in the direction of Jeongguk’s room.

Namjoon chuckled, his dimpled smile taking over his face as he said, “The place or the person?”

You smiled down at your water, suddenly nervous. You felt the tension that had formed between you and Jeongguk since your conversation that morning. It seemed like a chill had settled on your shoulders, a kind of uneasiness in the air.

“The person,” you confirmed, but your voice held none of the gooey, love-sick tones that had coated them the past few days. They were like the puff of air visible in the winter air, a sign of the weather. You looked up at Namjoon, feeling desperate and isolated, tears welling in your eyes.

Namjoon filled with sympathy at the desperation of your expression. His eyebrows raised and he almost broke his glass trying to put it back on the counter. You chewed on your bottom lip and hit your fingers against your glass in a nervous rhythm.

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, turning to look over your shoulder in Jeongguk’s direction again, “He’s different.”

“Jeongguk’s—” Namjoon cut himself off when the maknae rounded the corner, his hair still damp from his quick shower. His eyes snapped between the two of you like a sniper’s viewfinder, serious and deadly. His eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. Jeongguk scoffed and turned away, his shoulders stiff as he retreated to Jimin’s room.

You nearly collapsed against the counter, hands burying into your hair as you whispered, “What’s in his head?”

Jeongguk fell onto Jimin’s bed with a thunk, but Jimin didn’t look away from the mirror, where he was brushing his hair in a very specific way. Hoseok was at his desk, plugging in various computer cords, unpacking now that he was back.

“Sick of her already?” Hoseok joked, turning in his swivel chair to chuckle at Jeongguk happily. Jeongguk sighed moodily and rolled onto his stomach, burying his head in the sheets with an unhappy groan. Hoseok and Jimin shared a look.

“Wait,” Jimin said, still smiling because he suspected this might be a practical joke, “Really?”

“She’s leaving,” Jeongguk said, turning to his back and sitting up, but keeping his head angled down. Hoseok frowned and walked over to the bed, sitting beside the maknae and rubbing his back soothingly.

“That was always the plan, I thought,” Hoseok whispered.

Jeongguk sniffed, scrunching his nose up to keep from crying. He wiped a hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose before responding. “I forgot.”

“Oh,” Jimin whispered, sitting on his other side.

“What if she doesn’t come back?” Jeongguk said, a dry sob in the back of his throat as the desperation he felt strained all of his muscles.

You and Jeongguk met in the hallway two minutes later, after the doorbell echoed through the house and Seokjin had cheered through the hallways that the food was here. Each of the members pulled out a couple of dollars and Seokjin handed it all to the delivery boy, accepting the giant bag of food in return. They bowed to each other and the door closed easily.

“Mianhaeyo,” you said, for what seemed like the millionth time, “I don’t have any money.”

Taehyung smiled boxily in your direction, “You’re the guest.”

“Although you did ruin that pan,” Yoongi joked, rifling through the bags with a pair of chopsticks already in his hands.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding behind your hands, momentarily forgetting about the weird tension with Jeongguk as the members conversed with you easily, asking you questions about what you’d been doing, what you did in the States, etc.

But when you all sat down to eat, and the space between you and Jeongguk was five inches of empty, hazardous, invisible no-man’s land, the tension came back like a flood in a valley. He seemed bright and cheery, his smile sweet and his conversation happy, but everyone sensed something off. You tried to ignore it and just eat, but it was like swimming with jellyfish, every movement was painful.

Despite the weird energy between you both, you ended up staying up quite late talking to the members, chatting with them comfortably. By the end of the night, they all felt so genuinely affectionate towards you (if only for the sake of their maknae) that it was only bittered by the fact that you and Jeongguk did not seem to be getting along. But, hoping for the best, you followed Jeongguk into his bedroom once everyone dispersed.

“Finally alone,” you smiled, patting the bed so that Jeongguk would sit with you. But instead, he stood and opened some drawers on his dresser, digging through them haphazardly. You ignored it and said, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” But he didn’t turn around and with every word you spoke his muscles seemed to tense, his back stiff as he avoided your gaze. You furrowed your eyebrows and said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“What?” he said gruffly, in Korean. He didn’t look up or soften his voice at all, but just kept rifling through.

