#he is in post heat tiredness because he spent the past few days in a whimpering needy heat daze.

[atticwifesam]

you can feel his omega pheromones through the phone. 💕

[wolfs-hunt1]

Draco x reader

Pairing: Draco x Gryffindor reader

Summary: Your final game of quiditch of the season and your team wins, leading to a after party in the room of requirements with your boyfriend

Word count: 1635

A/N: I’ve started this last year and only now got around to finishing it, I’m so sorry it’s bad

Warnings: under age drinking, sorry for any typo

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

Being a chaser had its perks. For one, it improved your reflexes outside of the pitch, so you were one of the best snowball fighters Hogwarts has ever seen during the winter months. And for another, you looked hot in your Quidditch robes. But being a chaser for the team wasn't always fun and games.

There were no dull moments during the game, to which you were actually thankful for, there was always something to do always someplace to be, and five other chasers to pay attention to, not to mention the other players. This also meant that there was never a moment where you could stop to rest. You would always have to pay attention. One distraction and it could mean the other team's Chaser took the quaffle and could score 10 points, and that could mean losing the match on some occasions.

Not quite like a Seeker, where all they did was sit atop a broom the entire game searching for a little golden ball. That ought to be boring, although the longer the game dragged on the more prone to tiredness one would get, despite what position they occupied.

This was the last game of the season, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. The most awaited match, the most rival teams, both with the most to lose. The winning team would win the Quidditch cup and seal the fate of the year, bringing great pride to their house, and they head of the house.

The score was 200 to 190, Gryffindor on the lead, it was a very head-to-head game, each team never letting the other score too much before closing in on the difference, and the golden snitch was nowhere to be found. Not that you had had a moment to look around, but you could see, from the corner of your eye, the two seekers zooming in and out searching for it.

In fact, despite the fact that you couldn't see him, you felt his gaze on you more than once throughout the game. His grey icy eyes lingering on you whenever he flew overhead, his silver and green robes matching his pale blond hair, making it hard to miss him. In fact, his smirk was so annoying that the next time he flew close to you, you didn't even budge, colliding into his side and steering him off course before continuing with the quaffle to the opposing team's goalposts. His chuckled laugh the last thing you heard. He was so smug his team was going to win he wasn't even paying attention out for the snitch!

You looked over to Harry for just one second, only to find him focused on the game. 'Now that is a true seeker. You could learn something from him Malfoy.' you thought with a snarky grin before scoring the next goal. The two teams were once more tied when Slytherin scored 5 min later. Catching the snitch would be the only way to win the game if the scores were kept this close together.

Getting the grip on your broom tighter you zoom out of the way of the bludger one of the Slytherin beaters had thrown at you, barely avoiding getting hit by it and plummeting down to the ground below. You quickly regained the balance of your broom and angled it upwards, getting back to the game as if nothing had happened, but keeping a keen eye out for those beaters. You could see Fred shadowing you a bit more closely after that though, keeping the bludgers away from your vicinity.

You manage to intercept the quaffle and quickly make your way to the opposing goal posts, throwing the quaffle in the air and making a somersault with your broom, hitting the quaffle with its bristles, and scoring another 10 points to Gryffindor, making the crowd cheer out your name when all of a sudden the crowd goes silent, only Lee Jordan screaming out what was happening outside of your field of view.

Apparently, both Harry and Draco had spotted the elusive golden snitch and were both toe to toe after it, everyone was holding in their breaths and even the remaining players had stopped playing to look at the seekers themselves, hearing on for their respective team member.

Most of the remainder of the game was a blur in the back of your mind. Harry had caught the snitch, and the entire Gryffindor house was at the pitch chanting the house name at the top of their lungs and carrying the Quidditch players above their heads, making you feel like you were floating in the air without the help of a broom.

Your ears kept the ringing from all the screaming, even after you were in the locker room, only the water from the shower making noise around you, washing out the sweat of the game from your body.

The Gryffindor tower was able with the after-party, which really started in the great hall during dinner and was brought back here so as to spare the Slytherins some of the humiliation the green-clothed pompous students were feeling.

Escaping the party was near impossible though, because either Freed or George always found you trying to sneak by partying students and manage to drag you right back to the thick of it, giving you another shot of firewhiskey they had managed to smuggle inside without the teacher's knowledge. You were starting to feel a bit hazy, but all the party noise was making your head pound more than it should on the basis.

So, after your fourth attempt at escaping, and after making sure both twins were busy with a small favor requested of Angelina, you finally managed to slip past them and the Fat Lady portrait, and slowly, so as not to trip over your own feet, making your way down the stairs, with the room of requirements as your destination.

Passing for a few seconds in front of the corridor the door to the room of requirements started to slowly appear, and as soon as it was fully visible you slipped inside, letting the door close behind you soundlessly. The room was too different from what you remembered from last year, the rows of piled-up furniture now contrasting with the way the room previously looked, despite it being able to change.

But this did provide you with some privacy in your nightly escapades since you could just hide behind a particularly dome-shaped pile and hope to not be noticed by anyone else. You made your way to this corner and noticed that he was already there, waiting for you atop the blankets and pillows you both had eventually brought there to make the corner more comfortable to spend the copious amounts of time you two spent there.

"You sure took your sweet time." the blond grumbled at you, pulling you to his lap once you were close enough, making you straddle his waste and sit comfortably on his thighs.

"Sorry, I had some trouble with getting away noticed." you slurred a bit on some words, making him push you a bit off his lat so he could look at you more clearly.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, with a scandalous tone on his lips, "And you didn't even wait to get drunk with me. I'm offended." his smirk was too distracting, though, making you not pay too much attention to his teasing words.

"Just shut up and kiss me, you git."

"With pleasure." the blonde says, raising his wands to your face and cupping your cheeks while his lips tentatively searched for your at first until he gained more intensity, kissing you like he was a starved man looking at a feast for the first time in forever.

"I'm sorry your team lost." you whisper in between kisses, moving your harms from his waist to his neck, getting closer to his body heat.

Draco stops kissing you for a second to look deep into your eyes, before answering: "I don't mind we lost, I got to stare at you play the entire time, and let me tell you, you were amazing. Just... don't tell my father that, he always expects ME to be more than great."

"Well, I did notice you totally spaced out during the game, but if I had known I was the cause of it, I would have made sure to acknowledge my fan." you giggle out at him, pecking his lips when he pouts a bit at you.

"So I've brought this for us to celebrate one of us winning, but I guess you already started celebrating without me." Draco says, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey from under his robes.

"I tried to get away sooner, but neither Fred nor George were having it, since I scored most goals for the team. But I'm here now to celebrate with you." he smiles at you and pours out some of the bottle's contents into two glasses, passing you one of them and toasting with you.

"To us, for the last game of the season, for the final days of the school year. For our two years together, and keeping it out of others noses." he laughs a bit when you mention that last part, remembering how hard it had been to keep your relationship hidden from every nosy person in the castle for this past two years, allowing the two of you to enjoy more together and giving no satisfaction to others.

For now, the two of you remain in your bubble, drunken kisses and cuddles leading to a sleepover in the room of requirements, and to a blissful few more moments together before having to catch the train to return home for summer vacations, until next school year rolled around bringing the two lovers back together once again.

[agoodgoddamnshot]

When the Morning Light Shines In - Geralt/Jaskier

[Gif not mine - also, while we’re here, tell me that that the head tilt henry gives there isn’t the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen.]

Originally posted to AO3 on my account.

Jaskier can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man. In mornings where they were surrounded by trees, or half-way up a stupid, fucking mountain because of a stupid, fucking quest posed to them by some stupid, fucking man, he’ll always wake to the sound of Geralt moving around: whether it’s rolling up his own tent, or taking his blades to a whetstone, or fixing the last of Roach’s gear. He remembers Geralt telling him about not being able to sleep. Until then, he supposed, Witchers might not have needed it. Then again, until he met Geralt, he can’t say for certain that he knew exactly what a Witcher did and didn’t need.  

He can’t think of any point in their travels together where he has woken up before the other man – except for now.

Wakefulness comes slowly; tentatively stepping into the room like the watery morning light trying to fight its way in through the window. Their room looks out on to the small livery yard, belonging to the inn, and in the horizon beyond, he can see the sun starting to peer over the mountains. When light comes in, it sneaks and crawls along the floorboards, reaching for the bottom post of the bed; trying very much not to wake anything in its path – and shit, that’s a good line. If a firm Witcher’s arm wasn’t slung across his waist, keeping him pinned, he would write it down. Fuck it, Jaskier sighs into his pillow. I’ll remember.

Even though he moves only an inch, there’s a hum of soreness that ripples up through his spine. His skin is set alight as memories from last night whisper back; appearing in front of him like afterimages.

One of the first things he noticed when he woke up was how warm he was. Over on the other side of the room, embers are dying in the hearth, smothered by grey ash and smoke billowing up through the chimney. The Northern Territories are very rarely warm. Even the summers, although the sun tends to hang high in the sky on some good days, it can be hidden away by shields of thick cloud. But the air inside the room was just the right kind of warm, a kind that buried right into Jaskier’s bones.

The body behind him helps, too. He didn’t know what to expect from Geralt – the man puts on such an icy and cold front, that Jaskier only assumed the same could be said about his body. But all that comes from Geralt’s skin is heat. Most of the sheets and comforters had been kicked down towards the foot of the bed during the night. A light, white sheet lies over their hips. Even with nothing much to cover them, Jaskier still feels so warm. Something that makes his eyelids heavy and his muscles lax.

Jaskier lets his eyes slip shut again, burrowing back into the body behind him; praying to any god or spirit around that time could stop, so they didn’t have to go anywhere.

But once he’s awake, Jaskier finds it hard to go back to sleep. Instead, after a few moments of listening to the small town outside slowly begin to rouse, he tries his best to turn around – Geralt’s vice-grip on him making it none the easier – and face the other man. Distantly, he wonders how many people have seen him like this. Asleep, out of this world, and vulnerable. In their nights spent in the wilds, either on plateaus of grassland or sheltered by standing trees, Jaskier always noted that Geralt, when he did choose to sleep, never really allowed himself to go that deep into it. There was a good enough point to it – a monster would lurk in the shadows, ready to pounce. And Geralt had to be ready.

But even in nights spent in an inn, he wondered if Geralt felt it safe enough to sleep that bit deeper; knowing that vagabonds or sell-swords could be around.

It’s an odd word to associate with Geralt – vulnerable. Jaskier, for all of his word-smithing, isn’t really sure if it’s the right word to use at all. Geralt, although looking fairly asleep now, would probably be awake within seconds if someone, or something, were to barge through the door.

And gods, he hopes not. Jaskier spares a quick glance at the locked door for safety sake. He doesn’t know when he’ll have an opportunity to see this again. And he wants it committed to memory.

Or, because he knows how much it’ll annoy the other man, maybe a ballad.

“I can hear you thinking, bard.”

Jaskier looks up. Two amber eyes stare back at him, only a few inches away. A small smile tugs at the corner of Jaskier’s lip. “Sorry. I’ll turn it down, then. I know how much you seem to want your beauty sleep.”

He doesn’t get much of a reply. But then again, when does he from Geralt? Jaskier tilts his head, watching the Witcher settle back against the bedding and be pulled back further into sleep. Out on the landing, other residents in the inn are rousing and starting to leave for whatever it is that they need to do. Something makes Jaskier shuffle against Geralt’s side; they’ll have to leave soon. With winter slowly starting to creep in, the days are getting shorter, and the nights longer. There’s only a certain amount of time where they can spend walking along the roads.

And the more time they spend here, doing whatever it is they’re doing now, because Jaskier isn’t quite sure, the less time they’ll have moving on to Geralt’s next contract. Whatever that is.

“This might be the longest stretch of time you’ve spent in silence, Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice is nothing more than a rasping hum. “I can’t even get a moment’s peace during the night because of your sleep-talking.”

Jaskier’s brow creases with a frown. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

Geralt huffs. “Yes, you do.”

And he could very well blame it on the fact that the room is warm, as is the body he’s pressed against, or memories coming back to him from last night are starting to be dug up like spring soil ready for sewing, but Jaskier can feel a flush blooming across his face and the back of his ears.

Thank the gods for Geralt having his eyes closed, then.

Before the Witcher can have an opportunity to look, Jaskier buries his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. A movement the other man doesn’t shy away from.

After a few moments, Geralt rubs a hand over his face, wiping the last trace of sleep away. Jaskier feels like he has to mourn it, because within seconds, Geralt has displaced him from his warm spot, swinging his legs out from bed and sitting on the edge.

Pillowing his head on crossed arms, Jaskier takes a long look along the expanse of Geralt’s back. There doesn’t seem to be a stretch of skin that isn’t marred by some line. Faded white scars sit next to knotted messes of ones – ones that obviously were treated out in the wilds, and didn’t quite heal right. Jaskier’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch them; map them out like a map of stars. He wants to ask the man about each of their stories – if not for his own curiosity, then he could make some excuse about wanting to craft more songs about the Witcher’s past exploits.

But Geralt doesn’t seem too keen on moving just yet. He looks over towards the door to the room, locked and silent. Not one tavern maid had thought to knock or inquire as to where they were yet. Jaskier glances over too, noting with some strange feeling of pride the scattering of clothes that litter the ground. He spies his jacket and a single boot strung over the back of a wicker chair next to a small desk towards one side of the room. Beside it, crumpled on to the floor, is the black, lace-up shirt Geralt is so fond of wearing.

Jaskier lets out some sort of sigh. “So,” he looks over to the other man. “Where to today?”

His answer, for a moment at least, is a non-committal grunt. Geralt stands, wandering over where his underclothes and breeches had landed from the night before. As Jaskier lies back against the plush pillows of the bed, he mourns the sight of a naked Geralt too. Some anxiety-ridden thought picks at the back of his brain. When are you ever going to see this again? And something much worse suddenly looms over him. Will this ever happen again?

For all that Geralt seemed keen for it last night, Jaskier knows all too well how fleeting bed-partners can be. But something was different – for him, at the very least. Jaskier didn’t feel the need to peel himself away from the body beside him when the morning came. He didn’t want the body to move away either. Jaskier puts an arm behind his head, watching clothes slowly get back on to a body he had mapped so well the night before.

After what seems to have been a moon turn, Geralt finally speaks. “No one has offered a contract in a while,” he says simply.

When it becomes apparent that the Witcher isn’t going to finish that trail of thought, Jaskier speaks instead. “Are you going to seek one out?” Because he’ll be on the road again, wandering through another territory after gods know what. And Jaskier will follow, because he’s pretty invested at this point, but he just needs to know what they’re doing.

Geralt thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not for now, anyway.”

And that, Jaskier sits up against the headboard of the bed, surprises him. “You’re serious?”

“Taking a few days off,” Geralt worms his way into his shirt, leaving the laces around his neck open for the time being. “I’m...tired.”

Tired. Jaskier tilts his head. But when the other man turns away, starting a search for his boots, in whatever realm they may be in, Jaskier lets his head knock back against the wall behind him. Geralt isn’t physically tired. He was, for a time. But as the morning light starts to get that bit brighter, Jaskier can make out the lines starting to darken the skin around Geralt’s eyes. The tiredness that has settled into his bones won’t go away with sleep.  

He’s so lost in his own thoughts, he doesn’t notice that Geralt has wandered back over to the bed, standing by Jaskier’s side of it. Jaskier fixes the sheets, now pooled around his lap. “Your boots are over by the wardrobe-”

“I’m not looking for-” Geralt stops, letting out a long sigh. “Can I talk to you about something?”

We literally just had sex a few hours ago, Geralt. You can talk to me about anything. Jaskier, for one of the very few occasions in his life, makes sure his jaw is clamped shut, so none of those particular words come out. Instead, he nods, settling the other man with the softest look he can manage.

Geralt gestures vaguely. Without saying anything, Jaskier moves his legs – drawing his knees up towards his chest, letting some space appear for Geralt to perch on while he fiddles with the ties of his shirt. The Witcher looks at everything in the room, except for Jaskier. After what seems to be an eternity, Geralt sighs. “You need to understand something, Jaskier,” he says slowly. Lifting a hand, Geralt taps fingers against the centre of his chest. “I don’t...know what this is. You’ll hear that a Witcher doesn’t feel anything. But I do. And it’s...confusing.”

Jaskier loops around his arms around his knees, drawing himself inwards. “Confusing?”

“Irritating,” Geralt gives a half-snarl. “I would very much like to know what it is; only because it seems to creep up on me. And I hate it.”

“You hate being confused,” Jaskier replies. “You don’t hate the feeling of...what you’re feeling. You just hate that you don’t know what it is.”

