#i haven’t lived in a body without constant pain for almost eight years

[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 4

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623116614605357056/the-long-way-around-chapter-3

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2092

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

The next three weeks pass in a now predictable sequence. I spend the majority of my time getting to know my new roommates, for lack of a better word. Esme, who is quickly becoming my favorite, does whatever I want with me. We read books, watch movies, go for runs in the woods. The doctor, Carlisle, isn’t home very often. He and Edward spend a lot of time in town making sure the Cullens are not suspect in my disappearance. They decided it would be best to continue ‘business as usual’ to avoid suspicion, but also so they don’t have to give up the advantageous location in the woods and risk moving with me. Bella tends to keep to herself, though she does occasionally join Esme and I in our book club. Alice and Arthur are quite friendly, and I enjoy spending time with them, even if Alice does treat me like a Barbie doll. I swear, I’ve never owned more clothes in my life! Rosalie is slowly warming up to me. She’s not rude, exactly, but I can tell my presence is hard on her. Her husband, Emmett, is a whole lot of fun. He invites me for races and arm wrestling matches which, obviously, I win. I suspect that won’t continue forever, though. Once my newborn strength fades, he will likely be the strongest in the house. 

Then, of course, there’s my shadow. Jasper doesn't say much, but he is a constant presence. I can tell he doesn’t trust me. The minute I get frustrated or upset he invades my personal space and uses his ability to calm me down. I do resent it slightly, but I understand the need. It’s as he says: I’m dangerous. It amuses me though to know that, as Jasper has taken the task upon himself to never leave my side, he has to do everything I do. So he watches sappy movies with Esme and I, he sits quietly while Emmett and I play board games, he sulks in the corner while I ask Alice endless questions about her psychic ability, and, of course, he hunts with me about four times a week. 

My bloodlust is insatiable. This newfound life and the thirst that accompanies it keeps me in a near constant state of pain. My throat burns badly, and, even when I am drinking animal blood, the burn remains. I have a feeling that, at this stage of life, not even human blood would satisfy my thirst. 

At the thought of human blood, a delicacy so far denied to me, venom pools in my mouth. From across the room, Jasper shifts uncomfortably, feeling my desire. I imagine it must be harder for him than the others, because he not only has to fight his own bloodlust, but everyone else’s. 

He eyes me evenly. “Do you want to hunt?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. We just went yesterday, and I feel like a burden asking people to go with me constantly. I usually have an entourage of three minimum when I hunt, and I can tell it interrupts the daily flow of things. 

Jasper’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Taking you hunting isn’t a burden. Trust me, we would much rather go with you twenty times a day than have you get too thirsty and lose control.” 

I purse my lips at his uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking. I know his emotional radar detector must help, but seriously, sometimes he rivals Edward. 

“It would probably be a good idea,” I acquiesce. “I’ll go see if anyone else wants to go.” I push myself off the kitchen floor-I had been busy reading through one of Esme’s architecture journals-and walk into the living room where Emmett, Rosalie, Carlisle, Esme, and Arthur are gathered around the TV. 

“Hey does anyone wanna-” My words die as I register the news anchor’s words. 

“The search continues for local Y/n, Y/l/n, who was reported missing over three weeks ago.”

It feels like the breath has been knocked out of me. I grip the back of the couch, grief ripping through me. Five vampires turn their wary gazes at me.

“Turn it off.” Jasper’s command comes from behind my shoulder. 

“No,” I breathe, deeply hurt but desperate to know what my friends and family could be seeing.

The anchor continues. “Authorities say they have a man in custody who confessed to stabbing the woman, though claims he can’t remember what he did with the body. Witnesses to the crime seem to suffer the same memory loss. Police have refused to offer further comments, though locals speculate a conspiracy or the presence of illegal drugs. While the two witnesses to the crime, Kaitlyn Myers and Blake Hannigan, have faced backlash surrounding their involvement in the case, police have cleared them as suspects at this time.”

The couch snaps under my grip. I take two quick steps back, shocked by what I just heard and the jarring display of my physical power. 

“Oh, sweetie.” Esme is in front of me instantly, reaching out to envelop me in a hug. Before I can even blink, Jasper is standing between us, acting as a barrier to Esme. 

Hurt pierces through my gut. He only sees me as a threat.

“I’m not going to hurt Esme, Jasper. Back off!” I wish my words didn’t waver. 

His voice is hard when he responds. “You don’t know what you’ll do. Newborns are governed by their emotions more than anyone else. I’m not taking any risks.”

“Well how about getting to know me instead of just generalizing?” I throw my hands up, properly yelling now. “I’m sick of feeling like I’m a prisoner with you. Everyone else is giving me a chance, so why can’t you?” I spit the words out, my hurt growing by the second. 

“We’re hoping it’s all a terrible dream, that we’ll wake up soon and everything will be alright.” 

They hadn’t turned off the TV. On the screen is a video of my parents. Hearing my mom’s tearful voice is like a kick to the stomach. I sink to the floor, gasping for air I don’t need. 

“I just want our little girl to come home.” Mom’s voice breaks, and she stares into the camera. It’s like she’s staring right at me. 

“Jasper, it’s alright, really. I appreciate your concern very much but I promise, it’s alright.” Esme’s soft voice vaguely reaches me through my sobs. 

A pair of arms-Esme’s, likely-envelopes me, but I barely take notice. I only feel the pain. It’s so much worse than the burn in my throat. It almost has me wishing for the fiery torture I felt while becoming a vampire. But wishing very seldom equates to reality, so I’m left to allow the gaping hole in my chest to consume me.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, only that it’s dark when I finally regain control of myself. Esme never left my side, and even Rosalie had come to join us at some point. She says nothing, only rests her head on my shoulder and holds my hand. 

Jasper is noticeably absent. 

“I think I scared him off,” I mumble, guilty. 

“He’ll recover,” Rosalie replies, sounding unconcerned. 

“He’s coming from the right place,” Esme assures. “Jasper is a very passionate person who gives his all in everything. This is no different. I think he sees keeping you and us safe as a chance to redeem himself for his past indiscretions, though those are long-ago forgiven. He’s trying to keep you from making the same mistakes he did.” 

I look at the floor, mulling Esme’s words over. I don’t really know what to say to that.

Thankfully, Rosalie saves me from having to craft a response. “Do you still want to hunt? I can go with you.” 

I smile and shake my head, exhausted from the recent emotional turmoil. “No, it’s okay. I think I’ll just go to bed.” I say the word lightly, knowing I’ll probably just spend the next eight hours reading or something to keep my mind busy. 

I stand, intending to exit the room. On the way out I see the poor couch, broken in two. I grimace. “Sorry about the couch.”

Esme smiles sweetly, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it. It just gives me an excuse to go shopping.” 

I give her a quick hug, grateful for her endless kindness and patience. 

Once upstairs in the room Alice and Esme courteously set up for me, I flop on the bed, grabbing the nearest book. I do my best to let my mind go blank and focus only on the words in front of me. About two hours into this exercise, I hear a soft knock on the door. 

Jasper stands in the frame, looking repentant. “I’m sorry. You were right. I haven’t tried to know you. But I’ve got some time now if you’re free.” It’s then that I realize he means to do this now. Not wanting to smile because I really am still upset with him, I bite it back. 

I decide to play coy instead. “I suppose I could clear my schedule. Though, a little more groveling might help…”

He smiles softly, almost hesitantly. With exaggerated movements, he gets on his knees and clasps his hands together in an excellent show of desperation. “Please do me the magnificent honor...of telling me your favorite color.” 

Now I can’t help but crack a smile. “You may approach, peasant, but remember that my good grace can easily change.” I pat the foot of my bed, and he sits, facing me. “It’s green. Like trees and moss and emeralds.” 

“What’s your favorite thing about this new life?”

“The running. I had asthma as a human but now I can run for as long as I want and be completely fine.” 

He nods, filing the information away. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

I answer without hesitation. “London. The culture, the history, the accents.” He chuckles, teasingly exasperated. “I bet it’s amazing.” 

He smiles, a faraway look in his eyes. “Oh it’s great. I was there back in the ‘90s...I bet it hasn’t changed too much though.” He grins. “Maybe in a couple of years we’ll all be able to take a trip.”

I look down at my fingers. “Maybe a few more years than a ‘couple’. I can’t even think of human blood without…” Venom floods my mouth. I offer a humorless chuckle. “See?”

Jasper shakes his head emphatically. “No, you’re really doing good.” I try to protest, but he shakes it off. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. You are doing remarkably well for three weeks in.” 

I sigh, ready to tease him a bit. “Well I couldn’t do so well without my shadow micromanaging my every move.” 

He smiles sheepishly and looks at his lap. “I’m sorry I seem a bit…,” he sighs deeply, “intense. I will try to ease off.”

I grin, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Thank you. I’ll try to be a little less emotionally hectic. It’s gotta be hard on you.” 

Too quickly, he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going through a lot, it’s okay.” 

I chuckle, feeling much lighter now, either thanks to his ability or the natural resolution of tension between us, I don’t know. “Yeah well I could stay away from the movies that make me feel all the things.” Now he grins, raising his eyebrows. “Next time we’ll try something bland, like High Noon.”

“Hey now.” Jasper raises a hand, a comically disbelieving look on his face. “High Noon is a masterpiece, don’t knock it.” 

I grin broadly, smacking him on the shoulder with a pillow. “I knew you were a Western guy! Gosh, that’s gotta be like, what, forty percent of your personality?”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking the pillow from me. “Mhm, somewhere around there.” 

I like this Jasper, I decide firmly. This new, witty, freer Jasper is so much more fun to be around. I could stand to have this Jasper follow me around all day. 

As if he has come to the same agreement, that Jasper stays at the foot of my bed well past the time the sun rises, talking and joking. We get to know each other. 