“Hey,” you whispered, standing and putting a hand on his shoulder. You switched to Korean, speaking softly, “You were weird today.”

“Weird?” he said absently, his eyes still not shifting away from the drawer.

You tugged on his arm so that he was forced to look, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips. You raised your eyebrows and felt as if you’d been slapped. Even the few times he’d been upset with you, prior to your meeting, he’d never had this kind of attitude. He was a genuine person and that didn’t lend itself to passive aggressive sighs or cold shoulders. You stepped back and chewed on your bottom lip, finding the words you’d been planning to say shrinking back into your throat. Taking another moment, you continued on in Korean, “You seemed really distant today. Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” he huffed, a piece of his hair blowing away from his face and his eyes drifting to look away from you.

“Jeongguk,” you whispered, holding both of his hands and pleading, “Talk to me.”

“No,” he whispered angrily, brushing past you so that his arm hit yours roughly before he slammed the door on his way out. Irritation boiled in you like lava, burning the concern from your mind as you pulled the door open abruptly.

You didn’t look at the various members who’d stuck their heads into the hall at the commotion and focused solely on the tensed muscles underneath Jeongguk’s t-shirt. “What’s going on?” you screamed, the desperation and frustration straining your voice so that it hurt to speak.

Jeongguk turned and glared at you, his expression like ice. Behind him Hoseok and Jimin had appeared from their shared room, Yoongi wandering out with a toothbrush in his mouth. Behind you, Namjoon, Jin, and Taehyung had appeared, too, searching the maknae’s face for a clue as to what was happening.

His silence was a non-answer, so you pushed on. “Things were great Jeongguk. What happened! You barely looked at me all day! And now you won’t even talk to me?”

“What does it matter!” Jeongguk was yelling, tears brimming in his eyes as his face reddened with frustration. “You’re leaving!” The sound had burst from him almost involuntarily like a balloon pushed so far that it popped.

You stepped back. You looked away from him, unable to see his beautiful face so contorted by sadness and frustration. “Is that what this is about?” you whispered, taking another step back before finally looking up at him.

Jeongguk felt as if he’d been hit by a high-speed train, your expression so hurt that all the air was taken from his lungs. He was frozen as you kept speaking.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me? And been so cold to me today?” your voice was quiet but so loud that it rung in Jeongguk’s ears. Your eyes pierced him and he felt your pain sharply in his chest. “You’re afraid of getting hurt? So you shut down?”

Everything was a question because you were begging him to contradict you, to spin some other tale that explained his behavior. Because you had finally let yourself trust him. You had finally accepted that this was Jeongguk. The...love of your life.

“What if you don’t come back?” Jeongguk’s words escaped him as if from an exhale as if he’d been stepped on and he’d been holding those words in the back of his throat and they escaped involuntarily.

You sighed, pain and betrayal blooming in your chest like a devastating rose. “Congratulations, Jeongguk,” you whispered, “You protected yourself by hurting me.”

author’s note—i am so bad at angst

for more of my works check out my m.list !