Outside, a forge’s billows are starting to huff. Blacksmiths shoe horses in the yard, the hammering of steel and iron pings and echoes up towards the room. It’s almost distracting, in a way. Reminding him that the world outside is still trudging on; despite the fact that Geralt seems to be having a mental breakdown over figuring out what love is. Or something similar. Because if it’s the same feeling that has been slowly brewing inside of Jaskier for the past number of weeks, then yeah, Geralt is in for a shock.

The Witcher sighs. It’s a sharp sound, one to break the otherwise quiet of the room. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he looks over to Jaskier. “But, I find myself not knowing what to do with...”

Jaskier gestures vaguely at himself, and the current state of dress they’re both in. “This?”

Something akin to a smile ghosts across Geralt’s lips. “Yes. This.”

Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what to do either.” And it’s true; for all the beds and nights he has shared with the people before Geralt, he can’t think of a single time where he felt whatever it is that has wrapped so snugly around his chest.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jaskier says into the room. Whether it’s to assure Geralt or himself, he isn’t quite sure. But it’s enough to make the other man’s shoulders relax. Jaskier sits forward, letting one of his legs splays out against the mattress. With as much caution as he can manage, he reaches out, letting his fingertips skim along the Witcher’s forearm. Geralt turns his arm, letting Jaskier’s fingers follow the path of a vein down towards his hand.

He isn’t sure who starts it. Who leans into who, or who catches the other’s lips first. But Jaskier does know that is Geralt stops kissing him, he might just die. He lifts a hand, cupping the side of Geralt’s face. His thumb runs along the arch of the man’s cheekbone. It’s nothing more than lips moving against each other, but everything else around them slips away entirely.

But at some point, probably at the first swipe of tongue along the crease of Jaskier’s lips, the world comes back.

Jaskier is the one to break it – although, admonishes himself for doing it. Resting his forehead against Geralt’s, he sighs. “We only paid for this room for a night, you know.”

Gods, does he want to stay. It’s a thought the other man must be having too, because a small smile curls along Geralt’s lips. “Well then,” Geralt presses a small kiss to the arch of Jaskier’s cheekbone. “Get out some coin and we’ll pay for another.”

“I can’t with you-” Jaskier is broken off by a sharp gasp; lips and teeth skim along the length of his neck. A body stronger than his gentles him back, lying down into the downy mattress. He stares straight up at the ceiling, along the cracks and varnish stains of the wood. “I can’t do anything with you on me.”

His mind is torn – memories of last night surface, wakening muscles that had been sore not a few minutes ago. But he wants to be present. He wants to commit all of this to memory. He wants it all to feel familiar; how Geralt leans over him on his forearms, positioned on either side of Jaskier’s head. He wants his skin to remember what it’s like to be set alight by the soft press of lips against it. The warmth returns, blanketing them both. Thinking of it, Jaskier moves his legs as best as he’s able, kicking the sheet that had been slung over his hip out of the way. As soon as it’s gone, Geralt slots himself back between Jaskier’s parted legs. A strong hand goes to Jaskier’s thigh, shifting and moving it until one of the bard’s legs is hooked over the small of Geralt’s back.

“If you start something, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, reaching up to card fingers through the main’s hair, moving it out of the way of his face. “You better finish it.”

Geralt’s answering smile is almost feral. “I’d be more worried about keeping up, bard. You won’t be leaving this bed for a while.”

[jessahmewren]

“Just The Way You Are” / The X-Files / Fan Fiction

A response to @xfilesfanficexchange​ The X-Files Fan Fic Episode Challenge.  I had The War of the Coprophages for @admiralty-xfd​ who wanted a little bit of Scully’s thoughts post ep on Bambi, Mulder and the whole deal.  I hope I delivered for you dear. 

Also on Ao3 and tagging @today-in-fic

-0-0-0-

Scully stood bemused as Dr. Berenbaum and Dr. Ivanov retreated into the rainy afternoon, happily chatting about their combined interests.  If only Bambi had found him sooner, Scully found herself thinking.

It wasn’t that she was bitter that her partner had spent the better part of a week working with a smart, beautiful woman.  She was just wet and cold and covered in dung.

That’s what she told herself, at least, as Scully and Mulder made their way to the car.

Scully sat in the front seat as Mulder drove, the combined stink of the two of them almost comical in its overwhelming cloud.  As if reading her mind, Mulder hit the switch to roll down both of their windows.

They said very little on the drive back to the hotel, and Scully’s mind slowly turned over thoughts of a hot shower, bionic cockroaches, and big-breasted, doe-eyed etymologists.

Her cheeks dusted pink, a tight flutter in her chest.

Mulder had spent days with Bambi, working side by side, bouncing ideas off each other.  They’d gotten a lot of work done, it seemed.

Scully chewed on that as Mulder pulled up to the hotel.  “I call dibs,” Mulder called over his shoulder.  He had checked out the day before, so this was her room.

She rolled her eyes, following him inside the small room.  “Be quick,” she said.

It was chill inside, with that stale wet cold common to all motel rooms.  She absently picked through her things, setting aside her hairbrush and clothes on one of the double beds.  She heard the shower start up, and a puff of steam snaking out from a crack in the door.

After a few minutes Mulder came out, hair spiked in places and sticking to his head in others, his tan skin pinked at the collar of his t-shirt.  Scully swallowed, feeling the color rise in her cheeks.

“Leave any hot water for me?”

His mouth quirked up.  “Maybe a little.  Should’ve showered together, Scully.  Save the planet and all that.”

She cocked her head, eying him hard as her heart hammered in her chest.  When she slid past him on her way to the bathroom, the warmth and clean soap smell of him pressed into her, and it was all she could do not to lean into it.

She quickly scrubbed off, washing her hair and her body, her skin just a touch oversensitive.  She chalked it up to nerves, to tiredness.  After a few minutes, Scully staggered out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror, appraising herself.  Small breasts, few curves.  Her mouth turned down in a small frown.  While she knew Mulder wasn’t interested in her like that, she couldn’t help but compare herself to Bambi, a woman Mulder had been obviously interested in.

Scully turned away, toweling off and dressing in one of her college t-shirts and a pair of sweats.  It would do for tonight; they would be sharing a room, after all, the hotel being completely booked and their flight out not being until in the morning.  Inwardly, she was glad the hotel had given her the double.

She padded into the hotel room in sock feet, finding Mulder propped up against the headboard on her bed watching television.

She put her hands on her hips, her head cocked toward him.  “That’s my bed, you know.”

He worked his mouth.  “Your stuff was on the other one,” he reasoned.  “Come on, Scully.  Full House is on.”

She sighed, flopping down on the pristine coverlet of the other bed.  She propped some pillows behind her, eyes vacant as she stared in the direction of the television.

“Who do you think is more likely to believe in aliens, Uncle Jesse, Joey, or Danny?”  Mulder drawled out between laughing.  He was chewing on the end of a pen he’d found on the bedside table, one leg casually bent where he lounged against the pillows.

“Joey,” Scully replied flatly.  He seems most gullible, she wanted to say, but bit her tongue.

Mulder seemed pleased, happily chewing the end of his pen.  “Ok, then who do you think is most like to be an alien?”  His eyes sparkled in the light of the TV.  He loved it when they got into, and she could see his excitement tensing his whole body.

She rolled her eyes, deciding to play along.  “IF they existed, I would say Danny.  He is very neat.  A being like that IF they existed would probably go to great lengths to replicate what is quote normal behavior for a species and not draw attention to itself.”

Mulder was beaming.  He tossed the pen on the bed beside him, a broad smile on his face.  “So, Dr. Scully, by answering that question you’re admitting to the mere possibility of an alien species are you not?”  He was very animated now, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Scully just smiled.  “No I am not.  It’s merely conjecture.”

Mulder frowned, but still seemingly satisfied.  Then he looked at her shrewdly.  “You know what else I think is conjecture?  That you’re still upset about something.”

He looked at her meaningfully, stood from the bed and crossed to hers to sit next to her.  He could feel the heat from her body, warm from the shower as his shoulder pressed against hers and the smell of her strawberry shampoo.  No hotel-issue stuff for his Scully.  “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Scully looked up at him, the light from the TV casting lurid shapes onto the gentle slope of her cheek.  “Dr. Berenbaum,” she whispered.

Mulder pursed his lips, mind ticking quickly.  “What about her?”

Scully’s liquid blue eyes flashed up at him.  “Did you like working with her?”

Mulder answered without a thought.  “Of course.  She’s very good at what she does.”

Scully sank a little.  “Oh. Yes of course,” she answered a little thinly.

They sat like that a little longer, Mulder pressed up against, feeling Scully breathe and the bed creak under them.  His hand went up, touching under her chin.

“Is there something else?”

Scully swallowed.  She couldn’t get the insecurities out of her mind, nor could she stop the burning desire to just blurt out question after question about the woman and Mulder’s time with her.

“Did you um…did you like her?”

Mulder blinked.  “Yeah Scully, I did.  She was nice.”

It wasn’t enough, and she hated herself for it.  “Let’s just watch some more TV ok?”

Mulder nodded, still concerned, and returned to his bed.  The next sitcom came on, but she couldn’t focus.  “What’s wrong,” Mulder finally said, eyes turning away from the TV.  “You’re too quiet.  Usually you make fun of this.”

Her mouth quirked into a tight smile.  She turned on her side, finally giving in.

“I think I’m just tired,” She said finally.  “I’m going to bed early.”

Mulder grunted, content to leave her for the moment.  Scully reached for the small lamp by the bed and switched it off.

She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come.  She heard Mulder flipping through the channels, felt the strobing light from the TV bleeding through her eyelids.  She turned over again, the covers twisting at her feet.

Mulder exhaled, his eyes darting to Scully’s restless form for the umpteenth time.  He worked his mouth.  “Talk to me, Scully.”

She sighed.  “We already talked, Mulder.  I just need to sleep.”

“You want me to turn the TV off?”

“No.”

“We haven’t really talked,” Mulder said.

Scully said nothing, she just lay in the dark, listening to Mulder wait for her response.  The silence was deafening, despite the noise from the television.

“Is this about Bambi?” Mulder prodded.

Scully squeezed her eyes shut, burying her head in the pillow.

“No,” she lied.

Mulder exhaled through his nose.  “She was just a colleague, Scully.  Just—“

“I know,” Scully said, tears straining her voice.  “I know that.”

They said nothing for a while, the tension hanging thick in the room.  Scully willed herself to sleep, anything to quell her racing thoughts.

“Then what is it?” Mulder asked quietly.

Scully closed her eyes.  She was facing the door, her body curled into itself.  “Is that what you want,” Scully inquired softly.

Scully could almost hear the wheels turning and then click into place.  “What do you mean ‘what I want,’” and Scully could tell he truly didn’t understand and wasn’t just avoiding the question.

She swallowed, not really wanting to explain herself but feeling strangely compelled to.  “Like Bambi,” she said quietly, still looking at the door.  “You know, the way she looks.”

“Forget it,” Scully said quickly, squeezing her eyes shut so fast, wishing she was anywhere else, anywhere but with him in that room, in that town, wishing that the whole week had never –

She felt the bed dip, felt his long limbs fold and arrange themselves on the space beside her.  Her heart flipped as his hand brushed the back of her head.

“Scully, look a me.”

She exhaled, hands gripping the sheets up around her chin, and remained stubbornly stuck where she was.

Another stroke to her hair, his knuckles brushing the now-wavy strands, silky-soft against the pillow.

“Come on, Scully.”  More insistent now, Mulder’s voice dropping low and rough.  She didn’t have to turn around to know he was worrying his bottom lip.

But she did.  She slowly rolled onto her back, meeting his thoughtful gaze.

When Scully turned over, he could see the silver tracks of her tears in the low light, and he instinctively wiped them with his thumb.  She closed her eyes against his touch, her face turning slightly as if she could hide the fact that she had been crying.  He sighed softly, his brow furrowed.

“Do you wish I looked like that,” she said quickly, instantly feeling relieved…feeling unburdened as ridiculous as it made her feel.  She was glad it was out in the open, finally blinking in the light of day.

Mulder inhaled slowly, his face impassive.  His hand slipped down to cup her cheek, a thumb sweeping over the soft flesh.  “Why would you think that?”

Scully pulled her plump lower lip between her teeth.  “Because you and Bambi got on so well.  And she is...,” she struggled with her words for a second…”You know, she looks the way she does.”  Scully swallowed hard, averting her eyes.

Mulder pursed his lips, shaking his head softly.  “That has nothing to do with our partnership, Scully.”  He tutted softly, stroking her cheek.  “I didn’t see Dr. Berenbaum that way at all.  She helped me on a case.  That’s all.”

Scully should have felt relieved, but she just felt miserable.  Embarrassed and miserable.  “I know,” she whispered.  “I didn’t think anything else.”

Mulder just pressed his lips together.  Scully eased into his touch, his presence beside her soothing her anxiety somewhat.  “Is there something else going on Scully?”

She shook her head.  “Everything’s fine Mulder.  She reached up to stroke his shoulder, letting her hand rest along his bicep.  “Why don’t you get some rest, hmm?  We’ve got a long journey tomorrow.”

Mulder worried the inside of his jaw, still looking at her.  His mouth quirked, and then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.  “Get some sleep, Scully.”

She sighed as his weight lifted from the mattress and the TV flicked off.  She listened in as he busied himself in the bathroom, the tingle of his touch still burning on her cheek.  Finally, he lay down in his bed and turned off his lamp.

Just as she was nodding off to sleep, she heard him turn over.

“Scully?”

“Yeah Mulder?”

“For the record, there’s not one thing I would change about you.  Not one freckle, not one lock of red hair, not one thing.  You’re perfect just the way you are.  Do you understand, Scully?”

She lay in the dark, breathlessly still.  “Yes,” she said.

He smiled, even if she couldn’t see it.  “Good.  Don’t ever forget it.”

She wouldn’t, she thought as she listened to his breathing even out and a light snore fill their small hotel room.  She would never forget it again.

-0-0-0-

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Black Coffee (part five)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

If you like this, please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, reblogging this post or even donating to my ko-fi!

Huge huge thanks to my lovely beta readers, @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

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Percy hadn’t known it was possible to feel this tired.

It wasn’t the relieved, letting go kind of tired he felt when he’d step into the building’s elevator at the end of a long day at the office and know another day was over. It wasn’t the proud, warm glow kind of tired when he stepped back from his workshop bench and saw his latest project, whatever had been driving him insane for the past few weeks, fully completed and polished until the gears shone. It certainly wasn’t the smug, sweet, achy tired when he’d lie back and hold Vax in his arms or be held by him, the elf’s strained, wanton cry of his name still echoing in his ears, their heaving chests pressed against one another, panting breaths the only sound in the room.

This was a different kind of tired. This tired made him feel like he’d been taken apart systematically, opened up like one of his own machines, everything picked and turned and examined. Everything he’d ever tried to hide had been dug out, the dark, grimy, neglected bits of him on display and undeniable.

But they’d come back feeling cleaner. It came back, but it somehow found a place inside him where it fit better. Where it was easier to bear.

He supposed that was the point of therapy. It was exhausting and damn near broke him sometimes but he could feel the benefits of it as soon as he stepped back out into the waiting room.

“Same time again next week, Mr de Rolo?” the receptionist asked politely as he approached the desk.

“Please,” he nodded and smiled back at him.

Once it was all signed off, Percy left the building, shouldering his jacket rather than bothering to put it on. It was getting colder by the day but he had a thick jumper on and he didn’t mind the bite in the air, he never had.

Vax clearly didn’t agree with him.

He was sitting on a bench on the other side of the street, shivering even in the massive, puffy coat he was wearing. The hat, gloves and scarf didn’t seem to be doing much either, to judge by his expression. Trinket, however, was doing his best, stretched across his feet to warm up his toes.

The dog saw Percy first, jumping up and straining at the lead to greet him, making the half elf jump with how fiercely he was suddenly having to cling to it to keep from being yanked into traffic. Percy crossed as quickly as he could and greeted him eagerly, bending down so he could put his forepaws on his shoulders, hugging and kissing him and laughing as a large, wet tongue returned the kindness.

“Hey!” Vax yelped, “It’s my job to lick his face, not yours. Get down, you big rug.”

“You know I don’t mind,” Percy protested weakly as Trinket obediently sat back.

“I mind. Cos now I want to kiss you but you’re all gross,” Vax huffed, his breath a puff of white in the air, settling for a kiss to the top of Percy’s head. His manner gentled a little, “How was it?”

“Just the same really,” Percy straightened up, “Exhausting but...helping. You know, you don’t have to wait outside, you can sit in the waiting room.”