And, for a while, I forget about how sad I am and the near constant burning in the back of my throat.

A/n Thanks for reading! I’m having so much fun with this story and I’m glad you guys are enjoying it, too! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623283543296049154/the-long-way-around-chapter-5

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life

[who-talks-first]

The Torture of Small Talk With Someone You Used to Love

(or T’es la Plus Belle Saison de Ma Vie)

I haven't written a poe x reader stand-alone in... Two years? Y'all be gentle with me.

I was singing "Fourth of July" by Fall Out Boy, then over the course of a shower I had completely composed this in my head, including all the dialogue. Stuff kept happening, so I didn't get to my phone until later, but by then, I had forgotten a whole bunch of the original dialogue. U_U

I kept true to my original inspiration, but it doesn't have the same flow as it did in my head under the spray, lol. I'm sorry it got so dialogue heavy. Poe and Reader just had so much to get off their chests!

You don't have to listen to the song, but it really sets the mood, and you can understand my inspiration.

Rated Older Teen for suggestive dialogue and some swearing. Content warning for references to past consensual sex between two minors (nothing explicit, just mentioning in case that squicks you!).

Around 2700 words. Drama, angst, romance, a tiny pinch of fluff. A whole assload of made up stuff that wasn't necessary for the story but created some atmosphere and legitimacy.

Set a few months after The Last Jedi during the Resistance's struggle to recover.

My A/N are almost as long as the actual story. I suck lol. Again, please be gentle; I'm so rusty. But please enjoy. I'm proud of this. I feel it's very romantic and engaging. I hope you agree. Thanks so much, guys! Love ya!

The skyrockets burst in colorful blossoms across the jet-black sky, hundreds of revelers dancing and singing below. They were celebrating the summer solstice on the planet you now found yourself on, the name of which you had already forgotten before you arrived; another stop on the endless quest for support as the Resistance dangled by a thread.

You and Poe Dameron, your partner on this mission - and four of the last six identical ones - were awaiting the arrival of your liason, someone close to the monarchy of... Here... who promised backchannel support of the struggling Resistance. The contact was delayed by a minor catastrophe regarding the celebration, so the two of you decided to rest for the evening and enjoy the view.

Sitting side by side on the soft, green grass on the side of a hill overlooking the reverie, you sat in silence, tuning in and out of the joyous cacophony as you watched the elaborate skyrocket display.

You felt the question before he asked it.

"Remember the summer festivals back home?" said Poe, softly breaking the silence, his voice wistful.

"Yep."

"Do you remember - " 

"Every detail," you said, swallowing and solemnly fixing your eyes on him.

Bright colors illuminated the side of his face, sparkling in his eyes, softly reflecting on the curls that still shone; the last eight months had taken their toll on the once youthful face of the boy you grew up with.

He cracked a half-grin, his eyes, soft and warm, taking you in.

You knew what he was thinking. You were thinking about it too, but in a completely different way.

You blinked and those brown eyes, exactly as they are now, save for the weary lines at the corners, were those of your first love, your best friend growing up, a vibrant boy of sixteen, looking at you like you were a celestial being personified in a red-cheeked, loud-mouthed spitfire of fifteen, a completely different display of skyrockets sparkling in his eyes.

You felt the deep ache in your chest that you felt every time you remembered that period of your lives, particularly that one night. You felt the damp grass on your back, the tenderness and reverence in Poe's touch, the weight of his body, and that beautiful trembling fear of what you were doing among the ruins, at the edge of the jungle, in the dark.

You closed your eyes and turned away from him, unable to stand the pain and bitterness.

"It was something wonderful between us, wasn't it, baby?" Poe asked, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

You sighed. Even his pet name for you, given long before your romantic relationship, hurt to hear. You don't remember exactly what you were crying about, crouched in the sand behind the primary school, but you remember the sound of eight-year-old Poe's voice as he said, "Hey, little baby, why are you crying?" How someone could be both derisive and so concerned at the same time baffled you. But the nickname stuck for the next twenty-five or so years.

You couldn't help the bitterness in your voice when you said, "It wasn't just teenage love and lust between us then."

He looked at you quizzically, his brow furrowed.

"We had hope, youthful hubris, an ambitious naiveté that makes you think that you can do anything," you concluded, vaguely gesturing with your hand.

Poe was silent for a long moment, regarding your statement, your face, the painful tension in the air between you.

When he spoke, you weren't sure you had ever heard his voice so soft, so fearful. He swallowed. 

"And now? What's between us now?"

The expanse of the entire galaxy, you wanted to say. Ten years of worry and resentment. Nostalgia for a moment in time that can never be replaced or recreated. A war.

But you knew that's not what he was asking. What still remained of what was once between you?

You took a moment to contemplate your answer. You wanted to be honest without hurting Poe. There really wasn't much left at all.

"Nothing that matters," you said, turning away from him. You couldn't help the spite in your tone as you added, "Not that it ever did."

You felt Poe's breathing still beside you for a long, agonizing beat. He rose wordlessly and shuffled down the hill in the dark, hands in his pockets.

You sighed, smacking your forehead in your palms. You got up, stretching your legs to regain circulation, and followed him.

"Poe," you called softly. "Poe, I'm sorry. I fucked up."

You found him in a low place between the hills, in a little copse of trees and taller grass. The skyrocket display was still visible, but the sounds of the celebration were muffled by the hillside.

Poe's back was to you, one hand in his jacket pocket, one pressed to his face.

"I shouldn't have said that," you said, dropping your arms to your sides, audibly so that Poe could hear your gesture.

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair, mussing the almost-coifed curls more into their natural shape, as he turned to face you. You weren't prepared for how sad he looked.

"Say it again," said Poe, taking a challenging step towards where you stood a bit above him on the hillside. "Say we never mattered."

"I didn't mean it like that," you groaned.

"Then how - " he started, his voice cracking ever so slightly, " - how did you mean it?"

The Poe a few steps below you was so different from the one you sat beside not ten minutes before. The bright colors in the sky only served to contrast his bleak affect. There was his age. There was the war-weary soldier. He looked like you had felt for the last year.

"It doesn't matter because..." you began, trailing off. "Nothing matters anymore. It's only this mission, and then the next, then the next." 

"What do you mean?" asked Poe, confusion blending into the pain on his face.

You swallowed, wondering when it got so stuffy out here.

"It doesn't matter if I love you or hate you, if we're friends or anything else. It doesn't matter how abandoned I still feel. Because there is no 'us' as lovers. The only 'us' is the Resistance. And we can only keep fighting until we're worn down to nothing. There's nothing else."

All the other mixed emotions melted from Poe's face as he shifted his weight around, slowly replaced with understanding. He let out a quiet, mirthless laugh.

"You really have lost all hope, huh?" he finally said, looking up at you.

"It's exhausting. Constant planet skipping, begging for help. The First Order's brutality and resilience. Leia's health. The losses, Poe!"

"Don't think for a second that I don't feel those losses!" he said, probably sharper than he meant to, raising his hand to point at you.

"You feel them more than most of us, Poe," you sighed. "That's my point. There's nothing left for us but more and more loss."

You hoped he couldn't hear the tears threatening to break through.

Poe forced an unconvincing smile.

"Leia says - "

"I don't give a damn about the sun, Poe!" you yelled, mentally recoiling at the thought of the saccharine metaphor you knew was on the tip of his tongue. "Don't you feed me that line, not after what Holdo did to us, how she died. Don't you dare say it!"

"We've already made it through the night, though, baby," said Poe softly, taking a cautious step towards you. "Crait was midnight. The sun is on the horizon now, don't you see?" 

You shook your head. "All I see now is darkness."

"Even when you look at me?"

You could only shrug at that. There weren't enough data cards in the galaxy to list what you saw in him.

Poe scoffed.

"No hope, huh? So when Rey's face appeared through those rocks, saving us from certain death, you didn't feel hope burning like the sun?" he asked, miming the rocks moving. "When those rocks parted, I wanted to run over, grab her, and kiss her. I was so grateful."

"Finn did it for you," you said, managing a small smile.

"Yeah," said Poe. "His gratitude was more for her safety than for the salvation of the Resistance. But I don't hold that against him. It's always been about Rey for Finn. You get that, right?"

Tiny sparkles of pink and green appeared between you and the trees, and you realized that Poe was staring at you, waiting for you to speak.

"Yeah, I guess," you finally said, shrugging.

"And you can't see why I had to join the navy?" he said, holding one hand up, indicating a point you couldn't see.

"Because you're good and will always fight for the light," you said simply. 

"You're as dumb now as you were back then, baby. That's always a huge part of it, fighting for the light. But making the galaxy a safe, beautiful place for you was always in the front of my mind. When I saw what the First Order was doing, I was furious. Furious at their cruelty, for their principles, for endangering the life I had planned for us," said Poe, forcefully.

"Us?" you repeated, confused.

"I had to go with Leia to make sure that there would be an end, a peace for us to live," he said, moving closer to you. "For things to go back to the way they were."

"I... I didn't..." you mumbled, shaking your head.

"So three years of promising you everything? Talking about where we would live, how many kids we'd have, what we wanted to spend the rest of our lives doing? That's just...?" said Poe, trailing off as he gestured vaguely.

You regained your composure, and your bitterness. Your hands found your hips.

"I let that all fade with my juvenile concept of love. I knew we'd never be together again. I often wondered if I would ever even see you again," you snapped. "When you joined the navy, I saw that as the end of us."

Poe sighed, hanging his head, his fingers moving to his brow.

"I didn't realize you felt that way, baby," he whispered.

"Yeah? Well, when was the last time we even talked to one another?" you said, trying not to shout.

"We talk all the time," said Poe, defensively.

"Not about personal stuff. We talk about missions and plans and people and ships and Leia. When was the last time we talked?" you repeated. 

Poe sighed again.