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

early pact conversations

The halls of Fort Amol were uneasy tonight. The Dunmer and the Nords didn’t reside among each other easily, but with their two heroes absent tensions ran particularly high. So Jorunn kept out of sight as he made his way to the central chambers, unwilling to be confronted until he had his word with their leaders himself. Sai must have favored him, for he arrived at the central chambers unmolested. But then he paused, for drifting from behind the door was a heated argument, and he couldn’t help but pause to listen. “… Nid ov rok.” That was a woman’s voice, deep and smooth, but rather than Aldmeris it spoke a language Jorunn had only ever heard in bard-songs, the old language of dragons. “Rok dreh yah mu fah ok muz.” replied a man in the same harsh tongue, his voice so quiet that Jorunn had to strain to hear it. “Rok los hun.” “Rok nid los hun, rok los kiir!” the woman said with anger. “Hi lost kiir fod hi meyz jul.” replied the man. “Zu'u nid los rok!” “Rok los med hi.” “Zu'u los nid Jul do bastard.” the woman hissed. “Zu'u lost nid… Zu'u los nid bron!” “Nuz hi dreh bo bronne.” “Zu'u bo hi. Zu'u HATE rok.” “Hi hate ok red hair.” “How DARE you–” The man spoke a single word, causing the walls to shake, and then the door swung open, and Jorunn found himself caught plain-faced in his eavesdropping. The inner chambers of Fort Amol seemed far, far too small to house two gods and a king, and yet here they were. Wulfharth stood still at one side of the room, large as a giant and placid; Almalexia floated at the other side of the room, so angry that the furious energy rolling off of her was nearly palpable. Almalexia reacted first. “You dare to eavesdrop on us?” she demanded, turning to Jorunn. “Rok nid tinvaak dovahzul,” Wulfharth said softly, his voice a rasp, “Be still.” Almalexia drew herself up, alighting on the ground. She closed her eyes and seemed to steady herself; then her expression changed, she relaxed, assumed a benevolent smile that failed to reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said warmly, turning to Jorunn, “What is it that you need? Have our scouts returned?” Sai might’ve been with him, but Jhunal was absent. “How did you learn to speak dragon-tongue?” Jorunn blurted out. The smile left Almalexia’s face immediately. “My companions might indulge frivolous questions, but I’ve less patience for them.” she replied. “If you’re here only to ask–” “She learned it as a child.” Wulfharth said, interrupting her effortlessly, though his voice was soft. “Ysmir!” “She was born, fatherless, to the woman who ruled Mournhold at the time the Nords dominated it.” Wulfharth continued on. “The first blighter-Jarl taught her our language.” Jorunn, uncomfortably, looked from Wulfharth to Almalexia; the former’s brow was creased, the latter’s face burned with anger, to the point that furious tears glinted in her eyes. “Geh.” she said curtly, looking away. “And you, Ysmir, learned it from the dragons who reared you. But it’s far in the past. Jorunn, the scouting reports.” “Not so far in the past.” Wulfharth whispered. “You would not have summoned me were that the case.” “Forgive me,” Jorunn interrupted, awkward, and he bowed deeply to the Goddess. “I didn’t mean to offend.” “Stand, Skald-King.” Wulfharth ordered. “An ally who will not share their history is no ally. And you have questions.” Jorunn, uncomfortable, looked from one god to the other. “… I think they can wait.” he answered cautiously, taking a step towards the door. “I just, ah, the scouting reports.” Almalexia crossed to him and took them, not gently, from his hands. “The scouting reports.” she agreed. “You may leave.” “Almalexia.” Wulfharth began– But Jorunn knew enough to know when to remove himself from a situation, and this was as good a time as any. So he bowed and excused himself from the room.