Vax wrinkled his nose, “Doctors offices give me the heebie jeebies. Too much time spent in them myself.”

Percy gave a short, little laugh. Now it meant even more to him that Vax came and met him after every session, bringing Trinket whenever he could because he knew Percy loved him, just being there so Percy could have a set of arms to fall into if he needed it.

“Well then, you need a hot chocolate,” Percy took Trinket’s lead and Vax’s hand, “Come on, we’ll take this guy through the park and go get some.”

“Percival, take me now,” Vax said, with all apparent seriousness, making Percy snort.

“Gods, don’t call me that. Especially sexually.”

They walked for a while, trading comments when there was something to say, lapsing into a comfortable, companionable silence when there wasn’t. Percy found himself stealing glances over at Vax, fixing on his eyes, his mouth, his nose in turn like he wanted to commit every inch of his face to memory.

It was impossible to put a value on just how much Vax had helped Percy over the last month or so. He just knew it was a hell of a lot. Deciding to go to therapy, navigating the maze of doctors appointments and referrals that lead there, finding the energy to actually go on mornings when it had disappeared, all of that had happened with Vax holding his hand.

And now whenever Percy tried to imagine his life without Vax, he just drew a blank.

That didn’t feel like a relationship built solely on exchange, on one person needing an income and one person simply needing companionship. When had it stopped feeling like that?

“Oh hell yes!” Vax suddenly yelped, darting away with Trinket hot on his heels, his target the bundles of autumn leaves pushed to the sides of the path by the winds, carelessly discarded bronze and gold in heedless piles.

Percy could only watch in awe as he playfully kicked his way through the piles of fallen leaves like a child would, laughing loudly as they arced over his head and not caring who turned and saw, his dog running around him in circles and barking fit to bust, trying to snag them in his jaws.

Percy smiled softly, not even hesitating before he ran to join them, seizing fistfuls of muddy leaves and sending them careening overhead, whooping loudly. Vax laughed in delight, joining in until they were lost in their own snowglobe of leaves, just the two of them and their enraptured dog, lost in the reckless, heart bursting joy of making a mess just for the sake of it.

Once nature’s inherent neatness was utterly destroyed the two of them were left panting, Percy wincing as he extracted the leaves Vax had shoved down the front of his jumper, their bodies unable to decide if they were overheating with the exertion or freezing from the cold.

“That was fun,” Percy wheezed, finally leaf free and turning to look for Trinket and get him back on his lead.

And suddenly, just for a moment, he realised Vax had been staring at him. The eye contact was broken after a heartbeat, so quick it could never have been there at all but Percy was certain.

Because Vax had been looking at him the same way Percy had been looking at Vax just moments before. A little shocked, a little helpless, with the exact same question in his eyes.

When did this start feeling like something real?

Percy let the moment go willingly, though a hope had been sparked in his chest that wouldn’t be fading any time soon.

“Odd choice of tactic, to shove leaves down the shirt of the guy thats buying your drinks,” he hummed, brushing down his jumper.

“I’m banking on my offer of sex when we get back to your place to get me back in your good books,” Vax grinned shamelessly.

“Ah, you know me so well,” Percy grinned, kissing one cold blushed cheek.

The apartment was of course empty when they tumbled through the door, already practically climbing each other in their eagerness to get at one another.

Trinket pushed past them, heading straight for the sofa that was wide enough for even a gentleman of his stature to lounge with impunity, happy to have his post walk snooze and get his hairs all over some very expensive leather. He’d been in this position many times, he seemed to understand that his uncle and his uncle’s nice smelling friend didn’t want to be disturbed for the next hour or so.

Vax’s discarded layers formed a haphazard path from the door to the bedroom where, impatient, he’d just pressed Percy up against his desk in the corner. He was already on his knees, working open the button on his jeans and yanking the fabric, still chill with the outside air but warming quickly as Percy’s skin took fire, down to his thighs.

“Vax…” Percy murmured, words a little foggy and distant as his brain tried to speak through the all encompassing want.

“Hush,” Vax murmured, focused on the prominent bulge in Percy’s boxers, straining against the fabric. He kissed at it teasingly, just wanting to hear the ragged gasp and feel the pull of curling fingers in his hair, “Like I said, I’m getting back in your good books.”

And he did a pretty fantastic job of it. He lost himself in the act, in making someone else feel good, enjoying the pull of tense muscles under his skin, in the taste of Percy’s skin and sweat mixed with the lingering taste of the hot chocolate on his tongue, in having Percy slump helplessly against the desk under the careful attention of his lips, his tongue and the none too light scraping of his teeth.

Percy tried to warn him before he orgasmed, stammering helplessly but he couldn’t make the words work. Vax didn’t mind, he’d felt the closeness in how Percy gasped and bent over him, legs trembling. He’d been ready, gulping down the heat that flooded his mouth, a little running from the side of his mouth.

Once Percy was done screaming his name, a sound Vax would replay over and over again in his mind to great satisfaction, the hands turned from tense to gentle, stroking back his hair and pushing back his fringe, away from his sticky forehead. A thumb collected the spill down his chin and he accepted it past his lips, licking it clean with a grateful whimper.

“Vax, I…” Percy’s voice was raspy, chest going like a bellows.

Vax looked up, smiling innocently, “Yeah?”

Percy seemed to pause a moment, shaking himself and smiling a little more coherently, “You’re just wonderful. You know that?”

“I’ve heard people mention it,” Vax chuckled, accepting Percy’s hand to help him to his feet, “Was that worth two hot chocolates?”

“It was worth ten thousand,” Percy’s legs had enough strength in them to get him collapsed on the bed, no further.

“Don’t send that to my place, my sister will go nuts no matter how many times we walk her dog.”

Percy snorted, dragging Vax down with him until they were both sprawled together, half dressed, letting themselves feel their tiredness. Vax was soon dozing contentedly, letting his mind wander through delightfully filthy daydreams about what he was going to do with the various exciting purchases Percy had been buying lately.

Percy lay there fully awake, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about the things he could have said.

Vax had realised long ago the best place to do his stretches- the only place, really, once he’d realised there was next to no available space- was the living room. With Vex and Trinket out, he was free to get into his sweats, pile his hair loosely on top of his head and stretch to his heart’s content.

He sat with his legs perfectly split, humming contentedly as he folded himself across his knees one after the other. He enjoyed reminding himself what his body could do; he took comfort from knowing that even though he and it had definitely had some arguments, he could still exert control over it, that they could work harmoniously.

As often happened when his body was occupied with exercise, his mind went for a stroll. Quiet times scared Vax’ildan, as a rule, times where his brain had no distractions and he was at the mercy of his thoughts. But when he was working on his routines, dancing or stretching, moving smoothly in time with music, he wasn’t scared of his own mind. He got to taste something close to being relaxed.

What he thought about now was Percy.

As nice as their days always were together, something was starting to worry him. A few things actually. Such things rarely came neatly individually packaged and ready to deal with.

As much as he’d been trying to shove his ridiculous crush to the back of his mind where it could happily gather dust and eventually fall apart as all his unrequited feelings had done, he found it pushing back in ways he didn’t want it too. The absolute last thing he wanted to do to Percy was put pressure on him, ask him for more than he was willing to give. As much as he put on a brave face, he was dealing with so much right now, only just starting to heal old, festering wounds. The last thing he needed was to realise the comfortable, contented relationship he thought he had was now awkward and sticky and unmanageable.

Vax felt he knew what Percy needed of him. And a pointless, puppy dog infatuation was not on that list.

So Vax was just going to have swallow it and keep smiling.

His music, playing softly from his phone,  was interrupted suddenly by the chime of his text alert. Vax sighed irritatedly, drawing his legs back to a more natural position, losing his comfortable headspace but keeping his unpleasant thoughts. Exactly what he didn’t want.

But when he saw the name on his phone screen, an enormous smile spread across his face.

Shaun Gilmore.

It had been so long since Shaun was in town, he’d been all over the country, opening up new branches of the store he’d turned from a gamble into one of the most treasured, depended upon fonts of anything and everything in the whole city. The two of them had fooled around a fair bit, one of the many playful, easy hook ups he’d maintained after he’d first moved to the city and tasted freedom.

He’d always loved the simple, uncomplicated happiness Shaun brought him. He was the kind of man who, when he told you something was going to be okay, you fully believed it. He laughed loudly, dressed brightly and spoke effusively. He was sunshine personified.

In short, he was exactly what Vax needed to get his mind off his stupid feelings.

Guess who's back in the city for the weekend! It’s not for long, mind, but I’ll be damned if I don’t see my little bird while I’m home. Dinner and drinks, Saturday? My treat Xxx

Vax smiled and fired off a quick, whole hearted acceptance. It was only after he’d exchanged a few messages back and forth with Shaun, after he’d been teased with all his fun stories from his travels and showered with compliments in every other sentence, that he remembered. He was supposed to be getting dinner with Percy on the same night.

Vax chewed his lips forlornly for a while before shaking himself. He needed to do this. He needed to prove to his ridiculous, confused heart that Percy wasn’t an option, that Percy wasn’t anything real. He had a very real, very available Shaun Gilmore offering him pleasantly distracting sex with no awkwardness or hidden feelings.

Time to stop being an idiot. Or at least be less of one.

Vax flicked up his text history with Percy, making sure he did it before he could change his mind.

Hey, going to have to cancel Saturday. Old flame in town so I’m going on a date. We’ll reschedule, yeah?

He didn’t notice until nearly an hour later that he didn’t get a reply.

Percy lay on his side on the sofa, listening to the rain hit the windows. His phone lay where he’d thrown it, like it had suddenly grown hot enough to burn him.

He stared out onto the grey world, the sheets of water coming down as they had been doing for hours without any let up. All that could really be seen past the glass was a scattering of lights, miniscule windows and tiny cars coming and going. Everything going past him like he wasn’t even there.

He had no right to be upset. Percy knew that.

Which just made it all the worse that he was.

Angry tears burned behind his glasses and pooled in the bottom of his lenses, his stomach roiling with bitter anger at himself.

He’d had it planned out. Saturday morning, back to the Blooming Grove, back to where they’d first met, take his hands from across the mosaiced table and just...tell him. And whatever happened would happen. But the weight on his chest would be gone, he’d have an answer to the question he’d only realised recently had been growing inside him like a flower growing from a lost seed.

It had been Kiki who helped him work it out. Well, she’d flicked his nose as they watched the Great British Baking Show and told him of course he’d fallen for Vax’ildan, you could see it from space. But it had certainly helped. It had made him just brave enough to imagine the words coming out of his mouth, to get the gears turning and take the risk.

For all the good it had done him.

And least he hadn’t made a total arse of himself. At least he hadn’t had to see the expression on Vax’s face, the pity and discomfort and awkwardness. At least he was spared that.

At least he was allowed the dignity of crying on his own.

Of course Vax would never feel the same way as Percy did. He’d been a complete idiot to even hope. He’d been paying him for the facsimile of a relationship, for crying out loud, how had he thought anything real could come from that? What he’d felt whenever Vax would smile, would say his name in that soft way, would touch him and make him feel like he’d finally woken up...all of that was just him doing a good job.

That was all Percy had asked for. He was an idiot to expect more.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, “Shut up. Stop crying, stop being so pathetic.”

The tears didn’t want to stop but he forced them, scrubbing at his eyes until they ached. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t. He refused to be angry at Vax either, the bitter tasting resentment burning at the back of his throat was only directed at himself. For thinking he deserved anything more than what he had.  

That’s what he told himself, over and over again as he blindly snagged his phone and finally typed out a response.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll message you.

The restaurant was lovely, one of those vibrant places bubbling with light, music and scents, somewhere Vax would never have imagined existed in his own city and instantly resolved to go to more often.

Not that he took much of it in, he spent too much time laughing and talking with Shaun, hearing his stories from Marquet and Tal Dorei and the Menagerie Coast, stories of colourful people and exciting conversations.

It made him smile, Vax had always known Shaun was meant for something more than most people. But right here, for now, he could pretend they were both still barely out of their teens and  living by the skin of their teeth in the most fun way that could be done, Shaun running his tiny little store and selling all kinds of fantastical products straight out of storybooks, doing things with magic that no one had ever seen before, both of them spending their days working and nights dancing, kissing just because they could.

They were currently both howling with laughter after Vax had tried some of Shaun’s meal on a dare, knowing fine well it would be far too spicy for him. Sure enough it left him panting and drinking nearly the full ewer of water on the table.

“Now don’t think giving yourself heartburn will change the subject,” Shaun chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his amber eye, “Tell me more about this Percival character.”

Vax would have blushed if he hadn’t been already scarlet in the face from an excess of chili powder, “Yeah...I get paid to wear lingerie and suck a handsome guy’s dick, can you believe it? My dream job.”

Shaun gave a good natured bark of laughter but he pressed gently, “And is he? Handsome, I mean.”

“Oh, he's a dreamboat,” Vax shrugged, “In a nerd kind of way, I mean.”

“And nice? He treats you well?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t hang around if he didn’t,” Vax hesitated, “I guess I just saw my dad and assumed having lots of money automatically made you a festering, pustulant bag of bollocks. But...I guess not.”

Shaun hummed, taking a long sip of wine, “And have you told him how you feel about him?”

“I...wait, what?” Vax’s suddenly jerking elbow nearly sent his own glass flying, “I...I never...all I said was that he wasn’t a dick!”

“Yes, that’s all you said then,” Shaun smiled fondly, knowingly, “But the other forty or so times you’ve mentioned him, despite insisting that there’s nothing special about him, you said a lot more.”

Vax spluttered, suddenly realising the night had gone crashing off in the opposite direction than the one he wanted, “Come on, Shaun…it’s just a stupid crush...”

“Listen,” Shaun put his much larger hand over Vax’s, patting comfortingly, “Stupid or not, it’s clearly affected you. You can’t fight these kind of feelings, believe me.”

“But…” Vax looked down, biting his lip. If he couldn’t trust one of his best friends, who was left? “There’s no way he’d ever feel the same way about me. He just sees me as a friend he pays for sex. What kind of start is that for a relationship, even if there was any way in hell he’d ever be interested in me?”

“Stranger things have happened, little bird,” Shaun frowned gently, “And I’d thank you to stop being so cruel about my best friend. You’re a catch, as I can personally attest to. You’re fun, you’re resilient, you’re gorgeous...and from what you’ve told me, it seems clear that Percy’s noticed all that too.”

“What do you mean?” Vax looked up, startled.

“Love, he brought you soup when you had a cold! Does it need to be on a ten foot tall marquee for you to realise he’s into you?” Shaun laughed at the expression on his face.

“Apparently so,” Vax pouted, “Seeing as this is news to me who spends nearly every day with the guy.”

“Precisely why,” Shaun gestured at him with his glass, close to spilling some on the tablecloth though he’d never do that, “It’s hard to see what’s right at the end of your nose. Especially seeing how you’re- no offence, my little bird- one for seeing the darker side of things.”

Vax slumped back in his chair. He so desperately wanted to believe what Shaun was saying but gods, there were some knots you couldn’t undo in a hurry…

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Shaun tilted his head, the light catching in the gold bands accenting his hair, “Listen, you’re one of the bravest people I know and it’s time to use a little of that. Tell him how you feel. I’m nearly positively sure he’ll feel the exact same way but even for the miniscule chance I’m wrong...Vax, keeping this in his so clearly killing you. Surely anything is better than this?”

Vax gave a long exhale, fighting the urge to just let his forehead hit the table, “Fuck you, Shaun. Fuck you for being so goddamn right. I just hope you’re right about all of it.”

Shaun shrugged, making his abundant jewellery ring out, “If you want an apology, you’re not getting one. And, hey, if I am wrong and your feelings aren’t reciprocated, I’ll always be here. We’ll run away to Marquet together.”

Vax’s face fell at that, realising the implication behind his words, “Oh. Sorry. This night probably isn’t going to end the way our dates usually do…”

Shaun waved him away, squeezing his hand, “Little bird, in another universe, you and I are very much in love and we never leave our bed. But right here, right now, all that truly matters to me is that you have the happiness you always deserved. If Percy can give that to you, he’s my new second favourite person in the world after your good self.”

Vax smiled through his blushing, squeezing Shaun’s fingers back. They were rough and scarred from his work, the only parts of him that weren’t perfectly polished, the only parts that showed how much he’d fought to live his life how he wanted. Vax had always loved his fingers.

“Hey, chin up. He might reject and totally humiliate me yet.”

Shaun laughed heartily, finishing his wine and signalling for more, “There’s always hope, isn’t there?”