"We caught up when we joined the Resistance, but before that... My graduation?" he admitted tentatively.

You nodded, feeling the tears prick your eyes now.

"You tried to keep me up to date with your life in the navy," you said shakily. "But by the second year, the messages stopped coming and I saw that as a message itself. You'd moved on with your life." 

"Aw, baby," said Poe, his body language betraying his guilt. "I'm so sorry. I have no excuse for letting you slip away like that, but I swear on all the stars in the sky I never stopped thinking about you, living for you, loving you!"

"I had no idea what you were doing or where you were when I decided to join the Resistance," you said. You laughed softly and said, "I knew it was what you would do in my place."

Poe shared your little laugh, waiting for you to finish. 

You sniffled and continued, "When I stepped off that lander and found you had arrived the day before..."

"I knew it was destiny," said Poe, quickly, perhaps a little too emphatically.

You rolled your eyes, but he continued, "I believed that the Force had brought you back to me so we could fight this fight together."

You frowned and looked away for a moment.

"I had no idea how you felt, how you'd been feeling since I left. If I'd had an inkling, baby, I would have had you come live at the barracks with me," said Poe, looking expectantly up at you.

"Smartass," you grumbled. "Only spouses can li..." 

Poe smiled. You furrowed your brow and studied his face.

"I had planned on waiting 'til I had made upper officer and could afford to support us both, but if it would have kept us together, I would have happily married you then," he said, smiling wistfully.

"I've been hurting a long time, Poe," you said, unable to think of any more advanced arguments.

"I know, baby," he said, only a foot between you now. "And I'm so, so sorry. All I'm asking is if there's anything left between us but resentment and hurt."

You hid your face in your hands as a decade of tears caught up with you. Poe took you in his arms without hesitation as you gave in to sobs. When you said something through the wet and his shirt, he pulled you back a bit.

"What was that, baby?" 

You sniffled and said, between two big sobs, "I never stopped loving you."

Poe smiled affectionately as he said, "I never doubted it. But I needed to hear it. I love you like a dumb farm kid loves the prettiest girl in school." 

"Who the fuck is sh-she?" you sobbed. 

Poe barked out a laugh that shook you, squeezing you tightly to his chest. You hid your face so he wouldn't see you grinning through your tears.

"All I need is half a chance to ace a mission," he said, rubbing lazy circles across your back. "Tell me I got something."

"It's more than a chance," you sniffled, resting your chin on his shoulder, holding him as tight now as he did you. "But it won't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing is," said Poe, holding you out to look you over. "And have I ever done anything easy?"

You were unable to prevent the vulgar snort that escaped when you said, "Me!"

Poe spun you around joyfully as your laughter reverberated around the valley, bouncing around the echoes of the skyrockets.

"I said nothing worth doing is easy, baby," he said, squeezing you so tight you thought you would pass out.

For just a moment, you were teenagers again, filled with hope, bursting with love like the lights in the sky.

You watched the lights in Poe's eyes a long time before noticing he kept looking at your mouth.

"Are you for real, right now?" you asked dryly.

His voice was solemn though when he said, "I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't."

You didn't have a quip to counter that. You were dumbstruck by the tender look on his face. You smiled softly and leaned in, brushing your nose against the side of his.

Poe closed his eyes and smiled for a moment before pressing his mouth to yours. Firmly at first, in his enthusiasm, then softly as he relearned your shape and feel and taste.

You had forgotten how soft and beautiful a kiss was when backed by such powerful affection. It was dizzying. You grew unsteady on your feet, but Poe held you tightly, tipping you back like in the dramas.

You looked up and saw the last skyrocket burst behind his head, marking the end of the celebration with a giant blossom of gold sparks. The night was suddenly quiet and dark.

You found yourself laying in the grass, Poe holding you against him, kissing you deeply.

You held his face in your hands and said, "It won't be like the first time." 

"Why?" he asked, suddenly solemn.

"Skyrocket show is over," you said, grinning and nodding towards the empty sky.

Poe's face went from surprise to annoyance to pure seduction in the span of three seconds.

"We can make our own," he purred, tickling your sides until you squealed.

The only sound in the night was your giddy laughter as you rolled around in the grass, kissing and teasing each other to the point of whimsy.

Maybe you weren't kids carving your initials in a blackbark tree at the edge of the Damerons' koyo field. You would never be that way again. But maybe what you were making now was more important, more enduring: a bond built on trust, love, experience, honesty. Indelibly etching your names on the new galaxy you would rebuild together. It wouldn't be easy by any means. But if Poe refused to give up on you, you'd be damned if you gave up on him.

[isoscele]

Told you it’d be sporadic. Have an entirely unedited entry for @lumberjanesweek Day Four- AU Day. 

*jazz hands* Roanokes in spaceeeeeee!

Once the airlock is securely shut and the crew has been shuttled off to bed in varying states of complaining exhaustion, Jen whirls on Abigail. “Are you out of your mind?”

Abigail looks like the kind of person whose picture was all over the slideshows in Academy lectures. The horror story--what happens when the siren call of deep space gets strong enough to feel in the backs of your teeth, when you let it take you over. Abigail is waxy from years without any kind of sunlight, whittled out by a lack of light or consistent circadian rhythms. The bags under her eyes have their own gravities. 

“No one told me they were kids,” Abigail says. Her first words since the safety lock failed. The replicator poured her a thermos of tasteless coffee, but her hands are shaking too bad to hold it. “Rosie didn’t--I thought--”

“You know Rosie?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Another sign of spacesickness: her gaze, flitting all around the cramped cabin, unable to rest for more than a few seconds. Scanning for exits.

Jen sighs, and digs in the icebox for something to do with her hands. “My crew is . . . unorthodox.” She has to choose her words carefully. “Sometimes I wish things were different. But you endangered every one of my girls, and you endangered me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Abigail says. “I just--it has to die. Jen? It can’t hurt anyone else.”

Jen just wants to go to bed. “The protocol for unrecorded extraterrestrial beings requires a committee of seasoned graduates to attempt communication. What you did today could get you locked up for the rest of your life.” 

“It hurts people,” Abigail says. “We don’t have time for that bureaucratic bullsh--bull poop, sorry.”

“I’m seventeen,” Jen says, biting down on the familiar exhausted urge to break into laughter. “You can curse around me.”

“The teenage captain of the child crew,” Abigail says quietly. She tries to take a sip of the coffee, winces at the heat. “Jen, is this an adventure story or a tragedy?”

Jen rolls the word tragedy around the edges of her tongue. Abigail, shaky-handed, in Jen’s cockpit, looking for all the world like someone who’s already been chewed up by too many black holes to name. Jen wasn’t supposed to graduate from the Academy for another three years. Most people don’t ask, when they talk to her. “I guess it depends who you ask.”

“Let me guess,” Abigail says. “You tell me if I’m getting it right. Okay?” Without waiting for Jen’s response, she plunges into what is clearly a well-worn narrative. “You’re top of your class at the Academy, but they’ve been pushing back your actual missions for months for reasons you can’t get anyone to tell you. Someone--maybe a friend of a friend, a mentor, even Rosie herself--suggests that you’d be the perfect candidate for the Qiunzella Program, and you sign up because you need the flight hours and it’s not like you’ve got anything else going on. You’re given a skeleton crew of enthusiastic kids whose parents wanted them to have the experience of living on a real certified ship, even if it is the worst bucket of bolts they could find in the hangar. You follow all the programming, meet up three times a day for activities with other ships, keep a constant line of communication with Rosie, and stay well within your boundaries.”

Abigail leans back in her chair, managing to look composed even as it clearly tips her back farther than she expected. “This is the part where I lost the narrative,” she says. “I figure that either something catastrophic happened to pull you off-course, or Rosie didn’t read you the brochure all the way.”

“We’re within boundaries,” Jen says, trying not to chew on the inside of her lip. She knows her tells so much better now, after eight weeks of BS games with Ripley. “Haven’t left the campground.”

“I don’t think it’s your fault,” Abigail says, in a way that makes it very clear whose fault she thinks it is.

“I would know if we left the campground,” Jen says, but she can hear the desperation in her own voice. It was fine when her protegés smuggled some Bellerophonian marsupial on board and started feeding it April’s scrunchies and Jen’s spare AAA batteries. It was fine when they got attacked the first time--surely a simulation--and the second time, and the third time when the hole in the hull was so big that they all might have asphyxiated if Jo wasn’t around. It was even fine when they lost communication with Rosie, when the message boards glitched out one by one until even Zodiac, the last holdout, started sending transmissions that were nothing but forty minutes of static.

They even, by some miracle, got to the other side of today. Even Abigail, with her burnt fingers and twenty years of isolation, is sitting in Jen’s ship and drinking from Jen’s Junior Deluxe Space Camp Plus! thermos and looking ridiculously alive for somebody in her position.

But none of this makes sense because Jen knows how to read the fancy compass attached to the console, and she understands star charts better than half the Academy graduates that go on to be bigshot captains, and she would absolutely notice if they left the campground. They haven’t left the campground.

“There’s nothing here,” Jen says. “There should be nothing here. Like--bacteria and stuff maybe, for collection and recording and teaching the kids how to run a gel electrophoresis and enough satellites to run some of the more complex simulations, but this is--it’s like an amusement park. It’s for kids. It’s safe.”

“They said it was safe when I went, too,” Abigail says. “They’ve always said it was safe.”

Jen grips the edge of the table until her knuckles go white. “What are you saying?”

Abigail takes a long draught of coffee. When she sets the cup down, she looks like a shell of a person, waxed-out and still trembling, head to toe, almost imperceptibly. There’s something in her eyes that reminds Jen of the way she looked, lighting the dynamite, the way her eyes were almost silver in the burn of far-off stars, like little oil spills. She’d been crying, tethered to the hull of her tiny pod by one ankle. 