…

For the sourness of their last meeting, Jorunn couldn’t have been more surprised to return to his chambers a few days later and find them occupied by the Mercy of the Dunmeri Tribunal. Almalexia didn’t float but stood upon the ground, her face downturned as she looked over the papers of his desk; military reports interspersed with songs or poems. “… This isn’t the first time I’ve ended up with an elf in my bedchambers,” Jorunn announced himself, “But…” Almalexia turned to him, frowning, but ignored the comment. “Who was your father, Jorunn?” “My father?” Jorunn sat on the edge of his bed and shook his head. “I don’t know. Nurnhilde never let me ask.” “And your mother, her name was Flame-Hair, wasn’t it?” Almalexia looked back to his desk. “It’s from her you inherit your red hair.” Jorunn found that he couldn’t think of a reply to that; he tugged at a loose strand of his own red locks. “Aye, I… Suppose that’s right.” Almalexia thumbed through a poem. “In Resdayn,” she said idly, “It was said that a mer with red hair had human blood in their veins. My mother’s hair was brown.” “Your father was a Nord?” “I don’t know. The question was never answered, because my House would have cast me out were it the case. My mother only ever told me that I was the child of Boethiah.” She paused, then. “… I was born on Vvardenfell, and I used to think that I’d one day find someone who knew. But anyone who might’ve known died before I convinced myself to ask them. There was one man, Voryn Dagoth, the man who taught me to resurrect Wulfharth… I believe he knew, and would have told me. But the truth is more frightening than any specter and I confessed I was frightened. The Nords who ruled Mournhold were not gentle men. I would not sleep easily if I knew for certain I was of their blood.” Jorunn hesitated. “I understand.” he admitted. “My sister… she knew, but she never told me. Mother hated to speak of it. Fildgor thinks it was one of the Storm-Fist clan, but he doesn’t know either…”  “Does that bother you?” “To tell the truth? No, never. My sister and my mother were incredible women, and I didn’t need more than the pride of being related to them.“  "I wish I could have met them."  "So do I."  A silence fell between them, but not an uncomfortable one, and though Jorunn had many things to say, precocious youth he was, he kept silent until the Goddess opposite him stood and turned to him. "Jorunn,” she said seriously, “I congratulate you on your strength. It is rare for a Goddess to administer praise, but you are deserving of it. It takes great strength to take a throne that was never meant for you, but you did so, not out of ambition but for a love of your people and a wish to see them protected. So I give you my praise and my blessing for this brave thing you’ve done."  The unexpected sincerity made Jorunn blush and, flustered, he rose to his feet and bowed deeply. But that made Almalexia laugh and she touched his shoulder. "Rise, Skald-Prince. Wulfharth was right about you, you’re a noble-hearted idiot. But all good Nords are."  "Wulfharth called me an idiot?"  "It’s praise coming from him. It means he trusts you.” She paused, then added. “As do I trust you, I suppose, for I wouldn’t have told you this, otherwise. Be honoured; the trust of a Goddess is not easily won."  Jorunn straightened up and smiled, "But the trust of an ally? Oh, wait, come to think of it, Dunmer don’t even trust their allies, do they?"  "Oh– save me from the Nords.” Almalexia turned away from him, but he caught the glimpse of a smile on her face. “Don’t grow insolent, Skald-Prince. We shall see how things seem come morning."  "Geh, Judiil."  "Judiil? Zu'u los judiil, hi los konahrik-i."  "Right, right, judi. Pruzahvulon, judi?"  "Ha! Very good. Pruzahvulon, Jorunn."  And then she was gone, and it was only later that Jorunn realized she’d taken the drawing he’d done of his mother Queen Mabjaarn, the one with snowberry juice staining red her hair.

["I do not trust him.” “He sought us out on behalf of his people.” “He is a child.” “You were a child when you seized power.” “Do not compare me to him!” “He is much like you.” “I am no Jarl’s bastard. I never stole his land or… I am no Nord!” “But you came for them for help.” “I came to /you/. I hate him.” “You hate his red hair.” “How dare–”

…

“Yes, your queen.” “Your queen? I am your queen, you are my-general.” “Right, right, my queen. Goodnight, my queen?” “Ha! Very good. Goodnight, Jorunn.”]

[sedimentarydearwatson]

Neus backstory musings! Subject to change should canon slap me with conflicting info, but decently supported I think.

As noted, born to Calbandran / ocean folk sailors, who were part of a merchant company with bases in both Old Vailia and the Vailian Republics.

Since “murdered at birth” would make for a very short story, Neus drew a lucky straw in that her parents were somewhat dismayed to have produced a godlike child, but not superstitious enough to kill or abandon her - and, over the next few weeks, they moved past their initial reservations to love her as they would any other child.

(Neus means ‘snow’ in Catalan, it being one of the languages Vailian is based on. Make of that what you will.)

It did mean a lot of restrictions about where she went and when - her mother’s ship was the majority of her world for many years, with a few greatly-cherished forays onto land and a lot of wistful peering through portholes.

Much of the crew accepted or at least tolerated her, since her parents chose their hires carefully after she was born, but trouble brewed regardless; there was no stamping out the uneasy undercurrent entirely, and the wider merchant group was also less than pleased to have a death godlike on their ships. More dangerous than the prejudice, though, was those with ambition - Neus’ parents had significant shares in the company, and their removal would tip the hierarchical balance in certain people’s favour.

Things came to a head after a period in which the company had hit a downturn for several months straight, meaning tensions were high. The opportunists pounced on the opening to point fingers at the classical harbinger of ill fortune, plying viciously clever charisma to fan the embers of unease into real flames of violence.

When the fighting broke out, Neus was hastily swept from her ship and told to run - to hide in the Vailian Republic city they were docked at, until it was safe and her parents could come for her. She fled down unfamiliar streets, hood pulled over her head to mask her at least that little, and waited. And waited. And when dawn broke she tried to make her way back to the docks, only to realise she’d lost all sense of the way she’d come. Too frightened to ask for help, it wasn’t until the next morning that she found it to where her family had been, and by then the ships were gone.