Vax knew the concierge in Percy’s apartment building well enough to give her a wink and a wave by now. They made him seem a lot more confident than he actually was.

Once he was safely alone in the elevator, he let his nervousness show through, sinking shakily into one of the breathing exercises Vex shared with him sometimes when she knew he was in a rough patch.

He didn’t have to do it today. Not if the moment wasn’t right. But still, knowing it was coming, knowing his ridiculous pulled grenade of a brain could blurt it out at any moment was terrifying. But, as in most things aside from how much velvet should be included in a day to day outfit, Shaun was right. Anything was better than swallowing down his feelings and feeling them poison him.

Though it didn’t help his nerves that something seemed decidedly up with Percy. He hadn’t actually gotten in contact to rearrange their date; Vax had been the one who’d announced he was coming over after a few days of exchanging Trinket pictures for strings of rainbow emojis and not much else.

He knew Percy had a patent application coming up for his new engine design, something that made Vax’s brain hurt but he understood involved a lot of finalising and polishing and complicated forms. He just hoped he hadn’t lost himself in that, doing that thing where he got a handful of hours of sleep if he was lucky and had to set reminders on his phone to eat. Every time that had happened before, it had taken a lot to pull him out of that cycle.

The elevator pinged as it reached the top floor and Vax stepped into Percy’s apartment, ready to steal the keys to his workshop and throw them out of the window if he had to. Percy hadn’t been happy the last time he did that but it sure as hell worked.

His heart sank when he saw the living room empty but then his voice came from the bedroom, “Vax’ildan?”

“Percy!” relief brightened his voice and he left his jacket on the sofa and shoes in the hallway, following that voice eagerly, not realising it was a little heavier than usual, “What, have you just woke up or something? I expected to find you bent over your workbench like the Phantom of the Opera.”

The laugh that came in reply was a little limp but, when Vax actually entered the bedroom and saw Percy, everything about him looked a little limp. His hair was unbrushed, his glasses were smudged and not sitting right on his nose, he was in bed but he didn’t look like he’d gotten a wink of sleep any time recently.

“Is everything okay?” Vax asked, blinking, his smile flickering out, “Are you sick?”

“No, no, no,” Percy said quickly, jumping like he was only now aware of how he looked, smoothing his hair down and straightening his glasses as if it wasn’t too late, “No, I just… I’m fine.”

Vax frowned, “Have you been in your workshop today?”

“Uh, no,” Percy patted the blankets, trying to straighten them out and look like they hadn’t been tossed and turned in all day, “Not today.”

Vax finally tipped over the edge into worried. He clearly hadn’t been to the office. He hadn’t even been tinkering.

“Listen, if you don’t want to have sex right now, we can just hang out? Seems like you’re having a bit of a rough day…”

“No,” Percy shook his head, getting to his feet, staggering a little though he caught himself on the edge of his desk, “This is what you come here for, after all.”

Vax stopped in the step he’d been taking forward, ready to put his arm around Percy, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dark rimmed eyes fixed on him, looking like he’d said something he hadn’t meant to, “Nothing? I just...it’s been a while, right?”

Something didn’t taste right but Vax let it go, “As long as you’re sure…”

Percy answered by closing the distance between them, finishing the action Vax had left behind, pressing his lips to Vax’s. Vax was surprised, for a moment, but soon found himself melting into the strong hands that came up to hold him at the small of his back and between his shoulder blades.

“Freddy…” he gasped, pupils wide and black enough to nearly fill his elven eyes. He couldn’t remember being kissed like that before.

“Just...just let me, Vax,” Percy pressed him back gently but insistently, making sure he fell gently onto the bed, “Let me take care of it.”

Chest heaving, a fire burning low in his chest but ready to leap upwards at a moment’s notice, Vax could only nod eagerly.

Percy moved purposefully, making Vax hopeful that he’d been imagining anything had ever been wrong. He removed Vax’s clothes in a frantic rush, like he resented them for getting in the way of what he wanted, tossing them aside carelessly. And then his mouth was everywhere and it was burning hot. He kissed hard enough to mark, everywhere that was in his reach, only spurred on by how Vax cried out throatily every time. His hands weren’t shy either, their scar tissue knotted fingers tracing everything they could, opening his legs.

“I...I want your hands,” Vax panted, well aware he was in no position to make requests or demands and loving that fact, “In me. Please?”

The possessive darkness in Percy’s eyes faded a little, remembering that wasn’t a request Vax often made, “Are you sure?”

Vax nodded, blushing fiercely, “Please...sir.”

Percy’s breath stumbled a little and his eyes flickered back to pure want, pure need, “Then that’s what you get.”

He kissed him again, somehow managing to be even harder, more encompassing, his teeth closing around his bottom lip briefly. His hands kept going, sliding further into the valley of Vax’s thighs, feeling the skin get warmer and warmer until they found the epicentre. Vax moaned into Percy’s mouth as his fingers opened him up, parted him and cracked him open like he was ripe fruit in his hands. Within moments there was enough slick to run down Percy’s wrist, following the sharp lines of his tendons, pulling and snapping as he worked him over with a precision and deft he normally reserved for his projects. He searched deep and found the ridge of skin within Vax that made him buck and cry out, working it over with the pads of his fingers.

He was well rewarded with Vax’s ragged panting, his voice high and breaking as he stammered out pleas for more, his legs wrapping around his hips and gripping tight as a vice.

Before long he was fighting to marshal enough of his brain to make words, “Percy...fuck, I’m close…”

Percy could feel it, in the trembling of his legs and the slur in his voice. He pulled him in again for another searing kiss, feeling everything else close off as soon as their lips met, like they’d been dragged underwater. And in that hollow, echoing moment, Vax came, hard.

Vax came up for air, gasping and trembling and moaning, hair falling across his face and sticking to his forehead.

But Percy still felt disconnected, like he’d been left behind still floating, unable to care as his lungs burned for want of oxygen.

Unable to care as he ruined things yet again.

As felt only natural, moving where his heart called out for, Vax rolled and reached for Percy. He did love this part, going blissfully boneless and relaxed, listening to his lover’s heartbeat gradually slow and gentle into its usual rhythm. All he wanted right now was to hold and be held.

But Percy wasn’t there. He was back in the position he’d been before, hunched on his side and turned away, eyes cast out at the grey, drizzly day the city had been locked in since dawn. Though Vax couldn’t see his face, there was a tension in his shoulders, something cold and unyielding like in the instant he’d been turned away, his love had been replaced by a marble statue.

“Percy?” he frowned, his voice suddenly feeling like it was echoing in the slight space between them, “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Percy turned a little, enough to see the sharp lines of his face traced out in the low light, “Nothing?”

“You seem...off. If something’s wrong, you can tell me,” Vax reached over, making to trace between his shoulder blades, something soft and soothing, something to bring those blue eyes back to his own.

But that was when Percy muttered, “I just don’t want to keep you here for long. I don’t want you to miss any more dates.”

Vax froze solid in less than a second.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Percy flinched, like he hadn’t meant for that come out of his mouth, let alone be heard. But he still didn’t turn, only curling in tighter on himself like he was trying to disappear entirely.

“I didn’t...I only mean you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be. I’m not trying to…to... “ Percy sounded lost, trying to staunch a gushing wound with a scrap of tissue.

Vax drew away, sitting up, eyes dark and angry, “Percy, I actually cancelled plans to be here with you today. You know that?”

“I never asked you to do that,” Percy shot back, anger flooding in to fill the emptiness guilt chewed out, “I said right at the start…”

“Then why are you pissed off now?” Vax scowled, his own anger rising quickly as it always did, burning hot and filling him right to the tips of his fingers. Everything he’d been holding inside him, all the anticipation and love and wanting, it was all fury with the snap of his fingers, “You have no right to be.”

“I’m not… I know…” Percy’s voice grew thicker, “Vax, look, I can’t do this right now.”

Vax sat stunned for a moment. No please, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care. Like you said, got what I came for, right?”

He dressed faster than he ever had, yanking on his clothes, eyes burning as he waited for Percy to take it all back, to say it was a mistake, to say they could start again. And when he was finally dressed, nothing left to do but actually leave and no words had come from him, his heart finally broke in his chest.

Only when the elevator doors slid shut did Vax feel safe enough to cry.

Only when he heard the mechanism of the elevator sink lower and lower down the spine of the building did Percy feel safe enough to cry.

[sarcasticdebate]

after all we’ve endured

Relationship: Emori/John Murphy

Rating: E (... its makeup sex)

Summary: Emori has quickly learned that survival and life on Sanctum are very different than they had been on Earth. It’s good to return to something familiar. Even after so much time. 

[Post 6.03]

“Been a long time since we shared a bed.”

[AO3]

Night on Sanctum isn’t like night on Earth. The sky never quite fades to black like it’s supposed to. Instead it lingers in a deep shade of violet from the effects of two suns. Stars still break through the sky but they’re different from the ones Emori has known all her life. She knows it’s because they are hundreds of thousands of miles from the planet she was born on, but the unfamiliar lights overhead still leave Emori in a state of frightened awe. There’s no north star here, and the possibility of getting lost sits heavy on her mind. 

Some things aren’t so different though, apparently the days are only twenty seven minutes longer than on Earth, and Sanctum’s people have similar nightly routines. By anyone’s standards it’s well past the time to be in bed at this late hour. 

“Hey,” Emori says, shifting her gaze back to John after taking her fill of the view from the open window. “We should go to bed.” 

John’s spent most of the day brooding and Emori can’t blame him, he’d been dead for a couple of minutes this morning. The red in his eyes and the sudden gauntness of his face make it impossible to deny. 

“I’m not tired,” John replies and Emori has to refrain from rolling her eyes. He said that all the time on the Ring, during weeks filled with pacing in anxious circles in the dead of night followed by long days where he would do nothing but lie in bed. Emori has to remind herself that this is different. He’d been dead this morning. 

“I was unconscious most of the day, you’ll remember.” He reminds her too, as if she could forget. She can still feel the claminess of his skin under her palm, feels her heart spike with guilt every time her eyes catch on the bandage across his arm.  She reaches out to touch his hand, to confirm he’s warm now. Maybe she’s the one who needs sleep more. 

“Well there’s no point in sitting here in the dark,” she tries. Everyone else has cleared out to the rooms upstairs, and he stopped drinking an hour ago, too lazy to pour for himself. 

John lets his gaze rest on their held hands for a long moment before his eyes rise to meet hers and he offers a tight-lipped smile and stunted nod. 

He grunts as he stands, like someone twice his actual age, and slings his arm heavily over her shoulders as they make their way towards the stairs. 

“Are you still drunk?” 

“I’m not drunk, ‘Mori” John says, lying either to himself or her. Then straightening a bit when he realizes he gave himself away with the use of the nickname. “Maybe a little,” he admits, “I just don’t wanna dream.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She offers for the second time that day. Curiosity and worry have been burning inside since he woke up but she won’t push him. 

“Not yet,” he says, an improvement from the previous horrified ‘no’ of the afternoon. They make it up the stairs without any stumbles and trudge to the end of the hallway, all the other rooms already claimed. 

Under normal circumstances Emori would scout out the room given to them by these strangers, but it’s small, with a narrow bed as the only notable furnishing, and she’s just exhausted enough not to care. 

John flops onto the bed in a way that’s unsuitable for someone claiming not to be tired, but Emori knows him better than himself sometimes so she’s not surprised. He kicks off his boots carelessly. 

“Are you gonna stay here tonigh’?” The tiredness is creeping into his voice now. Emori shrugs off her jacket, lets it hang on the doorknob and sets her boots next to John’s. 

“Of course I am. Scooch over.” 

The bed is still narrow as she lies on it, but Emori thinks it is a poor attempt form Sanctum to get them to spend their nights apart. She molds her body to curl next to John’s and they fit. 

“Didn’t know if you would,” John admits to the ceiling, both of his arms still too injured to hold his weight on one side. Confusion rises above Emori’s exhaustion. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

John’s eyes fall closed but Emori doesn’t want to escape from this conversation, from whatever’s eating at him, she knows it will only cause problems. She tugs on his sleeve and his eyes open and turn to look at her. Bloodshot still, but softer too.

“Been a long time since we shared a bed.” 

It has been. Six months of clenching her blanket tight to herself to make up for the loss of familiar body heat as she tried to sleep, then a mess of circumstance and feelings that led to their bodies close but nowhere near touching as they shared a cave with a mass murderer. One hundred and twenty five years have passed since then and Emori would love to make a joke about the century they slept through, but it’s impossible to do so without thinking of Harper and Monty and things not to be joked about. 

“Yeah,” Emori agrees, something tight festering in her chest. It’s been even longer since she held him like this in their bed and he doesn’t smell like she remembers. It makes her sad. 

She tilts her head up to look at him and sees so many different layers of pain pile on his face, like snow collecting on a drift that won’t ever melt. He’s drunk and lost and Emori feels the same as how she had too many times in space, totally unknowing what to do. 

But John still has ways of surprising her. 

“You know I’m sorry for pushing you away. For making you feel…” He drifts off, and maybe that had been part of the problem, of him not knowing what she was feeling, and her not telling him. But he meets her eyes for the first time since they’d lied down and true regret lingers in his irises. “I never, never wanted that ‘Mori.”

Her first instinct is to say, ‘I know,’ but that’s not true. She hadn’t known. 

“I didn’t want it either,” she says instead, the truth, despite the words standing opposite to both their broken hearts. But Emori knows how to fix them. “I forgive you. I already have.” She doesn’t think about if it’s too easily done, if it’s just because the Earth blew up or because he died this morning. It’s what she feels, and she won’t deny it. 

He hugs her closer, rests his forehead against the curve of her skull. “I love you.”

“I love you.” 

His breathing evens into a familiar tempo and she relaxes into his body, into the soft bed. But John’s not quite asleep yet. 

“You’re hair smells nice.” 

She laughs lightly, her hand coming to rest on top of his. 

She imagines the buzzing of a swarm in her ears before she falls asleep. 

Emori wakes slowly, in opposition to her normal habit. She hasn’t a notion of what time it is. Dawn on Sanctum is brighter than on Earth, more akin to midday. 

If she dreamed during the night she remembers nothing, but there’s a warmth in her stomach rising through her chest and settling her mind. Probably from the place John’s palm rests. 

“You awake?” John asks, turning his head so his voice drips against the shell of her ear. She hums in response. 

“You hungover?” 

“Nah,” he says, shifts a little to hug her closer, his fingertips playing with the hem of her t-shirt. “My mouth’s a little fuzzy, though.” 

“I can get you some water?” 

“No,” he says, like a child might, except there’s a thick edge to the syllable that tightens in her belly the same way the palm of his hand does to keep her close. 

Her eyes close again but she’s very awake now, she settles back fully into the bed and her stillness lets her feel her heartbeat in her chest and throat. John’s fingers are beneath her shirt now, on that soft, sometimes ticklish part of her belly. It feels so nice, and she finally no longer feels clouded and confused with emotion. 

It makes it easy to turn over and kiss him. Not soft and lingering like she maybe should have made it, but making him gasp, pressing and seeking with her tongue. 

And it's not that she missed him really. He was always there, just around the corner, hiding under the parts of him she resented, or mirrored in the eyes of the others when the seat next to hers was empty at dinner. She had missed this though. His hands and lips on her neck and chest. Had dreamed about it a few times and woken up frustrated and angry with herself. 

And it hadn't even been about the sex really, but the intimacy. Something that had ended months before they broke up. She craves it now, though. Their bodies being so close a knife couldn't slip between them. Having confidence he loves her without condition. 

She knows that their thinking is still aligned because in that moment he tugs her over his closer by her waist, fingers rucking her shirt up highso that their chests run along each other as they breathe. She threads her fingers around the back of his neck to angle his head as they share kisses, sometimes pressing them into his jaw or beneath his ear, but always returning to his mouth and the low grateful hum that passes from his lips. It might almost be called leisurely if it weren't for his hands at her lower back, keeping her steady so that their hips could stay locked together. 

He’s hard already, not surprising considering the rush of his breath, how she can feel his heartbeat through his skin. Through his clothes even. She throbs, in that place where he isn’t, like her body might be able to latch onto the emptiness. 

His hands are warmer than she remembers them being. She sighs into his mouth, the sound more desperate than she knew a sigh could be.

“You want this?” John asks, his voice the way it used to get when he was in awe of her. Under the waistband of her pants his fingertips caress her skin.   

“Yes,” she says, his shirt mangled in her grip. She thinks about what being back down on Earth had done to her. Thinks about standing next to him and seeing the confident tilt of his mouth and calculating gleam in his eye. How the want had needled in her brain and pounded in her ribcage and clenched between her thighs. And now how it pales in comparison. “I want you,” she says into the corner of his mouth.  