“You’re right about one thing,” Abigail says. “You’re still in the campground. Everything else . . .?” She spreads out her hands, a sort of forced casualness. “I think you already know.”

Molly’s just going back to her cabin, listening for the slow shh of the automatic doors, when she sees a glint of blue in the shadows behind the kitchen. She stops.

“Rip,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

Ripley nods. The movement is so jerky that she almost looks like an old stop-motion movie in the buzz of the ever-faulty halogen lights. 

Molly slips out of the hallway. She’s accustomed to moving silently. She wears socks everywhere on the ship, takes each step with a precision that she’s never seen from any of her friends. You can go a galaxy away from home, but something always follows you. She slides an arm around Ripley’s shoulder in a one-armed hug.

“Jen’s talking to Abigail,” Ripley says. Her face, creased with concern, still stained by a black smudge of charcoal. Her teeth are the color of copper nitrate, from the Popsicle she snuck from the cooler when they got back. “I’m making sure Abigail doesn’t explode Jen and try to take over the ship like in Star Jump.”

“Eavesdropping, huh?” Molly draws closer to the door. She can hear Abigail’s voice, the low scratch of it. She can’t hear Jen at all, but there are two silhouettes in the fingernail of light on the tile. 

“Bodyguarding,” Ripley corrects firmly.

“Right.” Molly rubs the inside of her wrists. She can still feel the ghost of the Thing’s claws, cold to the touch and exuding exactly the right amount of pressure to hold her without breaking the skin. Mal disappeared into her cabin two hours ago to write a letter to her mom. Molly can’t imagine finding the words to describe what happened today, can’t imagine letting it cross the threshold of the ship. The fear, and the pain, and the anger burning like nothing else does, in space.

“I made hot milk,” Ripley says, “and I was going to look for the chocolate powder but I got distracted.”

“I think it’s behind the popcorn,” Molly says. “I’ll get it, okay?”

They curl up together, as if conserving heat, in the shadow of the tall block of cabinets. The microwave beeps, quiet as if not to disturb the moment. Molly stirs the cocoa with her finger, and listens for the recurring loop of Abigail’s voice. 

It has the cadence of a story. One they might never hear.

April and Jo lie side by side on Jo’s bed. April traces the careful lettering of her journal, red cover and a going-away present and really, really nice. The pens bleed through every page, each entry scattered with omens of the next one. 

Jo’s half-asleep and trying to keep her ankle elevated. April’s head is on her stomach. They can feel each other’s heartbeats, much too fast and nearly aligned. The old books Jo’s dads tucked into the bottom of her suitcase are half-covered by the sheets, each opened to a different tea-stained page. 

April runs one finger down the margins of the bestiary, and the other across the line of Jo’s scalp. With Jo’s arm wrapped around her, she can almost pretend the bruises on her sternum are merit badges. She flips the page, and stops breathing.

“Grootslang,” she whispers, just to feel the word in her mouth. A rubbery, oiled-down taste. Jo shifts, and opens her eyes, brow tight with inherited fear.

Mal wraps her wrists around her ankles. Touches the tips of her knees with her chin. Catalogs every bit of her body, piece by piece, a framed deconstruction. 

“God dammit,” she whispers. Outside her wide bay windows, planets glitter like shed scales. “God fucking dammit.”

[deejadabbles]

Spells of Defiance (Atem x Reader x Yugi) Chapter 5

Five: Friends

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// Five //// Six //// Seven //// [Eight coming soon] 

Summary: The Circle of Magicians protects the world from rogue, murderous fey. The police who keep bloodsuckers and flesh-eaters in check. You’ve hunted vampires for years, earning a reputation as one of the best magicians in that field; but what happens when an encounter with a particular vampire makes your already fragile loyalties split?

Supernatural/Demon Hunter AU. Vampire!Atem x Reader x Incubus!Yugi (yes, a polyamorous relationship). Warnings for cursing, vulgar language, violence, and some sexual themes.

A.N.  Here's one of the songs I play on repeat while writing this series, in case any of you are interested! 

“Why didn’t you tell us you’ve never been to a movie theater before?!”

You actually couldn’t help but snicker at the look of pure exasperated incredulity plastered on Yugi’s face as you and the boys walked down the city street together. He looked downright horrified that they hadn’t treated the occasion with more care.

“It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, I could list the “fun” things I’ve done outside of the Circle way faster than I could list the things I haven’t done.”

Yugi sighed, looking beyond disappointed, “I just wish your first movie experience was something better than “Mimi the Neko’s Summer Vacation”!”

Again you chuckled and did not miss the amused grin on Atem’s face as he shook his head at Yugi. “It was a cute movie! Don’t feel bad, I liked it.” You gave Yugi a playful nudge with your elbow and were happy to see him grin back at you, finally putting the first movie debacle to rest.

The streets of Domino were alight with the neon signs and other pedestrians enjoying a night out. People with shopping bags, takeout containers, and various other holdings walked down the street, passing the vampire, the incubus, and yourself without any care. Not that any of them knew what the three of you were, but still. From what you remember of the walk over you were still five or so blocks from home, but the night air was cool and the company was more than pleasant. The way Yugi and Atem held hands as they walked made you smile for some reason, and despite the people bustling around you, it felt as if you three were walking in your own little bubble.

Then, you saw Yugi’s eyes go wide with delight as they landed on a cart parked on the very edge of the sidewalk. “Have you ever had ice cream before?” he asked, turning back to you with an expectant grin.

You opened your mouth to answer- but found yourself hesitating when your mind seemed to stall. You had been on the verge of saying yes, but, even as the answer came to your mind, the memory of eating the frozen treat did not. Surely you had tried it while out on missions. The Circle had given you a small allowance after all, and you often used it to try new foods. Perhaps the memory was simply wrapped up in the back of your mind somewhere.

“Yeah, I think I have,” you answered after recovering from the momentary falter.

Though he must have noticed the odd moment, Yugi elected to ignore it and instead grabbed your hand with his free one and pulled both you and Atem towards the icecream cart. He asked- no, more like told you to get whatever flavor you wanted as he looked over the few options available. Again Atem was smiling at his boyfriend’s cute behavior and gave you an understanding wink as he asked for an orange pop. Eventually, Yugi got a double scoop of strawberry on a waffle cone and you got the flavor that sounded most appealing. Again you couldn’t recall the flavor you had tried in the past but were certain you had done so before.

As you and the boys resumed your walk, treats in hand, Atem quickly took notice to you giving him an interested look. “You know I’ve never seen a vampire eat regular food before,” you commented.

Atem hummed, “Yes, I don’t suppose you would have. After turning, our taste buds are dulled to...regular foods. Most aren’t appetizing to me in the slightest, but there are a few foods, ones with potent tastes, that I’ll eat upon occasion,” he waved the popsicle to accentuate his words.

“What he’s not telling you, is that all of those foods are sweets,” Yugi interjected with a giggle, “He must have had a major sweet tooth back in the day.”

The information made you laugh, especially when the vampire in question looked almost pouty at being outed. “Careful, Yugi, or I’ll tell her about how childish your eating habits were when we first met.”

“Hey, my diet wasn’t that bad!” Yugi countered.

“Hamburgers, cheetos, and ramen cups are not a diet, my love.”

The monotone in which Atem delivered the burn was it for you, especially when Yugi’s mouth dropped open with a profound blush! You burst into laughter and almost pitched the last of your ice cream to the ground as you covered your mouth to stifle the giggles. You expected to hear Yugi say something sassy back, but after a few moments where you recovered from your humorous outburst, you looked back over at your companions and saw both of them smiling at you. A warm flush of your very own slithered onto your cheeks, but before you could be too embarrassed, Yugi sighed with a shrug.

“Hey, at least I make decent meals now.” He winked at Atem, “After his constant nagging to eat better I didn’t have much choice.”

“I did not nag-”

“Besides,” Yugi’s bright smile refocused on you, “now it’s not just me I’m cooking for, so it was worth it in the end!”

You had to swallow something that had formed in your throat before answering, and even then you only managed a weak, “Right,” as the three of you continued on your leisurely walk home.

Later that night, Yugi hummed happily to himself as he buttoned up his star-patterned PJ top to get ready for bed. He was quite amused that you had insisted that everyone get enough sleep that night when you three got home, stating that tomorrow might be a harrowing day. Just as he did with Atem, Yugi found it cute when you worried.

Atem was straightening up their sheets, his own mind working out the knots of the day’s events. A lot had happened that day and he wasn’t sure if he had properly processed the...potent emotions rolling about in his head. Now in the relative silence of their room, Yugi distracted with his own thoughts, Atem’s mind was wandering.

He still wasn’t sure what to make of the argument he’d had with you earlier. Yugi had once accused Atem of being too “self-destructive” (ironically, during a heated argument of their own) and at the time Atem couldn’t quite understand how to see things from Yugi’s perspective. To understand why such behavior would hurt him so much. Now, seeing you so willing putting yourself in unnecessary danger, Atem understood. He respected that you could more than hold your own in a battle, in fact, he was quite thankful that he had never been your target in a physical fight, but that did not mean he could stop himself from worrying over your safety.

Then there was everything regarding Marik. How the memories of that blood-soaked night still flashed in his mind’s eye. The bodies littering his family home, friends and loved ones alike. The screams ringing in his ears as he tried to get his mother and handmaid out of the house unnoticed. The way Marik whispered sick taunts in his ears as the vampire’s followers held his father down, making him watch as Atem took his last, painful, bloodsoaked breaths as a living, mortal man.

It hurt. Even after all these centuries, the memories hurt. But still, it had felt right to tell you, to open up to you. It had felt good, much like it had when he told Yugi about his past as the young incubus wrapped him up in a warm embrace. And despite the emotional turmoil he’d faced that day, Atem felt...hopeful. He was closer than he ever had been to bringing Marik’s mad schemes to an end, he could feel it. And for the first time in centuries, Atem wasn’t alone while trying to do so.