(As an adult she does track down the company again, and finally confirms she was orphaned that night. In the interim period she’d sometimes wondered if they’d just left her.)

All of nine years old and having spent little time in cities at all, let alone on her own, Neus to this day counts the following two months as the worst time in her life. She stole when desperation turned to recklessness, but she had no knack for it and was rightfully terrified of what would happen if she were caught; the rest of the time, she begged where she was able, and dug through garbage where she was not. She kept herself as covered as she could, but still became well accustomed to the reactions she could expect should people realise what she was.

One day, she crossed some older youths who chased her down, pinned her to the ground, and tried to tear off her facial growths. It would have ended bloodily had they not been suddenly - and quite literally - punted off her. The youths fled in one direction; Neus’ feeble attempt to scramble in the other was forestalled by a hand fisting itself in her collar, and she found herself dangling from midair like a scruffed kitten under the resigned eye of a coastal aumaua wearing a tarnished sunburst badge at his throat.

Six months before, the Saint’s War had ended in fire and blasphemy (at least according to some quarters). Those not killed in the battle had slunk to safer lands to lick their wounds, and it turned out one such group of slinkers occupied the shabby building Neus had been accosted behind. They were a sorry lot indeed; a couple of acolytes and soldiers following a woman whose faith had been so badly broken by the defeat and ensuing silence from her god that her blessings carried little weight anymore.

The aumaua, Barasse, took the struggling Neus inside anyway. At first the priest regarded the child as expected - with the weary shadow of compassion and orders that her wounds be treated, but no attempt at healing made. Equally tired of the malaise they had all been living under since the War, Barasse made an offhand comment about how strangely convenient it was to have found a godlike in need right outside their door.

The priest hesitated, and called Neus back; clasped her face in her hands and echoed that yes, perhaps it was curious, to find a child blessed by death, by the god of cycles and renewal, at their door in these trying times when Eothas himself was claimed dead and lost to them - in that moment, desperate hope latched onto the handhold provided, broken faith kindled anew, and the priest healed the wounds Neus had received in the scuffle.

Neus found herself being spun in delighted circles through the air and declared a sign, a missive, a miracle! (Neus was too petrified to protest.)

And so Neus ended up staying with the priests, because there was food and shelter, as well as ample affection. The trauma of her experiences had left her wary and near to feral, and earning her trust was not a quick process. Over time, though, the kind attentions of the Eothasians softened her, and she came to enjoy listening to their prayers and joining in their rituals. She liked the message they preached - of benevolence and honesty, traits they’d shown her when so few others had.

Foregone conclusion: Neus ended up becoming a full convert, training in the Eothasian ways alongside the other acolytes. She learned to hone the edge of her faith such that it shaped the very world around her, while Barasse taught her first the use of the quarterstaff, then the proper weapons of an Eothasian, the morningstar and flail. He also provided a tempering opinion on the events of the Saint’s War in comparison to some of the others, who truly believed Waidwen to have been Eothas taken flesh and still harboured significant anger towards Dyrwood.

Neus lived among the priests for some ten odd years - not in the same shabby building, as they travelled a bit to spread their ministry rather than set up in a stable temple. Eventually the leading priest died of age and illness, however, and without her steadying leadership the group began to argue and fracture under their differing opinions - those still bitter about the war against those who wanted the ugly past forgotten.

The infighting became too much for Neus, who still remembered well how that had gone once in her life already (and indeed, there were some pointed comments directed her way as one of the head priest’s favourites). She ended up parting ways with the group over it, with Barasse going his own way as well. It was not an easy decision - she actually had a serious crisis about the whole thing - but it was the moment she decided she believed in Eothas’ core teachings and Bugger Everything Else. She would be kind, she would be good, she would be everything they had been to a child in need. The world was ugly but that just made every choice to do the right thing all the more beautiful. Etc etc. Stubbornly optimistic mode engaged.

And lo, she commenced wandering around Eora for another five or so years until she hitched a ride with a caravan and everything went dramatically pear-shaped.

Oh god this is so long and I am so tired.