He says her name, the word spilling off his tongue like some secret admission and she kisses him, tongue tracing his bottom lip so she might be able to catch the feeling falling from his lips. 

His hands trace further up her back and she sits ups, rocking her hips against him before peeling her shirt and sports bra off, feeling that old presence of comfort and pride as his eyes trace over her appreciatively. 

It stands in contrast to the way her own hands hesitate at his waist. She’s never been afraid of his scars before; had liked them even, the reminder of his ability to endure. But she’s never been the cause of any of them before.  

“Hey,” he says, rests his palms over her knuckles, “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” That can’t be quite true because they’re both careful not to stretch his arms too high as his shirt if pulled off. But he smiles when her hands find balance on his shoulders, his own spanning high on her waist and tracing the undersides of her breasts. And he’s still smiling when she leans down to kiss him and she knows he doesn’t resent her. 

Not like he could when she starts rocking against him, shifting a bit until she finds the right drag against his cock. Insistence grows fast in her as she grinds down and her lips trace down his neck to the sharp point of his collarbones. 

John rubs the sensitive place on the very lowest part of her back and then whimpers when her knees tighten on either side of his waist. His hands become frisky, tugging at her belt loops

She’s wet. She’s so wet and he’s barely touched her. She’s aching, a wound that’s healed can still hurt. Her eyelids are trembling in an effort to stay open as his hands skim over her thighs, but she manages to keep watch him touch her until he leans over and breathes hot over that one place on her jugular that makes her shiver. 

His other hand works beneath her, pressing between her shoulder blades and making her arch up to meet his mouth as he sucks a mark onto her collarbone.

Her hands begin to slide up from his hips as he moves lower. Her touch lingers where new scar tissue mars his shoulder. She traces the two circles with her thumb, will do it with her mouth later, his body is so familiar, but the bullet wounds remind her that they’re both different now, both new people. 

His thumbs on her hip bones don’t feel different, though. And neither does his breath on her inner thigh. 

The anticipation mounts in her chest and between her legs, because she knows what he's going to do next. Because she wants it. That variance of pressure on her clit before he slicks a finger inside her has her legs trembling before he even starts. 

“John.” She says his name, a half moan, a reaffirmation of where they are, who they are. 

A sound, from deep in his gut passes his lips to imprint on her skin. His breath is more hurried than she would expect, making her shiver as it ghosts across her. 

He kisses the v of her legs, soft, fleeting, as he urges her legs further apart, and she gasps despite the briefness. She thought she was too wet for slow and gentle, too wired for his touch after a century and six months to be coaxed into anything languid, but John seems to insist on it, his mouth hot and exploratory against her folds reminding her of those days in space when he’d do this for hours. She whimpers. There’s no hesitance after that, just his tongue pressed against her entrance and flicking once before licking up her center. Then he laps at her clit, light, like she knew he would. 

“Yes,” she says, unable to stop her hips from circling against his mouth. His hand finds her hip to keep her steady, and then drags down the outside of her thigh, not venturing between them like she thought. He reaches for her hand instead, interlocks their fingers even if they don’t fit in any traditional way. She holds on tight to him. 

He places a kiss where her nerves are singing and she feels the burst of pleasure it creates squirming up her spine. A choked sound falls from her lips and her eyes open halfway to see him perched between her legs, and of course he’s looking up at her. But he’s not looking at her with that focus or determination she found so attractive. Instead it’s a caring most people don’t know he has. He just loves her. 

Her eyes squeeze shut as her jaw works uselessly, her precipe suddenly so much closer. He doesn’t go any faster, just presses a little harder, tongue lapping at her clit, circling her hip bone with her thumb, and then she’s there. She cries out, her skin abuzz with pleasure and her entire body feeling both heavy and light as she clenches around nothing, muscles in her thighs tightening as they seek to press together and open wider all at once.

Words rise and die in her throat as her legs shake before a comfort begins to grow next to her heart. John’s hand is still in hers. His thumb stroking over her knuckles is what recenters her.

“I love you,” she says between pants, because she doesn’t think he’ll say it first, and she wants to hear it. “I love you.”

He steals her breath with another kiss, words mumbled against her lips, but the shape of them familiar. “I love you,” he says with his hungry mouth, arms snaked around her back. 

She clings to him for a moment, still feeling dazed and a little lovesick. It’s a good position to run her hands through his hair the way he likes, and an even better one to wrangle him onto his back in before pressing kisses to the side of his neck. 

“Emori. Emori, can we…” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she breathes into his skin, reaching down to find him still hard against the slide of her palm. 

Her lips press a sort-of kiss against his forehead as she shifts up, bracing herself more firmly on her knees before sinking onto him a soft keen torn from her throat with the motion. John’s thumb strokes her cheek, his mouth open and breath hot against her chin as she starts to move against him like a wave, steady and rolling, hard and crashing at the end. The length of him in her comforts her in a way she hadn’t anticipated, enticing the burn in her belly and in her heart both. 

“Fuck, Emori, I-” John groans, his hands skittering from her waist to her ass to her thighs, nails scratching lightly, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. It makes her shudder, clench around him. “God, I’m not gonna last long. Fuck.” 

His eyes close the next time she rolls her hips down, as if to prove her point. Emori moves a bit faster, tries to match the rhythm of his uneven thrusts, caught in her desire to study the vulnerability he displays right before he comes. It makes her feel warm all over, his trust, his love. She traces his jaw with her big hand, and the muscles in his throat twitch before he groans and breaks, his arms wrapping her in an embrace as she feels him warm and slick deep inside her. 

She rocks shallowly against him twice more before slipping off his lap and tucking herself into his open arms. 

“You’re amazing, really,” John says into her hair with his little satisfied smirk. The praise sparks hot in her chest as she presses closer to his heat. 

There is little innocence and not a small amount of hunger in the way his hands continue to pass over her body, and Emori is more than considering responding to the touches but she wants to linger for a moment. One where she doesn’t have to think about anything other than the way John is looking at her and the peculiarity of mornings on this moon.

[alliebruns-blog]

Mega Blog 4000 - London Marathon, Bad Cow Double, Dorchester Marathon, The Ox Epic and 100 miles across the South Downs Way.

Well I’m doing really well at this blogging malarky aren’t I? I haven’t posted in AGES mainly because i have been too busy doing all the actual running. So grab yourself a beer because this is a LONG one. 

My race diary for this year is what some people might call ‘busy’. At the moment I have 27 marathons and ultras booked, but me being a suggestible fool, means this number will only go up. April saw me complete my 5th London Marathon on what was possibly the hottest day of the year ever, plus a little trip to Dorset for the Bad Cow Frolic. Two very different races done in very different ways. 

London is my favourite road marathon - it’s home turf and you cannot beat the crowd and the atmosphere along the route. This year I was running solo - in past years I have had a number of first timers running with me, so it’s rarely actually “my” race, but this year I was running alone and so had high hopes of qualifying for Boston, with a sub 3.40. However, that most definitely was NOT to be. It was brutally hot as you all know, so I decided to be sensible and rein it in a bit. Watching people throwing up and falling by the road from mile 10 onwards was proof that I had made the right decision. Weirdly I found the crowds to be a little overwhelming this year. I have spent so much time running on trails that I am now more used to peace and quiet so having thousands of people cheering was lovely but kind of strangely uncomfortable. 

Here’s a picture of me NOT in running kit. 

The heat meant that I was running without a base layer for the first time in 2018, and around mile 16, I realised that the tops of my flappy little arms were chaffing on my vest, and they were stingy. I wasn’t running with my pack, so I legged it over to St Johns ambulance and asked them if they had any vaseline. They had just run out but offered me some baby oil instead. Sexy scenes follow - I am throw it all over myself, basically basting Bailey up to get mega sunburnt for the rest of the day. I finished in 3.59.40 - classic sub 4 attempt done. Was still pretty pleased - I hadn't broken myself and I felt fine - which was good because the following week saw me trotting up to Dorset for White Star Running’s Bad Cow double. 

Hot metal on London marathon day 

Bad Cow is based in Burnbake - a beautiful part of the Dorset countryside. The event is run over two days - day one is the 12 hour frolic - as many laps of the 4.5 mile course as you can do in 12 hours and day 2 is the marathon. I was entered for both and was aiming for a marathon a day. There were a lot of Do-Badders signed up for this one, so we all camped together for maximum LOLS. It’s also dog friendly, which meant that we had a total of 3 dogs to help us round the course - BONUS. 

Bad Cow Squad - Me, George, Susi, Julius and Toby

Now the thing about having a load of Do-Badders camping together is it is NOT A GOOD IDEA. We like a drink and a chat and managed to control ourselves on the first night - a few beers, nothing extraordinary and a decent bit of sleep meant getting up the next morning wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened. To be quite honest, I was exhausted from Arran and London in the previous 3 weeks plus work had been a nightmare the week before so I decided to trot this one out with my pals and the dogs and trot it out I did. We were taking it in turns to run with dogs, look after kids and drink beers, so all in I managed about 30 miles for the day whilst having the best time ever. That night it all went pear shaped. We stayed up til about 4am yapping and drinking beer and playing with our new fire pit, which would have been fine, had we not had to get up for the Marathon at 6am. No chance of sleeping in when the race director drives up to your tent at 5am, puts a huge speaker outside and starts blasting Cotton Eye Joe at 100DB into the tent. Thanks for that Andy. The funny thing is, I still didn’t wake up. 

It shames me to say it but this was the first race that I have ever DNS’d. I was knackered, hungover and sleep deprived - all my own fault and I will make it up at East Farm in August, but I just couldn’t run it. The best thing is that I still had my number on my leg so looking at the results, I actually did it in 4 hours. Because I went too close to the mat when shouting at someone to do press ups. Classic Do-Baddery. 

Having a nice time with Toby at Bad Cow BEFORE the booze started

Next up was The Ox Epic at the start of May. Now I bloody love The Ox - I ran and won the 50 last year, so this was a key race for me - I wanted to defend my title, like the competitive tit that I am. 

I was signed up to do all 4 races - The Dark Ox on Friday night (6 miles), The Ox Ultra on Saturday (50 miles), the light Ox on Sunday (6 miles) and the Ox Half on Sunday (13 miles). Completing all the races means that you get The Ox Epic medal and are inducted into the WSR hall of fame for being a bad ass. My plan was to take it easy on the dark, smash the ultra and take it easy on the light and half. I had no intention of winning the Epic, I just wanted to win the ultra.  And then disaster struck. 

A close friend of mine went missing on the Wednesday before the race, and we were desperately worried about him. On the Friday morning it was announced that he had been found dead and my whole world collapsed. I was numb and I was overwhelmed with grief. From the minute I found out I was taken care of with Susi and Julius coming to find me to make sure I was OK. I didn’t know what I was doing from one second to the next and started questioning if I should even be running. I was fine one minute, and in floods of tears the next. I didn’t know, but from the minute they turned up, I was under the care of my running buddies - constantly being watched and monitored. 

Susi drove me onto the site on Friday - we were all camping together again and the boys put the tent up. I sat there staring at nothing. I was going to run. I couldn’t think of anything else to do rather than run. I got my number on and followed them all to the start at 9.30pm. I had the wrong number on, I had to go back to the tent and get my proper number. I was such a state. Lee and Susi ran with me - it took us 1.20 to get round a 6 mile course in the dark, but get round I did. I realised that this weekend wasn’t about winning, It was about finding sanctuary through running and just getting round would be good enough. 

No. No I didn’t. 

After a couple of beers and some crying (yay), we went to bed ready for the 50 mile race on Saturday. The Ox is a looped course that runs across the Rushmore estate. Each loop is around 6 and a bit miles, so 8 laps gives you 50 miles. I am NOT a fan of loops but strangely The Ox doesn’t bother me at all - the route is very beautiful (apart from the long drove of death) and there are hills so walking breaks are made easy. I ran with Julius for the whole day. He was brilliant. Chatting to me when I needed to be chatted to and letting me be silent when I needed to, he fed me, made sure I drank water and kept an eye on me the whole time. We gave parts of the course nicknames to make it more bearable Crisp Mountain (the hill that you can eat crisps walking up - later renamed to Peanut Mountain when we ran out of crisps) the Forest of Joy, The Droves of Death, the Hills of Despair, Lamb Kingdom  - I think most of the other people thought that we were mental, but it works for us. We came in for the 50 at around 10 hours 30 mins - over an hour slower than my 2017 time and certainly not a win for me, but again I had got round. My demons had not defeated me and I actually felt better than I had all week. Then came the news that changed the weekend for me. I was told that in the overall results from the two races, I was second lady - with only 1 minute and 14 seconds between me and the current front runner. THANKS ANDY. In a way I wish I hadn’t found out, but now the game was most certainly on. I was going to try and win it. 

Sunday morning came - game face was on, and we set out for the start of the 6 mile Light Ox. My pals were trying to find out where the first lady was, I kind of didn’t want to know. Having looked at the results, it was clear she was a fast shorter distance runner - something I am not. I had to really make the effort on this. I started at the front and shot (well, shot for me) round the course with Julius - coming in at just over an hour and five mins. The first lady had not come in yet. The minutes ticked by, 5, 10, 15 - my lead was going up and up, and then about 30 minutes after me she came in, hobbling, and that was the end of her racing weekend. The ultra had broken her and she wasn’t going to take on the half. I was in the lead. 

Now for the final slog - The Ox Half - it had got quite hot and I was physically and mentally exhausted. Plus I had added pressure on me (that I was totally putting on myself) to bring home the Ashtray Trophy of joy. I did NOT enjoy the half. My tiredness meant my brain was doing what Lee calls Vordermaths - numbers and times and numbers and times going over and over that make NO sense, and I was completely terrified that the second lady was somehow going to make up her 40 minute time difference over the half and beat me. That was never going to happen on the half course which was SO hilly and hot. I came in at around 2 and a half hours and took the win for the ladies. I was overwhelmed, exhausted and completely thrilled to be the first lady winner of The Ox Epic. 75 (ish) miles in 3 days on what could have been one of the worst weekends of my life. It taught me that the love and care of the ultra running community knows no bounds. I also just want to do a little shoutout to the 2nd and 3rd ladies - Kirsty and Debbie who were just brilliant, wonderful humans - it was Debbie’s first ultra and she smashed it. Good work team! 

YAS QWEEENS! L-R Debbie, Moi, Kirsty. Fucking badass women. 

The spoils of The Ox Epic.

A couple of much needed weekends off and it was back to Dorset again for ANOTHER WSR event - their only road race event in the form of Dorchester marathon. This is a very different type of run to the ones I am used to - there are a LOT of people and it’s entirely run on the road - it’s sold in as Britains’ prettiest road race and turns out that is actually true - it’s beautiful. 

We arrive at 8 in the morning in the worst rain ever, Thunder, lightning, rain, humidity - all the good ones. It’s raining so much that we are doing 30 mph on the dual carriageway. I am NOT looking forward to this. We park the car and walk towards the start and it’s stopped raining. Usual pants with the usual suspect at the start - I LOVE the White Star Runners so much. The race director is in a cherry picker, which rises towards the sky and, no shit, as it does the clouds part and it’s brilliant sunshine. Now I’m not saying Andy is a God, buuuut….. Oh and guess who is not wearing suntan lotion? (Clue - it’s me) 

Yeah, this is better than London

Sweaty medal picture

The atmosphere is slightly different at this race - usually you get all the LOLS at the start but there are some really tasty runners here - aiming for PB’s and aiming to win. I ran most of the race alone which was fine, and spent a great deal of time petting lambs and goats as per usual. I bumped into a few people I knew and some who I didn’t and had some great chats. The route is relatively flat with a few big old hills, and the heat made it difficult. This was never going to be a sub 4 for me - I had SDW100 to deal with in 2 weeks and didn’t want ANYTHING to go wrong for that. I reckon I’ll be back for a better crack at it next year - as far as road races go it is one of the best in the country - would defo recommend it. Fast forward 2 weeks and we are looking down the barrel of the South Downs Way 100. 

Looking fresh at the 6am start of the SDW 100

This is only my second attempt at 100 miles on one day. I have done a lot of multi day ultras - I really like them! But only one 100 miler in a day (Autumn 100 back in 2017). This is another one of my key races for 2018, and I was hoping to be able to beat my previous record of 23 hours and 38 mins. One thing I hadn’t taken into consideration was how different SDW100 is from A100. 