“It’s nice to see her opening up.”

Yugi’s light, cheery comment brought Atem out of his musings. He looked over as the incubus plopped down on the bed and elaborated in his comment.

“She always seems to have that moment of surprise when she does something, like call this place home, or open up about her past, but she’s still letting herself get closer to us.” Yugi took in a slow breath, his eyes staring unfocused but wistfully at nothing as he thought. “It’s nice, seeing her laugh too. When we were breaking you out of the Sanctuary some jerk of a magician started making these awful comments at her, so I decided to pay him back by putting an hour-long loop of gay porn in his head. When I told her what I did she laughed so much, I just,” Yugi shrugged, chuckling himself at the memory. “You could see that she isn’t used to letting her emotions out like that and she just looked so cute when she was laughing. Just like she did earlier tonight. I like making her laugh...” Yugi’s voice trailed off the longer he spoke, and Atem felt his chest flutter a bit at how sweet Yugi looked as he reminisced.

The vampire smiled as he sat down on the bed next to his lover, “Yes, it is nice seeing her open up to us. It can’t be easy, growing up in the Circle as she did. I’m sure there is so much more about her past that we don’t know about, but still, she’s kept her heart true and noble. She’s...quite amazing in that respect.”

“...You really like her, don’t you?” Yugi asked, tone quiet and eyes staring unfocused on the carpet beneath their feet.

Atem felt himself stiffen, his mind stalling as he realized that he should try to think of some response that would put any...worries Yugi might have at ease.

As if reading Atem’s mind, Yugi quickly said, still in that quiet tone, “You don’t have to deny it, Atem, even if I couldn't sense emotions, I can see the way you look at her. But,” his voice became a bit louder and more firm, as if trying to make sure Atem didn’t misunderstand him. “But it’s okay because...well…” The incubus shifted his position and faced Atem more fully, grabbed his hands and made Atem meet his eyes. In them, the vampire saw something sure and true, something simmering with passion and conviction, urging Atem to understand his next words. “It’s okay because I understand. I really like her too.”

Atem’s eyes went wide at that. “Yugi…”

“I know it’s a bit odd, but, I’m not even jealous when I see you looking at her like that, because I know that I feel the same way. Having her here with us, I don’t know it just feels...right. Like this is the way it was always meant to be. We haven’t even known her that long and it already feels like this is the way it was supposed to be.”

After a moment where Atem’s mind fully processed what Yugi was saying, the vampire tightened his grip on Yugi’s hands with affection. “I won’t deny it. From the first moment I met her I felt...captivated by her. Her strength, her wit, her noble heart, her beauty- all of it drew me in in a way that I could never explain.” He wanted Yugi to understand exactly what was in his heart, he needed Yugi to know every layer of these feelings, and know that feeling this way would never- could never diminish the love he felt for Yugi. Atem reached up and cupped Yugi’s face between his hands, relishing the sweet smile and almost teary eyes the incubus gave him. “In all my years on this earth, the only other person I’ve felt such a deep, immediate connection with, is you, Yugi.”

In response, he chuckled, smiled even wider, and placed his hands over Atem’s. “I feel the same way.”

Overcome, the vampire pulled his lover in for a kiss, spilling all his passion and affection into the intimate contact. Yugi met him with the same and wrapped his arms around Atem to pull him as close and physically possible. It was a sweet parallel to the first time they had confessed their deeper feelings for each other, and though the one they were admitting passion for was missing in that moment, they still relished the loving air. It had to be a positive sign that these admissions ended with sweet kisses instead of hurt feelings, didn’t it? But, all this simply raised even more questions, which Atem addressed after they finally broke their kiss and Yugi slid down to rest his head on Atem’s chest as they still held each other.

“So, what steps do we take now that we know our feelings for her?”

Yugi thought for a moment, allowing his mind to think of all the paths that may lay before them. “Well...if you’re open to it...I don’t mind the idea of- you know, opening up to her about all this and seeing where things go from there.”

“You mean...ask her if she wants to be with both of us? Together?”

The incubus nodded, still held against Atem’s chest, “Yeah, I mean, there are some relationships that are between more than two people. Are you okay with that idea?”

Though the answer wanted to fall from his lips the moment Yugi asked, Atem made himself hold back just a moment, so he could think it over without haste. Such a thing should never be decided in the heat of the moment without thought, or feelings could get hurt later on.

Even after allowing himself that practical moment's though, the answer was still the same. “Yes.”

Yugi gave a content sigh, “Glad it wasn’t just me, I was worried you’d think I was being a stereotypical unfaithful incubus.”

“I would never think that, Yugi,” Atem assured with a tender kiss on the top of Yugi’s head.

A bit of silence passed, Atem allowing himself to picture a future with both you and Yugi at his side, while Yugi let his mind work on another worry and concern over this whole situation.

“I don’t think we should tell her about our feelings yet.”

Atem blinked at Yugi’s sudden change of heart, “Why?”

“Well, think about it,” Yugi finally leaned back from his boyfriend’s chest and looked him in the eyes again, “I don’t want us to overwhelm her too soon, you know? The fight you two had today says that she’s barely getting used to the idea that people care whether she lives or dies! If we tell her all of this now, while she’s still getting used to being around people who care about her at all...I don’t know, I just don’t want to spook her.” Almost immediately Yugi made a frustrated noise and rubbed the back of his head in shame. “That sounded weird, she’s not a deer we’re trying to feed in the forest, but I just think that…”

“You’re right, Aibou,” Atem said, trying to put his incubus’ worry at ease. “We need to give her time. Time to get used to her new life, to us, time to sort out her own feelings before we overwhelm her with our own.”

Yugi sighed in relief that Atem understood and nodded his head with a smile. “Exactly.”

“And in the meantime,” the vampire started as he held Yugi tight again and laid both their bodies back against their soft mattress and pillows, “we simply need to be there for her.”

The incubus gave a sound of agreement as he closed his eyes and lazily wrapped his tail around his and Atem’s intertwined legs. They drifted off to sleep like that, happy and content and...hopeful about the future.

It wasn’t until you shot a glare over at the hair salon next door that you realized you were on high alert for Yugi’s overzealous fangirls as you helped him open up the shop. You had told him you would set the sign and display table outside while he did the rest inside and you supposed it was your subconscious need to protect Yugi from the unwanted staring that prompted you to do it. Your effort proved to be for the best when you saw the short blond wander outside for a smoke break- and frowned with a displeased sigh when she saw you instead Yugi. You put on a smile you knew must have looked fake as you waved at her, and her scowl only deepened. Satisfied with how she actually turned her back on you, you went back into the shop after setting up the sandwich sign.

“Thanks for doing that!” Yugi’s cheerful voice chimed from the counter, “I’m all ready here, so you can go ahead and flip the open sign if you want.”

You obliged, then wandered over to the front counter, hopping on to it and turning to Yugi. “So, is your werewolf friend still going to meet us today?”

“Yup! He’s a good guy and always willing to help me and Atem, I thought having his nose would be a good advantage while we’re staking out the possible hideouts, not to mention it can’t hurt to have a werewolf when fighting a vampire, right?”

You nodded, “Right. I usually cast a detection spell to get an idea of how many beings are in a building, but it’s best if I can save my energy for any actual fighting. Plus, his sense of smell will help us know if there’s just vampires inside, or if there’s any human bystanders we have to worry about.”

Yugi agreed with your words, then after a moment, seemed to hesitate. “Um..there’s something else I think I should mention about our friend. We told him about you, and how we trust you, but he’s had some bad run-ins with the Circle before, so he might be a bit suspicious of you at first.” Obviously he had meant for the words to come out differently, because he looked a tad panicked as he amended, “I mean, he won’t be super hostile towards you or anything! He’s not a bad person, it’s just that he might be wary of you at first.”

“It’s okay, Yugi, trust me I understand. Most fey aren’t going to like me, ex Circle or not.” Wanting to move on from his concern you changed the subject by saying, “So what are you going to do about the shop today since we’ll be leaving before you close?”

“You remember how I mention having a witch friend the other day? She sometimes helps me with the shop, so she’ll be watching it for us today. I can’t wait for you to meet her, I have a feeling she’ll like you a lot!”

Why did that comment almost make you want to do a double-take? Yugi seemed so sure of his statement, accentuated with that bright grin of his. “What makes you say that?”

His grin did not falter, “Well, she’s an easy person to get along with period but I think she’ll love how spunky you are, I think you two will be like peas in a pod!”

Your cheeks felt a bit warm suddenly and you found yourself rubbing the back of your neck, unsure how to answer. Yugi may have taken pity on your speechlessness and told you a bit more about both friends you’d be meeting, but his first customer of the day came in then and the conversation came to a halt.

For the next couple of hours, you simply helped Yugi around the shop, though there wasn’t much to do beside straighten up a few shelves. You of course eventually checked on the daylight ring you were making for Atem, after giving it plenty of time to absorb the rays of the sun. When the sigils on the metal glowed faintly as you touched it you sighed in relief; the enchantment was complete. It may not be the high-quality magic that would keep Atem safe from the sun for hours on end, but it would work for today’s mission.

Ring in hand, you contemplated whether you should warn Atem to still wear long sleeves and a hat as you walked back out into the main part of the shop. The sun might still irritate his skin, so the extra layer of cover might do him good. According to Yugi, his friends should be there soon so it was best to prepare now.

You were about to turn to the door leading upstairs so you could talk to Atem, but you were stopped when Yugi called out to you from the front of the store. Turning, you saw the incubus standing in the center of the store next to a young woman with short brown hair. She wore jeans with a stylish blue top that matched her eyes and she gave you a friendly smile the moment they met your own.