For a start SDW had 12,700ft of elevation across the course - that’s like climbing Snowdon 3 times. It runs from Winchester to Eastbourne through the beautiful South Downs National Park. It hadn’t rained for a while and the ground was super hard packed chalk with rocks sticking out of it for most of the way - looking back on it, I should have thought about this and worn road shoes - but I didn’t do that because I am an idiot.  I had already recce’d half the route with some of the Do Badders a few months earlier - it was the last 50 we had run which was brilliant as this was the part I would be covering in the dark. 

Making friends on the SDW100

I was extremely lucky to have 2 great pacers for this race. First up from mile 50, Lorna Spayne - a Do Badder and very tasty marathon runner - my WSR nemesis (always beating me dammit) and very good friend what I made through the internet. Lorna is a very experienced runner, and completed her first 50 on the SDW back in May, so was perfectly placed to help pace and crew me. She is the single most organised person I have ever met in my life. She is kind, patient and fiercely protective of her runner. She crewed me from early on in the race - making sure I had all the delicious food, ice, Calippos (yes really) from very early on, and then joining me at mile 51 to run 30 miles in the middle of the night to drop me off with Lee. You all remember Lee right? Lee who force fed me sandwiches on the A100. Lee who has given me PTSD every time I hear Your The Voice by John Farnham? Yeah - that Lee.  Lee was pacing me from mile 83 to the end. A highly inexperienced ultra runner (not my words) Lee knows exactly what he is doing when it comes to pace and hills - and that is exactly what I needed for the death march. 

We started the race at 6am. I bumped into a lot of Do Badders at the start which was great - nice you know you have someone to shout FUCK YOU BUDDY at on the way round. I started the race with Tania who I know through WSR and her friend Melanie. It was Tania’s first 100 and I was SO excited for her - the first 10 miles flew but chatting about running and stuff and running and stuff.  I knew that we were running to fast - doing around 9.30 min miles when I should have been doing 11. I decided at about 20 miles to pull back and let Tania go on - I couldn’t keep this pace and expect not to start breaking and it was already getting hot. It was very challenging underfoot too - the ground rock solid and a number of splendid long slow ascents. My favourite (Fuck you long, slow ascents). At around mile 25 there is the glorious Lorna and she has got ice cubes and ice lollies and I think I love her. She fills my bottles, gets my rubbish out of my bag, refills the sandwich supplies, checks me over, gives me life and off I trot. There were a lot of VERY jealous people when they saw me fishing my Calipo out of my sports bra. 

L-R: Melanie, myself and Tania off to a flying start. 

This is my “quick photographer run” face. Mel obvs finds it hilarious. 

It was at this point I reached the dead zone. Miles 35-40 were a real challenge - I was on my own and was bored. I wasn’t at half way and I was nowhere near the end. I could feel myself starting to mentally go. Then, as if by magic, Melanie is there behind me. I am SO happy to have a running pal. We trot along laughing at stupid things, hating on cyclists, and encouraging each other for 10 miles until we reach the halfway point. I now know that I am on my way to meet Lorna and my race will get better. I reach 50 mile 45 mins short of my target - it’s hotter and hillier than I thought - but I know if I want to go sub 24 then I need to put some effort in to the 50-80 mile leg.

Lorna is a dream. She chats away to me and makes me run when I don’t want to. She asks me stupid questions and distracts me from the task in hand, asking me if I have drunk enough and eaten enough and generally pushing me on. About 10 miles into this leg another Do badder emerges in the shape of Professor Russell Banks who has bough me a can of beer. NOMS! We run along with Mike - yet ANOTHER Do Badder that we have collected en route, and drink some beer and laugh at stupid stuff. It’s at this point I bump into Tania again - she’s suffering a bit so we scoop her up and run a good few miles with her in tow, leaving her at an aid station to drink coffee. I hope that she will be OK but I have to make up my time. 

Hydrating like a proper athlete around mile 55 (L-R Mike, Me, Russell)

A Fuckwittery of Do-Badders (L-R Russell, Me, Lorna, Mike)

Lorna and I trot through the afternoon and into the evening. Head torches come on, and we are running through the darkness to the 83 mile point where I will meet Lee. At some point on this leg, I lose my sense of humour completely, but she deals with it, allowing me space to eat my Peppa Pig pasta and clean my teeth and shout  “a new fucking body” when the marshalls ask if I need anything. It would have been a much sadder race without Lorna and I am so grateful for everything she did for me. Everything is hurting, but I am so close to the end now.  

Lorna disappears into the night....

At mile 83 we pull into the aid station and there is Lee. Boring the shit out of everyone with his Monarchs Way tales. I grab water and some snacks and give Lorna a hug - 16 miles to go and me and Lee set off up yet ANOTHER hill. 

Tea with Lee. 91 miles in. 

Lee’s brilliant as always and we chat about stuff, walk up hills, he lends me his cheat sticks and I start talking to him about times. He thinks I can beat my A100 time - I am not so sure. I have been eating really well on this race and it shows. I am hurting all over and my body feels bruised, but I still have petrol in the tank and I run the downs and walk the ups and we listen to Queen and debate what their best song is for about 2 hours (It’s The Show Must Go On BTW). 

Day starts to break at about 4am. The beauty of the Downs around this time - when the moon and sun are out at the same time - is astonishing. When day breaks on a 100 mile race, you know it’s over and you know you can do it. It spurred me on and I felt like I was only getting stronger. We stop for a coffee at the aid station at mile 91 and Lee is treated like royalty. I am left to wait in the wings for my coffee and water - the marshals are very apologetic when they realise he is my pacer and I am running the race. Fucking Lee, man. 

Having a moment as the sun comes up and moon goes down. Thanks for the photo Lee!

We leave the aid station and trot out the next 9 miles. It starts to become a reality that I can PB this. I can do it in a faster time than A100. I start to get faster. I feel brilliant. Lee is complaining a lot about the hills. I tell him to shut the fuck up. We keep going and eventually come off the hills and down onto the road towards the finish. The road seems to go on forever, but I want to run not walk. 

23 hours and 20 mins in the end is on sight. One loop round the athletics track,  and I am done. 23 hours, 28 minutes. 9 mins off my previous time with about 7,000ft more elevation. 

BOOM. 

I am presented with my buckle, I get the beer out of my bag and at 5 am have a delicious beer and a hot dog. I am exhausted and elated. Second time round is not easy, but it’s easier. Thank you to Lee and Lorna for everything they did for me. I won’t ever forget it. Shout out to Melanie who finished in 25 hours - this photo says it all.....

So, what’s next? Well I am back with my Rat Race pals doing The Wall this weekend - just 69 miles along Hadrians Wall , followed by a pretty exciting recce in Snowdon. I will also be attempting to not leave my blog so long. If you’ve got to this bit you’re a stronger person than most - ultra reading. 

[letitrainletitsnowbutdontletmego]

One Hundred Ways to Say ‘I love you’- 58: “You don’t have to say anything.”

Another prompt from @queseraone  (muchos gracias!) and a huge thanks to@justkillingtimewhileiwait again for her beta’ing help :)

Thank you to everyone who is reading too, and all of the feedback! <3 Please let me know what you think again, and if you have any prompts off this list you’d like me to write, just message me! (That list is also a master post for all the prompts I’ve so far :))

Set just after 3x17.

It wasn’t a sound that woke her but rather a feeling. Erin wasn’t sure how but she knew she wasn’t alone in her apartment. Unconsciously holding her breath to apply her senses better, she finally let it out when she heard a familiar deep sigh from the room on the other side of her bedroom door. Jay.

Slipping out of her bed, she took a quick peek at her phone to see it was clear of any notifications and it was just past 1 a.m. Though she had been asleep for less than two hours, after their latest case it wasn’t really a surprise she had slept so deeply.

“Hey,” she whispered softly into the dark as she crossed the threshold of the two rooms.

Jay turned his head to look at her, tearing his gaze away from the view of the city visible out of the window as he perched on the arm of her couch. The small lamp on the table next to him threw shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp features, deep eyes and obvious tiredness.

“Hey,” he replied just as quietly, lifting the beer in his hand to his lips lazily as he turned back to look outside.

Approaching him slowly, Erin crossed her arms and stopped when she was close enough to feel his body heat radiate off him and envelope her. “How long have you been here?” she asked, foregoing wondering why he was there. They rarely spent a night apart, no matter how they had spent the day or the evening.

“Not long. Half hour, maybe,” Jay answered with a shrug.

Eyeing the bottle in his hand, she rolled her lips between her teeth as she contemplated whether to question the drink or not. They both had their vices, and whereas she was the one with the addictive nature, he was the one who had never addressed his past. Not with the proper help she had had the first time, or the support system the second time.

Erin wasn’t sure whether she was being compassionate or a coward when she decided not to, but instead deflected to them. “You should have woken me.”

“I was planning on coming to bed, but I was too wound up to sleep. I didn’t want to keep you up,” Jay informed her, dropping his eyes for a moment to where his hands laid on his lap before meeting her own with a meaningful gaze. “I never slept with her, you know that, right? I’d never do that, not to you.”

“Who, Brianna?” she questioned, brow furrowed as she tried to keep up with his sudden change in topic. At his nod, Erin reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder to gain his full attention, making sure he understood she meant the words she was about to say. “I never thought you would. I know the kind of man you are.”

“Okay, good. Because between this case, Voight and her husband, I just wanted to make sure you knew,” he reiterated, though relief flooded his features as her words sunk in. Taking another sip of his beer, Erin shot him a questioning look at his mention of Voight. Jay dropped his eyes and answered her unasked questions before she could open her mouth to ask him. “He asked me if I was sleeping with her. I told him I wasn’t, but I don’t think he completely believed me.”

“Jay,” she sighed, running her fingers through his hair, knowing his bitter tone was more out of frustration with not being trusted by Voight when it came to her rather than him questioning him in the first place. Laying a hand on his leg, she pressed lightly until he shifted so she could step between them and placed her hands on either side of his neck so she could force him to look at her. “Forget what he thinks, alright? Hank no longer has a say in our relationship, we decided that.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment; a wry one-sided smile finally pulling at his lips as she tenderly stroked his jaw. “It’s just been a hell of a week, Erin.”

“I know, babe,” she told him, continuing in her soothing actions against the day’s stubble along his jawline, even as he took another swig from his beer. “How were drinks with Mouse and Ethan? Did it help?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jay murmured offhandedly. It wasn’t the clear-cut answer Erin had expected, but she knew that after everything that had happened, and whatever it had trudged up, it would take more than just an evening at Molly’s to deal with. Resting his free hand on her hip, she felt him squeeze gently; an apologetic look on his face as he did so. “They can relate, that’s all. “

Shaking her head, Erin offered him a soft smile. “You don’t have to say anything, Jay. I get it. I’m here if you ever want to talk, and I’m here even if you don’t. As long as you talk to someone, okay? Just please don’t keep it all inside,” she pleaded with him.

“I’ll try,” he answered, and though it wasn’t the promise she was looking for, it was honest and earnest, which was a very close second. She didn’t reply, instead watching as he tilted his head back to finish off his drink. This time he caught her eyeing the bottle in his hand, offering her sad, twisted smile as he assured her, “It’s only my third tonight, I swear.”

“Okay,” she said acceptingly, slipping the empty bottle out of his hand and placing it next to the lamp on the table beside them. “Ready for bed?”

Jay let out a slow breath; eyes falling close a moment as she took his hand in her own. “Yeah,” he eventually murmured, the blue of his eyes slightly lighter when he opened them once again that they had been a few moments earlier.

Silently, they retreated back to her bedroom where she slipped under the covers on her still-warm side of the bed. Jay joined her soon after, settling in next to her on his side so she was able to see him. Despite his decision to come to bed, it was clear he was still as far from sleep as he had been when he had arrived at her place.

Erin watched him carefully; watched as he shuffled around to bury an arm below his pillow and watched as his eyelids fluttered closed. “Voight gave me a week off,” he told her, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“He told me,” she replied quietly, unable to keep herself from touching him. Laying a hand on his cheek, she stroked the fine hair at his hairline before curving her hand over the top of his head to gently cradle the back, fingers carded through the hair. “What do you plan on doing?”

“Apart from sleeping?” Jay remarked with a half-hearted smirk, settling deeper into his pillow and the bed as she absentmindedly caressed his hair. “I was thinking about heading up to the cabin for a few days. Get away from here for a bit.”

“The one in Wisconsin?” Erin questioned, recalling the conversation they had had about it over a year ago but had yet to mention it again. Though she supposed that was mostly her fault; she had put their relationship on hold not soon after the discussion about retiring in Wisconsin and then had gone off on her so-called sabbatical. She broke out of her thoughts before delving deeper by Jay’s confirming hum. “Want some company?”

“Doubt you’d be able to get the time off,” he commented, eyes opening when she didn’t immediately respond. Quirking an eyebrow, she shot him a dimpled smile as he smirked. “You already have.”

“Only a few days,” she confirmed with a single-shouldered shrug. “I wasn’t planning on letting you deal with this yourself, Jay. You were there for me even when I didn’t realise I needed you to be.”

Jay turned to press a kiss to her arm, lips landing right on the edge of her elbow and spoke into her soft skin, “I’d love your company.”

[randomactuallywrites-57]

Complete

Title: Complete Author: randomwriter57 Rating: G Word Count: 5,487 Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day five - Lohgrin: Truth/Time Summary: Awakening is not how he expected it to be. Notes: Warning! Spoilers for the end of the game! I know everybody and their mothers have written post-canon sormik reunions already, but I kind of wanted to write Sorey waking up from his POV. As my fics tend to do, it got a bit out of hand ^^" I've added a few references to Tales of Berseria, mostly a headcanon of mine as to where that place in the epilogue might be. None of the Berseria references should be spoilery, since they're a bit vague. There's also a reference to a guidebook thing to do with Eizen (spoilers in the link).

Also on: AO3

Awakening is not how he expected it to be. Then again, how could it be? In his human years, so many times had he opened his eyes to a new day, filled with leftover feelings from dreams and physical states of awake-or-tiredness. In all honesty, there should not be an expected way to awaken from his slumber; only an opening of the eyes, and the start of a new day.

(To be fair, he didn’t have enough time to fully contemplate waking up. When he planned, he thought only of falling asleep, dreamless and focused, and then later being awake once more. The process itself never struck him as interesting.

Until now, that is.)

His awakening is oddly gradual, for a start. It’s almost like the mornings when he would wake up in a limbo, halfway between sleep and dreams and still unsure of what is real and not. How many times did he hear someone call his name, only to think it was in his dreams when in reality he was being awoken?

This sensation is similar. His touch returns first - the cool rock beneath his body, the warm beat of the earthpulse, the tickle of flowers against his face. Though his entire body is enveloped in some kind of barrier of heat, he still feels the brush of the wind and the cascade of raindrops.

His hearing comes next. Through his sleep, he has heard only the voice of Maotelus, imparting upon him the stories of this world’s past, and how the present came to be. But now, on occasion, he will hear a new voice - people speaking to him, telling him stories of their own, offering prayers. He does not know these people - can only hear their words, tries to grasp them only to find them slipping through his grasp - but he always listens to them.

The return of taste is the most uncomfortable, if only for the dryness of his mouth. He has not drank water in so long, can feel his lips crying for moisture, a desert. This would be fine, if it only returned just as he was about to awaken, rather than a while before then.

In any case, he is lucky, for time passes quickly in sleep.

The final stage of his awakening begins with sight, though he does not open his eyes. Rather, it is the colour of light which captures his attention; the warm glow of the aura surrounding him, the slow rise and fall of the sun each day. His favourite sight is the flashes of light which accompany deep, crushing booms of sound every so often, when the rain drops streak down his face and he can feel the earth thudding in his veins.

Even then, it is only when his final sense returns that he truly awakens.

In one moment, unlike the last, he takes a deep, shuddering breath through his nose; he smells subtle flowers and fresh grass and clean air, unlike anything he can recall breathing in for so, so long. Rather than a necessary action, this is more of a subconscious habit, but he does not regret the new aromas which fill his brain.

With all five senses returned to him once more, they begin to uncover. The warmth wrapped around him slowly peels itself away, a blanket torn from his grasp like an alarm. He hears the sound of another, as though they are yawning, and sometimes, speaking. His tongue licks his dry lips, tastes the barren field of skin.

Finally, with a deep breath, he opens his eyes.

And it all comes back to him.

For a newborn seraph, he realises later, he is incredibly lucky in that he forgets almost none of his old life. This is most likely due to Maotelus, who spent so long making sure he would not forget. He is truly grateful, not only because he can remember the hardships and pain he experienced, but he can also remember the people he was with at the time, if only as fuzzy shapes and half-heard voices.

Two of these figures stand out to him. One he knows is dead - the pain still thrums in his heart, ever-aching. The other should still be alive, and it is his figure which he gravitates toward the most. It is his true name which threatens to spill from the tip of his tongue, though he has not yet spoken a single word.

Blinking, he allows his brain to process his surroundings. He lies where he fell so long ago, in the depths of a ruined shrine, overtaken by nature in the many years which have passed since then. His resting place is within a deep chasm, but intrinsically he knows he will find a way out.

Above him, Maotelus’ soft silver glows in the dawn sunrise. He too has awoken, finally purified and able to bless the continent on his own.

“You are awake,” Maotelus says, his voice a tremble amongst the sound of silence. “And your work is complete. Thank you.”

He gazes up at the white dragon, a thousand questions flooding his mind. He need not speak any of them, for Maotelus answers regardless.

“It has been many centuries since you fell asleep, and so your original body passed on long ago. You have been reborn as a seraph. This, of course, means you no longer bear the Shepherd’s burden.”

Looking down at himself, he sees the traditional cloak still draped over his shoulders, still intact even centuries later. Though it still fits him physically, it doesn’t feel right to continue wearing it now. He pulls it over his head, folding it neatly and placing it on the ground before Maotelus. His eyes catch sight of his hands as he does so, the single fingerless glove bearing the Shepherd’s symbol standing out to him. This, however, he does not remove. It feels as much a part of him as his body itself, now.

Then, he pushes himself onto his feet. It takes a moment to find his balance, but when he does, he stands tall, gazing up at Maotelus with a smile.

“Go on and find your dream, Sorey.”

And so he does.

Returning to the outside world is more difficult than Sorey imagined it would be. Even after he climbs out of the depths of his resting place and hikes through the ruins of the shrine and the village of Camlann, it takes a lot of time to emerge from the Mabinogio Ruins into the cool breeze of the mountaintops. The sight of the expansive blue sky makes the trip worth it, though, especially when he sees the familiar sight of his hometown in the distance, looking the same as ever, even after all this time.

Still, he does not know where to go from here. He knows that he must search for that one person - can feel a deep longing pulling him in that direction. But he knows not where to find him without asking for information. He doesn’t particularly want to make his awakening known to the people of Elysia, though. Not until that one person knows he is back.

Hence, Sorey bypasses Elysia, stopping only to pay tribute to a small pile of rocks on the coast outside the village, a grave marked with a gold-tinged pipe. He allows the pain to simmer in his memories, but does not dwell on it. After all, he knows that was his only choice.

The Aroundight Forest remains under a blessed domain, and so is free of hellions. This makes his journey much easier as he traverses along familiar routes, allowing his feet to carry him on even as day turns to night turns to day once more. As a seraph, he does not need as much rest or sustenance now as he once did.

(That doesn’t mean he doesn’t take breaks, of course. He knows better than to push his body when it has not exercised for so long.)

In only two days, he reaches Lakehaven Heights. Immediately he can tell the purification has worked - the hellions he comes across are few and far between, and the air is fresh with life. Standing on lookout rock, he can feel the air’s purity, can see the clarity of the lake in the distance, surrounding that age-old town where he once first found human society.

How much will they have changed, he wonders?

As he passes the river, he catches sight of his reflection on its surface. His hair is still in its short style, though now the brown tresses are tinged with golden tips. Part of him wants to see it fully grown, though he knows that will most likely only happen once he grows stronger as a seraph. Feathered earrings remain in their usual place on either side of his head, and his clothes remain as they were on his last day as a human, save for the removal of his cloak. When he looks closely, his green eyes seem to have a hint of gold within them, though it is hard to tell in the river’s rushing surface.

He has changed only from becoming a seraph; Will that person have changed, too? They have surely grown stronger, after all. He wants to see how they have grown.

For now, though, he makes his way to Ladylake. He needs to find a lead, after all.

In a city filled with people, Sorey passes almost unnoticed. Despite the purification of himself and Maotelus, it seems the people still tend to have little to no resonance. The most recognition he finds is confused stares of people who have brushed against him, only to brush it off as an illusion.

Still, Sorey is not worried. He’s more interested in the city itself. Since his last visit, the city has grown even larger, the centre now filled with all sorts of new technology he’s never seen before. Yet, he also finds hints of recognition - the great waterwheel continues to turn, and his feet naturally take him towards the Sanctuary where his journey began so long ago.

He knows there is someone he must speak to, within the Sanctuary. Perhaps she will know where the person he seeks might be.

Inside, the Sanctuary has barely changed. Blue drapes still decorate the pillars, and a glittering sword lies within its altar, untouched.

In front of the altar sits the one he seeks: a seraph adorned in red and white, her long silver hair flowing behind her. She does not notice him entering, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

Like all those years ago, and yet so different from back then, he slowly approaches her, his footsteps silent even in the tall building. He does not say a word until he is only feet away from where she sits.

“Lailah,” he says, the name a flame in his core.

The seraph looks up at him, eyes wide with familiarity. She gasps. “It can’t be… Sorey?”

He smiles at her, somehow feeling unnecessarily nervous. “It’s nice to finally see you again.”

Lailah jumps up from her seat, wrapping her arms tightly around him. The familiar comfort of her presence soothes his nerves.

“Sorey, I can’t believe you’re really back,” she says, stepping away from him. Her eyes glimmer with the hint of a tear, yet unshed. “Everything went well?”

“Yes,” he says. “How about everything on your end? Are you still the Prime Lord for the current Shepherd?”

“No, I am currently working as Lord of the Land here in Ladylake,” Lailah says. “Do you remember Uno, the previous Lord of the Land? He took over for me once Rose stepped down.”

“Rose?” The name is all too familiar, tinged with a bittersweet emotion. “She became a Shepherd?”

Lailah nods, her expression softening in sadness. “She wanted to help the world as best she could, and help your dream to live on.”

“I see.” Sorey takes a moment of silence, mentally thanking Rose and praying for her peaceful rest. He then looks up, remembering his first squire. “Was Alisha able to fulfil her dream too?”

“Yes. She was a fine example to the people of Hyland. Her actions paved the way for a peace between Hyland and Rolance which has lasted exceptionally well over the past centuries.”

Centuries. It’s inevitable, then, that Sorey would never see his human friends again. Still, he smiles through his sadness. Hearing that they were both able to achieve their dreams and make progress towards the peace they all yearned for is enough to make him feel happy for them. He might not have known them long, but to have known them at all is a blessing, he thinks.

Noticing his mood, Lailah says, “Would you like to see her?”

Sorey picks up on her meaning and nods. “I want to pay my respects, and to thank her.”

Luckily for both of them, Alisha’s resting place lies behind the Sanctuary, in a closed cemetery reserved only for the royal family. They pass the guards easily, their footsteps silent as they approach a clean grave in the back of the cemetery. Though her claim to the throne was far, and she never ascended to it in her lifetime, her grave is remarkably well-kept. The writing on it is clear enough to read, even after centuries.

Here lies

Alisha Diphda

Princess of Hyland

Her birth and death dates indicate that she had a long life, which makes Sorey smile. A moment later, however, he can’t help his intake of breath, noticing messier writing carved lower down on the stone.

Melphis Amekia

Isylvia Amekia

The first name is all too familiar, pulling the strings on his heart in nostalgia. The second is less familiar, though its meaning rings clear in his head.

“Isylvia Amekia?” he says.

“When Rose accepted Alisha as her Squire, that is the true name she gave her.” Lailah kneels before the grave, placing a carefully-folded paper flower on the mound of dirt at the base of the stone. “Rose is the one who carved these words as a dedication to her.”

Sorey smiles, tracing the letters with his fingertip. He can only imagine the situation which might have prompted Rose to give her a name like that, and the conversations which followed.

They stay a few minutes longer in the graveyard, accompanied by the sound of birds singing, trees rustling, the aqueducts flowing. The breeze is light and calming against his skin.

Eventually, he stands. “I should be going.”

Lailah looks up at him and nods, following his lead and standing. “You must have many more places to go, after all.”

“I do.”

The pair return to the Sanctuary, back to where they met all so long ago, in front of the altar. It’s almost hard to believe how much has changed since then, and how much things have stayed the same.

For whatever reason, Sorey’s never been the best at goodbyes. He understands why people leave, and can accept it easily. But that doesn’t change how much it can hurt, sometimes. He never really knows what to tell someone if he’s the one leaving.

Before he can think of anything to tell Lailah, she speaks.

“I heard a rumour that there is an age-old ruin on an island in the south. Apparently seraphim often go there due to its age. It’s only become more accessible recently.”

At first, Sorey is surprised at the suddenness of her words. However, then he gets an idea of a certain seraph he may find there. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to check it out.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck on your journey,” she tells him. “Please, come back anytime.”

“I will,” Sorey says, giving her a final wave goodbye before heading to the door of the Sanctuary.

In his wake, Lailah whispers, “And with Mikleo, of course.”

Upon leaving Ladylake, Sorey decides to head south - or rather, as south as he can until he reaches a port. Both Lakehaven Heights and Falkewin Hillside are yet surrounded by mountains, and so when he reaches the latter area, he knows he will need to venture into Rolance before he can find a way south.

But before he goes that way, it would feel wrong to leave without paying his respects on a certain mountain. Especially considering the stories told to him by Maotelus during his slumber.

Rayfalke Spiritcrest remains an intimidating mountain, spiking up into the sky in dangerous pikes, unchanged even after all these years. Memories flood his brain of inexperienced ascents, searching not for the danger at the peak, but for aid found halfway up. With any luck, he may have another encounter with that aid.

He only reaches the small stone grave at the base of the mountain before he feels a wave of familiar energy - a domain. This one, however, does not hold the malevolence he once associated with this mountain’s draconic resident. Rather, this is a blessing which feels familiar, almost like the pulse of blood in his veins.

She’s still here, somewhere.

Sorey continues past the grave, ascending the beaten mountain track. He doesn’t encounter a single hellion on his way, something which he puts down to the seraph’s strong domain, paired with the blessing of Maotelus which spans the continent.

It is only as a small shrine comes into view, not far up the mountain, that he sees the source of this domain. Standing near to the shrine, her back facing Sorey, is a girl twirling a familiar laced umbrella, still decorated with an orange normin plushie.

(Or at least, he hopes it’s a plushie this time.)

To say ‘girl’ is perhaps an understatement, for now she appears to be a little taller, a little older than when Sorey saw her last. He supposes that is what the passage of centuries will do to you, even as a seraph.

(Is this the result of their saving Eizen, he wonders?)

When he is a few feet away, she speaks. “You could have warned me before showing up out of the blue, you know.”

There it is - the sarcastic tone he knows all too well, one which is laced with a hint of fondness.

“Nice to see you too, Edna.”

Edna turns around, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders, longer than when he last saw her. Her outfit is mostly similar, though her dress looks a little different in style. It’s difficult to tell, especially after so long of not seeing her. Still, her face is the same as ever.

“So you’re really awake,” she says under her breath.

“I am,” Sorey says, smiling. “Longest nap I’ve had in a while.”

Rolling her eyes, Edna twirls her umbrella in a lethargic circle. “You’ve kept a lot of people waiting, you know.”

“I know.” At the very least, he’s glad he kept his promise before going to sleep. He sends a knowing look to the spike of the mountain. Even if he had waited until his awakening to save Eizen, he wouldn’t have been able to do it, in the end. Not using the one solution they had found to save him. “Sorry.”

“What for?” Edna raises an eyebrow, before turning without waiting for an answer. She begins walking up the mountain, boot-clad feet steady against the rocks. When Sorey doesn’t follow, she looks at him over her shoulder. “Well? You coming?”

A smile coming to his lips, Sorey follows her.

Neither of them speak a word as they ascend the mountain. It isn’t that they don’t want to speak, but it would feel wrong, for Sorey at least, to allow important conversations to pass by in idle movement. Besides, there are things he thinks Eizen might like to hear, too.

Once they reach the cold peak of the mountain, they both sit down in front of the makeshift grave they set up for him so long ago. The base is piled with flowers and souvenirs, some of which he recognises, others newer additions.

“Eizen,” says Edna. “You have a visitor.”

Sorey feels a little foolish as he greets the pile of rocks. “Hi, Eizen.”

Edna glances over to him, obviously waiting for him to speak.

Putting aside his feelings, he returns his gaze to the rocks. “You only ever got to meet me when you were already gone, so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Sorey, and I travelled with Edna for a while, back when I was human.” He pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I promised her I’d help to save you, but the only way I could do that was this. I’m sorry for that.”

Beside him, Edna lets out a shaky breath, no doubt remembering her own internal struggle, having to help kill her own brother in order to save him.

“But after that, I spoke with Maotelus,” Sorey says. This catches Edna’s attention, and her gaze is steady. “He told me everything about when you travelled with him, many centuries ago. Probably a couple of millennia, by now. Now, I think I understand better. You didn’t turn into a dragon without thinking, or for selfish reasons. You did everything you could to make sure your little sister would be safe, when it happened. You changed to stop a great evil in this world.”

“Eizen,” Edna breathes, her voice cracking.

“I hope only that you are resting peacefully. And don’t worry about Edna - she’s resilient.” He gives her a sideways smile, though it fades when he sees the wet layer on her eyes.

He lets a moment of silence pass, allowing her to gather her emotions once more.

Then, he asks, “You knew, didn’t you?”

Edna nods, her eyes glued to her brother’s grave. “The gauntlet - the Divine Artifact we used to armatize. That was Eizen’s, when he was a Sub Lord. Zaveid gave it to me when Eizen came home. I only heard the full story a few hundred years ago.”

“Oh.”

The wind howls as it passes them, yet neither moves. They simply sit together in silence, each of their thoughts directed towards the man whose grave they sat before.

Then, almost too suddenly, the feeling passed, replaced by the amicability which defined their friendship so long ago.

“You’re a seraph now,” Edna says, her gaze moving from his hair to his eyes.

“Sure am,” Sorey says, scratching the back of his head. “I’m not sure which type, though.”

Edna only shrugs. “You’ll figure it out. But now you’re a baby seraph. Even more of a baby than wee baby Meebo. Weebo.”

Sorey can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the air around them. “I guess that’s true!”

A small smile crosses Edna’s face, and she looks out over the edge of the mountain. “He was lonely, you know.”

“I know.” His smile softens as he sees the hidden emotions in her eyes. Somehow he gets the feeling that she isn’t talking only about someone else now. “Have you been up here by yourself all this time?”

“No. I travelled with Rose for a while, then by myself. I stuck with Meebo for a few years, too.” She gently touches one of the items in front of the grave - a small hair comb. “But I always come back here.”

“I guess it is your home, after all.”

She glances over at him, eyes calculating, before shrugging. “I guess.”

They stay together for a while longer, talking idly of times long past, until the sun begins to dip beneath the horizon, and Edna finally stands.

Taking the hint, Sorey follows her down the mountain once more, until they’re back in front of the shrine, which glows in the evening light.

“It was nice seeing you again,” he tells her. “I’ll be sure to come by again on my way back.”

“Don’t let me keep you from your heartfelt reunion,” Edna says, though the corners of her lips tug upwards.

As Sorey heads to the base of the mountain once more, she watches from her perch, eyes not leaving his form until she can no longer feel his presence in her domain. Then, and only then, does she proceed back up the mountain once more, trying to ignore how oddly lonely it feels, not to have someone by her side.

The days pass quickly when he travels. It feels like only a few days before he reaches Lastonbell, though it must have been over a week, judging by the cycles of the moon. The town is just as lively as he remembers, and his only regret is not being able to spend more time revisiting the places where his heart is drawn to.

He must hurry, though. He doesn’t want to arrive at the ruins too late.

Except the good weather begins to turn as he makes his way through the Meadow of Triumph. Just as he gazes up at the familiar towers, still standing despite how strangely they were built, the wind picks up. With it comes a shower of rain, soaking him to the bone in a matter of minutes. His first instinct is to rush to find shelter, but there are not many places which can provide that, in such an open area. Thus he is forced to continue trekking through the muddy field, hoping that the rain will soon come to an end.

And eventually, it does, but only once he reaches the edge of Pearloats Pasture. Centuries after the Age of Chaos which ruined its harvest, it looks like the pasture is filled with bountiful crops once more. Tall fields of wheat surround him, almost taller than he himself. Were it not for that, and for the rushing wind pushing the crops to the side, he might not have spotted that head of white, bobbing above the field. Though he can tell immediately that this is not the one whom he is seeking, he continues towards this person regardless, feeling a familiarity radiating from them.

The moment the person turns around, he knows why.