Yugi said your name before waving at the girl, “This is Anzu, the one who’ll be watching the store today! Anzu, this is the new friend I told you about over the phone.”

“Nice to meet you!” The woman- Anzu greeted as she closed the distance between you and held out her hand.

You took it and offered her your own smile, though you were sure it wasn’t as warm as hers. “Nice to meet you too, Anzu.”

“Were you about to take that up to Atem?” Yugi asked, pointing at the ring you were fidgeting with in your other hand.

“Yeah, I was going to warn him that…” you trailed off, casting a cautious glance at Anzu, who’s smile never faltered.

“Oh don’t worry, I know about the boys and their cute fangs and wings,” Anzu assured with a wink, “Judging by the crests on it, I’m guessing that’s a daylight ring?”

You didn’t bother hiding your surprise at her knowledge, “Yes, it is. I was just going to warn Atem that he may still want to cover up a bit before going outside. The sun might irritate his skin.”

“I can tell him for you,” Yugi offered, holding out his hand for the ring.

You faltered for a second, something told you that Yugi was trying to give you and Anzu time to talk. Still, not wanting to seem rude you handed the ring over with a “thanks”, and just like that Yugi was dashing through the door and up the stairs.

Not much silence passed in his absence before the obviously sociable Anzu continued your conversation. “You must really know your stuff to be able to make one of those. Enchanting’s never easy.”

“Eh, it’s not as good as it could be, but it’ll do.”

Anzu’s smile faltered a bit and she tilted her head at you. “You don’t have to downplay your skills, you know. I think that’s the Circle’s influence coming through.”

You couldn’t help but tense at her words. Yugi had called her a witch, but the term usually applied to humans who dabbled in the tiny bit of magic they were able to tap into. Given her knowledge of enchantments, the boy’s true races, and the Circle, this was obviously no ordinary white witch.

She must have sensed your tension because she held up her hand in pleading defense. “Oh, sorry, I guess Yugi didn’t mention that he told me a bit about you. He told me how you helped Atem escape execution,” her eyes drifted down to your scarred palm, “how you left the Circle in order to help them.” Her eyes snapped back up to yours and you were surprised by the profound sense of understanding that played in her gaze. “Yugi really wanted us to meet because he thought it might be nice for you to know another spell slinger who’s free of the Circle.”

“Wait...you-?”

“No, not me specifically, but I know a lot about the Circle and how cruel they are. My grandmother was like you, she was brave enough to leave them and start a new life.”

You knew you must have looked silly at how surprised you were at the statement. Magicians had been known to leave the Circle before, but it wasn’t common and the few times someone did, it was kept as quiet as possible. Even after a moment, all you could manage to say was, “Oh.”

Anzu was still understanding and patient with you as she went on, “Yeah. From what she said, it wasn’t easy starting over from nothing, but she managed it. Eventually, she even got married and had a kid, my dad. She made sure to tell me and my dad everything we needed to know about the Circle, just in case we crossed paths with them. She also taught us how to use our magic. I’m sure I’m nowhere near your level, but I know a thing or two.”

A smile found its way onto your face, “Now who’s downplaying their skills?”

Anzu giggled at that and you found the laughter infectious as you let out a small chuckle as well. “Well, I know you’re still probably getting used to your new life, but, if you ever want to talk to another non-circle magic-user, feel free to come to me, kay?”

“Thanks, Anzu, I appreciate the offer.”

You did, truely, she seemed like a genuine and kind person. So far Yugi and Atem had been a surprising source of solace the few times you had talked about your life in the circle. Talking with Anzu may not come as naturally, but getting to know her when you had the chance couldn’t hurt. Several questions about the girl's life outside of the Circle came to your mind, but for now, you started with a simple one.

“I’m curious, Yugi called you a witch when he told me about you, is there a reason you’re using that title instead of magician?”

Anzu gave a shrug, “Well, it’s partly because it helps me stay under the Circle’s radar. Go around calling yourself a magician and they’ll get pretty interested in you. But besides that,” Anzu lifted her chin proudly, “I like the name because it sets me apart from them.”

You smirked at the bold and proud statement, yes, you could see yourself getting along with Anzu just fine. When she turned towards the counter and went to set her bag down behind it, you followed her, noting that Yugi was taking his time fetching Atem. Anzu had apparently decided not to ask anything too personal of you yet, because her next question was simple enough.

“So did Yugi tell you anything else about me?”

“Not really, besides that he helped you find a missing girl in your coven once. And that you help with the shop sometimes.” Not wanting the conversation to taper off awkwardly, you continued with, “So how did you and Yugi meet?”

“Oh, we’ve known each other since we were kids. My family knew Yugi’s so we were always going over to each other’s houses and stuff,” she let out an almost exasperated laugh, “If you ask me I think Yugi’s grandpa was always interested in my grandmother. He was always flirting with her even with us kids in the room.”

You smiled at the thought. Yugi may not be the hopeless flirt that people usually thought of when the word ‘Incubus’ came to mind, but he certainly had his own charm and you had no doubt that he could turn it up when he wanted to; obviously he learned a thing or two from his grandpa. “Yugi’s mentioned his grandpa before, I guess the two were really close?”

“Yeah, they were,” Anzu’s smile didn’t leave but her eyes had a more serious look to them now. “His family wasn’t the stereotypical stuff you think of when you think about incubi and succubi. That’s why my family was so close with them. They really cared about and loved each other, and you can tell it made Yugi into a great man.”

You felt warm at the thought, the way Yugi welcomed you into his home like an old friend, how devoted and loving he was towards Atem, his bright eyes and smile, everything about him confirmed what Anzu was saying. Not for the first time, you found yourself wondering what had happened to Yugi’s parents, but more so you found yourself glad that Yugi had been given such a loving family. “Yeah, he really is.”

After a heartbeat, your eyes met Anzu’s again, and you were a bit taken aback by the knowing look twinkling in her eyes. Before you could question it however, the sound of Yugi and Atem finally coming down interrupted you. Anzu was an interesting woman, you’d have to take some time out to get to know her more when you had the chance.

You looked over your shoulder and found Atem trailing behind Yugi, who had slipped on a blue jacket. Atem had heeded your warning about wearing extra protection to some extent. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and thick jeans tucked into his boots, but he apparently wasn’t fond of hats and had swapped that accessory out for a pair of sunglasses that would keep his eyes from hurting.

“Wow Atem, aren’t you looking stylish,” Anzu chuckled.

The vampire gave the witch a smirk, “Hello, Anzu, I see you’ve met our new friend.”

“I have,” Anzu gave you a little wink, “I can see why you’re teaming up with her, she looks like she knows her stuff. Tough too.”

“That she is.” You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Atem fiddled with his daylight ring a bit as he said that, but the moment was quickly over when he turned to Yugi, “When is Joseph going to arrive?”

“Any minute now, you know how he is,” Yugi assured with a smile.

At their words, you noticed that Anzu's cheerful demeanor seemed to waver and her voice was less chipper as she said, “Are you guys sure you don’t want me to come with you? I don’t mind holding down the fort here, but I hate sending you guys into danger like this.”

Yugi, who had gone behind the counter while you three waited, put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Anzu, we’ll be okay. We have a vampire, a Circle trained magician and a werewolf on our side!”

“Don’t forget about yourself, Yugi,” you added, “I’m sure those claws of yours aren’t just for show.”

You weren’t entirely sure, but you thought you saw pink creeping up from under Yugi’s collar- unfortunately you were all distracted by the scene when the shop’s bell clanged as the door was swung open.

“Alrighty, who’s ready to hunt some vampires!”

Startled, before your mind could register the words you spun on your heel, raising your hand and repairing a spell. Your mind yelled at you to stop when your eyes landed on a tall blond standing in the doorway with his arms wide.

“Really, Joey?” Anzu hissed at the newcomer, “There could have been customers in here, why are you going around yelling about vampires?!”

After closing the door with a kick of his heel, the man stepped inside. “Oh, hey Anzu! What’re you getting worked up about? Not like any humans would have assumed I meant real vampires anyway.”

Both Anzu and Atem sighed while Yugi only grinned at, who you would assume was their werewolf friend. The incubus opened his mouth to introduce you, but apparently this Joey was a step ahead. His eyes landed on you and with a raised brow, he started circling you.

“So, you’re the mage Yugi told me about?”

It took much- no, all of your self control not to turn and glare at him as he circled, his demeanor not exactly predatory, but not friendly either. “I am. You must be the werewolf.”

“That’s right. You got a problem with that?”

Atem gave a firm and warning call of Joey’s name, but you held up your hand as the man stopped in front of you again. Your eyes were firm on Joey’s, not challenging, but not meek or submissive by any means. “So long as you don’t sharpen your fangs and claws on humans, I don’t have any problem with you.”

Joey made a noise, something more human-like than a snarl, “I don’t hunt humans! I ain’t some animal!”

“Then we don’t have a problem.”

He stared back into your eyes for a long moment, and even under their intensity, you never faltered. The air was growing tense, you wondered if Yugi was about to jump in, the ever calm peacemaker, but then the wolf closed his eyes and let out a hoot of laughter.

“I like her! She’s got guts without bein all high and mighty like the other spell slingers.” He reached out and clapped you on the back, “If Yugi and Atem say you’re alright, then you’re fine by me.” Anzu and Yugi both seemed to let out a breath at that, and Joey turned to them and Atem to elaborate on his first question. “So, where’re we going hunting? I’m itching to take out some human killers.”

You hoped that Yugi had warned Joey that all these possible hideouts were only maybes and that there may not be any actual vampire killing that day, because the wolf seemed all too eager with this ‘hunt’ as you arrived at the first house. Atem actually had to pull Joey back from storming the front door, which left you wondering if bringing him along was actually a good call or not. Thankfully, when Yugi asked their friend to sniff the place out before doing anything rash, he seemed quite fine with the more cautious approach.