“Yo, Sheps!” Zaveid grins at Sorey, ever cocky and confident, though his eyes glimmer with a kind of happiness which isn’t usually expressed so clearly on his face. It feels like nothing about him has changed, and for that Sorey can’t help but feel a little bit grateful. “It’s been a while.”

From what he remembers, he and Zaveid did not get on so well when he was a human. After the tragic loss of Dezel, however, he remembers getting to understand Zaveid better. Now, he can’t help but return Zaveid’s happiness at seeing him once again.

“It’s great to see you, Zaveid. What are you doing here?”

“I felt something on the wind, so I followed it,” he answers cryptically. “And I’m on my way to see a certain somebody on a mountain. It’s coming up to 800 years, you know.”

Sorey gasps at the number. Though he’d known it had been a long time since he fell asleep, he hadn’t known that almost eight centuries had passed. “It’s been 800 years since Eizen died? You kept count?”

Zaveid shrugs. “Hard not to keep track of things like that, y’know.”

The words bring to mind a memory of one of Maotelus’ stories, one involving Zaveid’s own past from long ago. He wonders if Zaveid has always been the type to keep track of that kind of thing, ever since his own loss from so long ago.

“’Course, it’s easier to keep track when you know someone’s coming back,” he says, ruffling Sorey’s already messy hair then grimacing at his now damp palm. He wipes it on his trousers.

Has that person been keeping track, too? Sorey trusts that he hasn’t been moping about it, and has been carrying on their dream. Still, it pains him to think of how lonely it must have been, at least at first. They had always been together, after all.

But that person is strong. He has faith that he carried on, and is still doing so.

“Hey, do you know where the nearest port is?” he asks.

Zaveid blinks and looks around, as if trying to coordinate himself geographically. “There’s one near Pendrago, I think. Go further west and you might find it.”

“Thanks! I’ll try that.”

With a final smile, Zaveid moves to walk past Sorey, only to clasp his hand on his shoulder at the last minute.

“You did a good job,” he says. Without waiting for a reply, he moves on through the field, going back the way Sorey came.

Gazing after him, Sorey thanks him under his breath. Then he continues.

Zaveid’s directions are surprisingly accurate. It takes only a couple more days for him to find the port town once he bypasses Pendrago. It’s a small port town, one which has only been put into use once more in more recent times, since all travel outside Glenwood was impossible during the Age of Chaos. Through some sneaky eavesdropping he manages to find a boat heading to the southern isles, and hops on it just before it sets sail.

The journey is an uneventful one, save for Sorey’s awe at being surrounded on all sides by a vast field of blue water. He spends a day simply staring at the waves, watching them roll by, occasionally startled by the appearance of fish or other sea creatures. The second and third days he spends lounging and reading books left alone by the human passengers on the boat, and the fourth he spends in anticipation of their docking at the port in a small ocean town named Yseult.

Apparently the town had once thrived, its population almost as large as that of a few of the cities in modern Glenwood. Of course, Sorey knows from Maotelus the truth of what happened on this isle. Luckily it is free of malevolence when he sets foot there, and he has no trouble in heading through the town towards the beaches which lead towards the ruins.

Of course, it’s a long walk. Sorey has never been troubled by long walks, but the heat and the beach environment make even him a little uncomfortable after a few hours. Still, he perseveres, trying to keep himself occupied by imagining how this island was two milennia ago, before it was overcome by malevolence. The wildlife which he sees seems completely different to that which Maotelus described in his stories - he doesn’t see a single pengyon, blue flightless birds which were once popular amongst tourists.

In any case, he eventually reaches the ruined village of Haria, which has not yet been repopulated, though he can see it happening soon if it’s anything like Yseult. He doesn’t spend long there, choosing only to rest for a single night before continuing down the beach towards the ruins he seeks.

The trek is long and somewhat arduous, but eventually he spots the marble towers of an ancient ruin, half sunken into the ocean. The entrance is still clear and easily accessible. What’s more, there’s a single set of footprints in the sand leading towards it.

It must be him.

Sorey follows those footprints into the ruin of Palamides, tracing the path taken by many in the past, and by one only a short time ago. As much as he wants to linger in each room, examining every part of the ruin, he forces himself to go on without exploration - he wants to reunite with that person as soon as he can, after all.

After passing through a few rooms with tall chalices (an ancient puzzle, perhaps?) he reaches a set of stairs leading into a small, circular room. His steps are silent as he descends into the room, halting as he reaches the final step.

At the head of the room, standing before a stone monument, is a figure he knows all too well and yet who has changed remarkably. His white hair now flows behind him in a ponytail, draping down over his capes. Though his outfit has changed, he still holds a staff, still holds himself with the same elegance.

This is the person he’s longed to see for so long.

And yet, he is frozen to the spot. He can’t think of what to do, what to say. All he can do is wet his dry lips and watch as that person lifts a gloved hand to touch a glowing blue gem, embedded into the monument.

‘Wait, isn’t that a trap?!’

Sorey rushes forward just as the ground breaks beneath Mikleo’s feet.

And at the last second, he catches him.

When their eyes meet, Mikleo smiles, his expression filling Sorey with a warmth he has not felt for centuries. It is as he pulls Mikleo out of the depths, catching him as he topples into his arms, that he realises.

For the first time in centuries, he feels complete.

[etoilesdephan]

Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt? (Chapter 16: Ophidia in herba)

Chapter masterpost

Chapter words: 2.6k

Overall words: 41.2k

Read it on ao3!

Trigger warning: Self-harm.

======

“When your lease was coming to an end and Cornelia's friend couldn't figure out a way to get you released without Phil's testimony, we had to make the decision. Though your channels were still earning you money, and with all the income from the tours, it felt like it would be a waste of money to keep paying the rent since you'd need the funds once things would settle,” Martyn, fingertips pressed together beneath his chin, explained, seated in the chair while Dan cradled Phil's sleeping form close on the narrow bed. “And the landlord wasn't very keen on the idea of extending the lease either, after the police had nearly knocked down two doors in one night and then roaming around so much and disturbing the peace of the other tenants repeatedly.”

“Why not ask me? Or at least tell me about it?” Dan asked quietly, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Phil's arm, his eyes avoiding to look at Martyn, finding it easier to merely hear the information, instead of seeing the lips pronounce it.

“I think you know why, Dan,” Martyn answered, just as quietly and the silence set between the two men, heavy but not hostile. It was full of thoughts and unspoken questions and answers that both of them knew well already.

Finally, Dan sighed, staring at his knee, oddly balanced a little over Phil's legs that had tangled into the blanket “And all of our stuff?” Though he wasn't happy with the news, far from it (He'd never quite expected to find himself homeless like this, not after everything had been going uphill with their careers the previous year), it was a welcome distraction to try and sort out now. Something to focus on and what would allow him to feel like he was actually working towards fixing this mess.

It was enough that he had a purpose again, and with Phil close to his heart and so fragile, he had suddenly found a renowned strength to keep himself together. Physically though, his body was struggling - his heartbeat was uneven and the neck was aching from the poorly slept nights and the horrors that his mind had been conjuring so easily. The flashes of fright came in waves when something seemed even remotely hostile, remotely similar to what had happened in those long months though he had thought it to having become a welcome part of his life.

“We've stored most of it at a rental storage,” Dan nodded, and smiled a little, only a serene feeling in the little bow of lips.

Here they had been musing out loud about a bigger storage space, about the possibility of moving. Now life had forced them to take the step, and Dan was sure that all the places that they had been looking at before were long gone and out of their reach now.

He sighed and raised his eyes enough to look at Phil who's sleeping face was smushed into the the wrinkly hoodie that Dan hadn't really changed ever since he'd gotten it after his mum had coaxed him into taking a shower and changing few days after his release.

“Also - this,” Dan looked over when he heard Martyn shift and suddenly he saw his phone, handed back to him. Though he'd longed for this easy connection for months, Dan had completely forgotten of it in the delirious state post-trial.

“Thanks,” He took the rectangular object and watched as the screen lit up with the familiar screensaver and the digits of time, and the date.

“But Dan,” Martyn drew his attention in again and Dan simply pocketed the phone without unlocking it “Don't let the things you see get to you. The past months, especially after the news release, a lot of people have had a lot of opinions, and they have been very keen on expressing them.”

Teeth dug into the chapped lower lip and Dan nodded. At an idle moment he'd thought of what had come of their audience, friends, and colleagues. Now that he had a power to find out though, he understood how much he didn't want to know.

He was afraid of the what he wound find.

Dan understood though, he couldn't stay quiet forever. Now more than ever he was aware of how the world worked and he knew that the news of his release had probably travelled the globe in the places where they mattered in one way or another.

“And a few people have been trying to reach you, but you'll see that in the call logs and messages,” To that, Dan just hummed a nod, wrapping his arms around Phil again.

“So where do we go now?” After a silent moment in which he could only hear the hospital chatter behind the closed door, Dan asked.

“We've been looking into it already and there are a few options. For now however, you need to rest, Dan. I'm not trying to nanny you,” Martyn added when Dan opened his mouth to protest “But you will exhaust yourself and right now we desperately need to get you back on your feet to settle everything that's been piling up.”

Martyn looked down at Phil and Dan followed suit after noticing the slight crease in Martyn's forehead. It seemed like life liked to draw lasting lines on everyone's faces these days.

“As much as Phil's used to be in charge of half of the paperwork, he's in no condition right now to handle any. He was pushing himself so much to ensure that the trial goes through as soon as possible.” As if noticing the guilt begin to bud in Dan again, Martyn interjected quickly “He wouldn't have gotten any rest until you would walk free, so this is for the best.”

Dan pressed his lips together at that, trying to accept the words as the truth.

“He needs to focus on getting well now, so we can't push any work on him. On the contrary, we need to keep him away from it.”

Dan nodded again, heaving another sigh, and the tiredness was evident in the heat of his breath and the way his heart felt weird in his chest, pumping with a struggling feeling of far too many hours spent awake and poorly rested.

======

Leaving Phil behind felt like a mistake. As soon as Dan had exited the hospital, everything about him was screeching to go back, to take that seat again and be prepared to hold Phil once more if necessary. To be by his side and do what he hadn't been doing for such a long time.

The cab never paused though, and before Dan knew he was well on his way to Martyn's apartment.

As the world zoomed by, it looked too peaceful and unchanged. Only the seasons had rolled over from spring to summer and all the way to autumn, the leaves on the trees yellowing already. It was a familiar sense of meaninglessness that he'd successfully branded as an existential crisis over the years. Only now, he actually saw it, and understood on a level that he had never before.

Life had moved on, with or without Dan and Phil and all of their achievements. All of their work seemed to have been for naught.

It made him wonder, like many nights before in his years; did he really matter on any scale? Was the work that he did anything important? Was the grand scheme of things for him to merely exist as a piece of grain in the infinite and endless vortex of the universe?

“Try to sleep, okay?” Cornelia was unchangingly gentle, like she'd always be whenever something wasn't quite right. And things had really gone to shit.

It was a softness Dan appreciated; it was safe, emphatic. It almost made things feel alright.

He couldn't sleep.

Though his body was exhausted, his mind was a raging storm and he kept tossing and turning hours after he had been left alone, huddled with the blanket and a phone on the bed besides his pillow. In the darkness of the room he felt uneasy, and the warmth of a home was something that he was still taking time to get familiar with in his gut.

He was free and he could do as he pleased again, and it was something that he couldn't fully grasp just yet.

Because this freedom came with responsibilities that had previously been forcefully removed from him, too.

His phone screen lit up expectantly when he pressed down on the home button and for a while he stared at the nondescript background until the light went out again and he was left in the darkness with his eyes stinging.

“Take your time,” Martyn's voice rang in his memory “There's no coordinated update to do, no timing, just let them know when you feel like it's time to do so and when you think you can handle the response.”

He clicked the home button again, but this time he didn't let the light to turn off and instead he  finally tapped the screen, unlocking it. The familiar smooth movement of apps appearing and the more personal background was in front of him, and he stared for a while, remembering of the last time he'd used the device and how the random games and little notifications were scattered across the screen in the same manner still.

Like nothing had changed.

Like whether or not he and Phil existed didn't matter. He knew it was dumb to think about a phone not caring, but it was one of the many reminders of how the universe was so huge, so uncaring.

He kept scrolling, slowly, through the screens of apps, eyes trailing over the bright colours and lingering on the twitter blue and the messages in the corner. His heart was beating too loudly in the silence of the room, and he paused, uncertain, finger hovering over the twitter icon for a brief moment of hesitation before he finally tapped on it.

It was strange, the feeling, when the world opened up to him through 140 character posts, icons, and weird usernames. Dan stared at the first few - an update of some news twitter he had followed back in the day and the one from BBC. His chest tightened, and the words blurred in front of his vision with the realisation setting in. That his freedom was there, that he had the access to all the same things again and had the influence as one of the crowd once more.

When the screen went black again, he dropped the phone on the bed and curled up in the blanket, bunching it close to his chest in the manner he was used to, wrapping a corner around his head. His eyes were shut tightly, his breaths were short, hot, but he tried to hold on to the peace and curiosity from before.

But he wasn't the same Dan from before, and he wasn't sure if he was capable of going back to that life again. It seemed like such a different life, one he was never allowed to return to. Where he and Phil would just lounge on the sofa, either silently, or sharing a joke, sometimes even planning new videos. Where life seemed almost careless though it still could be stressful and dark at times.

The lack of oxygen was suffocating, but also relieving, and he curled up more, his back cold where the blanket wasn't enough and had rode up, but he couldn't find it in himself to change that, and he let the light shiver ran down his back. Instead he curled in on himself, and allowed the mixture of tiredness and no air to slowly take over him.

His heartbeat was slowing down. His thoughts were becoming fuzzier. His limbs finally released the tension just enough.

Reality was exchanged with nightmarish sleep.

Everything was warping in a way that made him sick, and the air was full of hostile noise. The images weren't clear in front of him, but he drew some peace in that distortion, though they made his stomach turn uncomfortably.

His skin was hot, uncomfortable, and he felt like getting it off. Nails dug into the flesh, and he pulled, pulled, but the feeling wouldn't go away. Water poured down his face, and it took a while to understand that it was his own sweat, his body evaporating slowly but steadily.

His joints were aching, with the low, dragging feeling that would easily allow him to move still but which inevitably was draining the body ten times quicker.

Something cold startled him awake.

The rough texture of a wet towel was pressed against his forehead, wiping away the heat and the sweat. It replaced them with the cool water droplets that tried to pool around his eyes only to trickle down the sides of his face, unnoticed.

He opened his eyes but the world was spinning, so he shut them instantly, groaning weakly when the world would continue to warp, even quicker now.

He squirmed, and tried to turn, but his muscles screeched and he remained still though it made him feel absolutely uncomfortable. It was evident that someone was there, the coolness of the towel disappearing for a brief moment before it returned with a renowned coolness.

Slowly, slowly, the things seemed to become better. He would squirm, willing his limbs to start tossing around again, and then - relax. The coolness would leave only to arrive back repeatedly until it never did. There were moments that were warping and others where everything was too still. He found that he didn't feel like pulling off his skin anymore, but his body stung oddly.

It felt like a short moment had passed, but something in his limbs screamed much longer.

Dark eyes opened to the world again, and he stared for a while, breathing slowly, but the heat had disappeared for once. How much time had passed of him just staring up at the darkening ceiling without a single coherent thought inside his skull, Dan had no idea, but slowly the whirlpool subsided and he became aware of his surroundings.

His body felt spent and his arms, his chest, everything - hurt. His back felt too stiff against the covers and his face felt steamed.

Fingers twitched and the feeling coursed through the entirety of his being. He moved his toes, stretched his neck a little, a few pops ringing inside his skull when his spine cracked.

Slowly, he pushed himself to sit up, knees bent and head leaned forward so he could touch his face, but he stopped when he noticed the white bandages around his arms. They were wrapped with an extreme care; not too firm but not too loose, as if someone had been afraid to hurt him. His eyes trailed over the cover until he noted a long, red scratch mark, wide like his own fingernails but not deep enough to break the skin, stretching out from beneath the bandage, the irritated skin crawling up his arm and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt, where other similar lines were sneaking from below.

And it was annoying.

He felt the temptation to pull the bandages off, because the cotton wrap felt suffocating, trapping, dehydrating.

It made him think back to the last visit to the prison's hospital.

It made him feel deformed.

The stinging increased when he touched fingers against the white cotton wrap and the feeling extended to his eyes, to his head and beyond to his heart once more. It made the fatigue spike again and his muscles were slow to comply.

He lied down, the covers against his skin not comfortable, and closed his eyes again. His arms settled on his stomach, hugging his body weakly once more like they had for days.

And there was a peace in his core where nothing mattered anymore.