He walked the perimeter with the rest of you, his nose wrinkled and body hunched. You were glad it was the afternoon on a weekday, or the neighbors in this suburban block may have a question or two for your little group. Eventually, Joey leaned back, looking a bit disappointed as he said that there wasn’t even a trace of a vampiric scent around the property. Well, one down, four to go.

The next house wasn’t any better. The only thing different there was that Joey didn’t try to go in the front door and that there was a very protective cocker spaniel barking at you four from the windows the whole time you circled the house.

You were starting to really worry that your investigation was a complete bust as you arrived in the neighborhood for the third house and apparently you weren’t doing a good job at hiding your unease.

“You okay?” Yugi asked from beside you on the well-kempt sidewalk.

“Yeah, just worried all this trouble will be for nothing. I hate the idea of wasting everyone’s time.”

Yugi’s brows furrowed, “You don’t have to worry about that. Even if Marik isn’t hiding in any of these places, things like this take time, we know that.”

“I would have thought you would be used to investigations leading to dead ends at times, what with the nature of your job,” Atem chimed in from behind you.

You let out a short sigh, “True, but that’s when I’m by myself, not when I’m working with others.” Others who are relying on me to actually be of use, you added internally.

“Eh, don’t worry about it!” Joey assured, “If anything it’s just nice for Atem to get out in the sun!” He turned to the vampire in question, “It’s still weird though, seeing him out in the daytime, I don’t think I’ve even seen him awake when the suns up!”

“He’s awake, Joey,” Yugi cut in, “he just stays up in the apartment until sunset.”

You looked over your shoulder at Atem, wanting to see his ring, though his bare hands were tucked into his pockets. “How are you doing, by the way? Ring holding up?”

He nodded, “It’s holding up just fine. Trust me, I’ll let you know if I think I’m about to catch fire.”

“Please don’t joke about that,” Yugi groaned as your group finally came upon the third house.

It was a two-story brick building, not too large but not too small, and it was tucked away at the end of a dead-end street with a large yard separating it from the nearest neighbor. You took notice of the way Joey’s demeanor changed in a flash as you came up to the side of the house.

“Oh, there’s definitely a vampire in there alright.”

The rest of you seemed to tense under Joey’s words, though you were all relatively safe outside in the sunlight. On a closer look you confirmed that all of the curtains in the house were drawn tight, allowing no rays of light to come in, or for anyone to peak out.

“Can you tell if anyone else is in the house?”

Joey sniffed the air, drawing in deep, “I’ll have to get closer to tell.”

With that, the wolf stepped over the stone hedge lining the front yard. You were about to hiss after him, telling him to stay low and out of sight, but he was apparently more cautious than you first thought, and was careful to stay between the view of the windows as he went. You and the boys made to follow after him and you took a tentative look around at the two closets houses.

Your heart nearly jumped in your throat when you saw a face peeking out at you from across the street! It was an old man, looking at your suspicious group with a furrowed brow. You gave him a wave; oh yes, nothing to see here, just four strangers wandering into your neighbor’s yard, everything’s fine! He must have thought so in the end, because he simply shook his head and let the blinds fall back into place.

You were thankful that I line of trees kept you mostly shielded as you and the others walked around the house, Joey’s nose never resting. When he came to the back of the house he paused by a bush and motioned the rest of you to lean in.

“This is weird, I definitely smelling one vampire inside, but there’re older, staler scents, some human, some vampire.”

“Perhaps some of Marik’s servants have come and gone,” Atem suggested under his breath. The hard set of his jaw and the way his shaded eyes stayed on the back door to the house almost concerned you.

“Maybe, but either way we’re still going inside. I suggest you boys let me go in first,” you more said than asked.

“No,” Atem’s fangs were showing as he practically growled his next words, “Marik may have traps waiting inside. If he does, then I should take the damage from them. I can heal from practically anything, you can’t.”

Oh not this again. “Or how about we avoid any traps altogether. I’m a big girl, Atem, this isn’t my first time storming a vampire’s lair.”

You didn’t give him time to answer or argue, because you immediately rushed up to the back door, crouching low under the windows. You heard the three of them follow as you grabbed the door’s handle. There were several ways to get in, and though most magicians would have likely picked the lock or busted up with their bare hands, you relied on your talent with fire. Within seconds the thin metal of the knob was melting and sliding onto the stoop.

As quietly as you could you pushed the door open and took your first scan of the house. A kitchen lay before you, small for the nicer suburban houses, but this wasn’t the best one on the block by any means. Dishes were piled up in the sink and the stale smell of a neglected home filled the air.

Satisfied that nothing was going to blow up at the doorway, you stepped inside and the boys followed. Just off of the kitchen was a short hallway with two doors off of it and a staircase on one side.

“The smell's coming from upstairs,” Joey whispered to you.

Yugi opened his mouth to say something but you held your finger to your lips. It was almost impossible to sneak up on a vampire, even when they were sleeping, but you still wanted to keep as quiet as possible to postpone your detection. As you stepped towards the stairs at a slow pace, you looked over at Atem. He had taken his sunglasses off and he looked primed and ready to bolt up the stairs at a moment’s notice. There was something else though, something like suspicion in his eyes. Maybe he thought this was all too easy and, honestly, you might have to agree with him.

Your foot had just landed on the fifth step of the stairs when a loud BANG sounded overhead. Someone behind you jumped and your knuckles turned white on the railing as your ears strained to listen.

Growling.

More than that, it was a snarling desperate noise that was soon followed with another bang.

“Something’s trapped up there,” you whispered and another thud succeeded your claim.

“Someone trapped Marik in his own hideout?” Joey asked.

“I don’t think so,” Yugi answered, his eyes staring into the dark landing above. “I think it’s something else.”

Atem stepped up beside you, “Let’s find out.”

Since there was extremely little ambient light ahead, you lit a small flame in the palm of your hand before stepping up to the landing. The growling and banging were louder now, and it seemed to grow more and more erratic as you stepped down the hallway. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the ruckus, even among all the closed doors. The shaking wood and padlock over the door were dead giveaways. The metal screws holding it together were ripping away from the wood more and more with every thud and snarling growl until-

“Get down!”

You saw Joey grab Yugi as he threw himself out of the way of the flying door and something came charging out! In a flash of red and snarls the thing lunged at Atem before he could move. The vampire grunted in pain as he toppled to the ground with the thing and you saw that it had clamped down on Atem’s arm. Though the humanoid thing had him pinned, Atem still had the upper hand as it spilled his blood. With one swift hard punch, he broke its nose, sending it skittering back, hissing and spitting with pain. Joey grabbed it before it could recover and tried to put it in a headlock, but the thing struggled and writhed so much that it escaped his grip- though the cost was a sickening snap; a broken limb.

It tried to claw at Joey with it’s one good hand but with a harsh wave of your own, you sent the thing flying back into the dark closet it had been trapped in. A howl of pain and angry hiss in the dark later and it was lunging back at you from the shadows. It was too easy to grab the beast that time. The horrid creature was weak, broken, starving; acting on pure instinct and need to feed. And though you hated the fact, the merciful thing to do was to put it out of its misery. Before it could break free of your hold you gave it that mercy with one quick snap and it fell to the ground with its neck bent unnaturally.

As you and the boys watched it- no, the man’s face, which had been twisted and contorted like an animal’s, slowly returned to something that looked human. The man’s clothes were tattered and bloody and some obvious marks of abuse lay across the skin you could see. Maybe if you had gotten there days ago, you could have helped him, but not now, not after what Marik had done to him.

“A revenant,” you said with a defeated sigh.

“A- a what?” Yugi asked, not being able to take his eyes off of the body.

You made him look up at you, he didn’t need to see it, didn’t need to think about what the man had been put through before death. “How much do you know about vampires and how they’re turned?” you asked. Yugi shook his head, and his second-long glance at Atem told you that his resident vampire didn’t like to talk about it. “Well, there’s a reason the whole world isn’t overrun with vampires. Even if one tries to turn a human, there’s no guarantee they’ll survive. Most die during the process, like a virus tearing their bodies apart. Others who don’t turn into full-fledged vampires, but are a little too strong to die, turn into revenants. Their minds are gone, and they don’t even have the strength, speed, or healing powers that full vampires get. All they can do is act on their need to feed on blood. They’re husks, unable to think or feel, and usually too weak to survive more than a couple of days after being turned.” You let out a heavy sigh and ran your hand over your face. “Bonz said that Marik’s been taking humans from all over town. He probably tries to turn them all so he can grow his horde of minions.”

Joey’s eyes met yours, “So, when this guy didn’t look like he was going to turn full vamp, Marik locked him up in there and waited-”

“Waited for us to find him.”

Atem’s cut in made the rest of you look round, and you saw Atem, with his jaw clenched, staring into the dark depths of the closet. He stepped forward and turned on the light so the rest of you could see. There, scrawled in the sickly brown of dried blood on the wall, was a message. “You’ll have to try harder than that, your highness!”

Atem’s chest was heaving as he stared intently at the wall, his gaze looking as if it might start burning holes in the offwhite painted wood.

Beside you, you heard Joey question, “Your highness?”

“It’s...it’s what Marik calls Atem,” Yugi answered lowly.

The words were barely out before Atem let out a roar and drove his fist into the wall. The plaster gave way easily, looking like a busted eggshell as blood dripped down his forearm. A moment later Atem wrenched his arm back and you could see the bones and abrasions already healing. If only whatever was raging inside him was soothed so quickly.

Without a word, Atem turned on his heels and stormed down the dark hallway. Yugi, looking so forlorn that it almost broke your heart, watched him go for a second before turning to you and Joey.

“Give us a minute, kay?”

You and the wolf nodded as Yugi went after his lover. Once he was gone you turned your sights back to the body at your feet. He was young. Pale skin, head shaved, and marks on his lips, nose, and ears that said he likely had had numerous piercings. Marik, or rather, his followers likely picked him up at some rave club with the promise of a good time. Still, no matter the age, or lifestyle, no one deserved this.

“Can you do me a favor?” You asked, looking up at Joey, who nodded. “Can you go get a bowl of bleach water and a rag? We’ll need to clean that up,” you jerked your head at the bloody message.

When Joey started back down the stairs to do just that, you turned your sights down the row of doors in the hallway. After trying three of them, you found the linen closet, and took a nice silken white sheet from one of the shelves.

With as much respect and care as you could manage, you started wrapping the young man’s body up, arranging his limbs in a dignified pose. It wasn’t much, but it was better than rotting away in a messy heap until the owner came home. With some effort, you cast a teleportation spell and moved his body to the nearest hospital, where he might at least be returned to his family if he had one.

Seconds later Joey returned with the requested items and it didn’t take much to scrub the blood away. Bleach didn’t hide blood residue completely, but at least now when the owner returned from his work trip, he’d simply think his home was robbed and not the sight of a murder or two. You explained as much to Joey as you two walked back downstairs together.

Wanting to give the boys some more time alone, you took a moment to examine the kitchen. It was messy. Dishes stacked high, half-cut veggies lying rotting on the counter, containers of food open and forgotten on the breakfast bar. Very odd, considering vampires didn’t have to eat food and these certainly weren’t the potent types that would appeal to a vampire. And you highly doubted any homeowner with a professional job would be this sloppy before leaving on a work trip.

“Joey, you said that you smelled several human scents in this house?” You asked.

The werewolf gave the air a short sniff, “Yep. And it’s not just the owner's scent either. They’re just as fresh as the other two vampire scents I’m smelling, and I’m assuming one of them is Marik’s.”

“Interesting. Well, at least this whole trip wasn’t for nothing.”

“Huh?”

For now, you only answered him with a smile before turning and wandered back into the other rooms of the house. It didn’t take much to find where Yugi and Atem had gotten to, however, when you turned the corner of said room your heart gave a bit of a flutter. They were standing close, Yugi’s hands cradling Atem’s face as he whispered soft reassurances to the vampire. Atem had his eyes closed against the affection and held his hands over Yugi’s, letting himself calm his breathing, calm his anger, under the incubus’ care.

The scene was so tender, so intimate, and found yourself having to snap out of your staring state. You turned to leave them be but the moment you whisked behind the door frame, Atem called out to you.

Feeling more sheepish than you ever remember feeling, you leaned back into their sight, “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t,” Atem assured gently. He turned, still holding one of Yugi’s hands in his own as he asked, “So, where does this leave us? I doubt Marik has left anything behind that might help us find him.”

“Actually, he did. He really needs to learn to clean up after himself, or rather, clean up after his traveling companions. There’s evidence that humans and one other vampire were staying here with him.”

Atem raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t those humans be the ones he’s been killing and trying to turn?”

“I doubt he’s feeding the ones he’s killing.”

“So how does that help us?” Yugi asked, trying to sound hopeful.

“One thing that’s always hurt my investigation before, was the fact that even Marik’s followers don’t seem to know anything about him. Even though they’re doing his bidding, they don’t seem to have much interaction with him. But Joey’s nose and the mess in the kitchen proves that he has at least a few close followers who’re staying with him. Chances are one or all of them are the ones who go out and do his dirty work.”

Yugi smirked, “So if we find them, we’ll find Marik.”

“But how exactly do we find a lead on these close followers?” Atem asked a bit briskly.

That was the part that made your stomach clench like a vice. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid it for long, not with your limited resources now that you were severed from the Circle. The mere thought of this resort made your skin crawl a bit, but, you just couldn’t stand seeing Atem so upset at the loss of a lead. If any of your contacts had any info about these special lackeys, it would be the long-haired city lord himself.

You let yourself heave a heavy sigh, “I think it’s time we pay a visit to Pegasus.”

[linelpisffxiv]

Happier Ending

Hydaelyn promises her so much as the Exarch -- Raha -- shatters in her arms. The ability to find peace, to no longer love so strong.

It is your greatest strength, but also your greatest curse. Woe betide those who stand with the Weapon of Light.

“For death shall be their reward. Death for them and their kin and all they shall hold dear.”

She hasn’t heard Hydaelyn’s voice since that stunt Elidibus held in the Exedra, and she’s not certain it was more than an illusion. Before that? She can’t even remember. She was silent through her journeys in Ala Mhigo and Doma. Through her time in Coerthas and Dravania. The last time she knew Hydaelyn spoke to any was Midgardsormr.

How odd she chose to speak to her again now.

Might we have a pact, my champion? No more pain, for your--

“No!”

Lin stands up. “We do not have a pact. You haven’t spoken to me in years. Why now?”

Why after she knows the truth. Hydaelyn must sense she’s aware the crystal is little more than a primal.

This pain will consume you. I can tell. I shall ask again in three suns.

There was something G’raha wanted her to do. She has the eye. Neither of them found out how it was transferred by chance, but her right eye and the sanguine crystal should be enough.

She only has three days. Three days until Hydaelyn returns. And she doubts she’d listen unless she can prove everything.

She steps through the portal, sensing it would be the last time. She can follow her aether, but the portal is an easier, shorter, less painful trip. She can sense Haurchefant following her, but it feels like there’s another. She won’t turn. She’s been an avid reader of stories since she woke up in this body that wasn’t hers, became someone more than either of them.

As a bard she learned more. She has a chance this time, defy the reincarnation, bring someone back from the dead. She hopes that’s the case.

One tale Jehantel told her was of a bard who had tried this before, but Thal had a rule, the bard could not look back on their journey. They failed, whether due to silent steps, or thinking they passed when their love had yet to pass the threshold.

This is not her hubris, not yet.

She’s close to the gates. Perhaps she has all she needs on her, but perhaps not.

Lin wastes a day teleporting to Ala Mhigo and asking for the assistance of the Ironworks.

The Sons of Saint Coinach are are their excavation site still. She looks over Rammbroes’s records, trying to see if she missed something.

The records on G’raha’s last words before he sealed the tower spark something in her mind, in the hand. She runs through the outer gates, across the Eight Sentinels, up to the door. It takes her five tries and four bells until her eye and the crystal resonate with the tower.

Another two until she finds G’raha. Just as handsome before as he was after three hundred years of pain. If she hadn’t been in a relationship, perhaps she would have noticed this before, remembered his voice longer.

Waking him and the tower takes half the time remaining. Wedge gets her coffee, the tech he tried to make doing little even with the crystal. Early on she tries a classic kiss, waking a sleeping beau as in stories, only for that to fail

She isn’t even certain what did work in the end. But he wakes, and the crystal in her hand changes from Sanguine to the color of the oceans around Vylbrand.

“Lin,” G’raha says, still asleep. “There is a thing I ask--”

She did it, she gave the crystal to him, but is this worth it. Did she destroy the G’raha she knew before? Was it--

His eyes open. “This isn’t right, I have to do one more thing.”

G’raha stands up and runs.Her head aches.

Not yet. She won’t give in yet. The others try and help her, but she manages to get to a wall to keep her standing. No one can know this fight.

Only to feel the tower around her. She doesn’t quite know what it is, but she can sense everyone around. Why now? What did she succeed in doing? But the tower in her mind is clouded, only places she’s been. G’raha passed that threshold before she found this.

Still, there’s one way to be able to sense him. Learn the Tower.

Lin walks along the steps, hand pressed tight against the tower, sensing the walls around her. Her head hurts too much to open her eyes. This isn’t Hydaelyn, the Crystal keeps her promise. This is the tower. Is this how those born with the Eye felt? Allagan royalty? This constant pain with all the information the tower had.

She keeps heading down, beyond the entry. The basement that was more than the Labyrinth, the Syrcus Twinning back in Norvrandt.

She feels like her head is splitting, she doesn’t know if the lifts exists, but she takes the risk as she walks along a corridor and takes one step off the edge.

A controlled fall. A long fall. The aether keeps her descent steady, though now it no longer feels familiar.

But she can almost sense G’raha, his soul. It’s so strong, She tries to find the way.

Hear.

No. She refuses. She will be deaf. G’raha has something to do, and she will at least make sure she can see it through. She forces her eyes open and bursts into a sprint. She bites her way through the pain, trying to not fall and break these relics. They’re precious to him. She can’t rely on them staying for another three hundred years.

She comes to a wall, but the tower senses she has insist otherwise, but it is tight. He’s overwriting her. But she needs to know. Needs to

Feel.

Not feel. See. Know. She puts her hand on the wall and it dissipates this time. She steps through before it closes immediately.

“I need him out of my mind, please, please work with my blood.”

G’raha’s voice is quiet. Younger than the Exarch’s, but still similar. The ages haven’t worn on him.

“No, I like him, but he is not what I want to be. But he’s needed just as much.”

She walks up to G’raha, the room is mostly dark, with the only lights being the sickly crystal glow she knows too well.

“What is this place?”

He turns to her in surprise. “Lin, how could you-- Oh yes, he gave you his blood in two ways. How you kept it, I don’t know.”

“He gave it to me willingly. Unknowingly, but it was through a statement of willingness.”

G’raha clutches his right eye. “I know that. I know too much about you. Nothing you gave to me. These are his memories. His skill.”

She starts to walk to him.

“Stop!”

She does.

“He’s not ready. I may be the carer for this tower, but the Tower hasn’t had time to know me.”

She doesn’t understand at first.

“The Exarch. He won’t do more than give me his memories. What I needed to know. But I think I can give them away. You remember Doga and Unei, correct?”

She nods, Lin doesn’t trust her voice, but certainly G’raha can’t see her. “Y-yes?” Rough. Too rough.

“This is where they were made. The Exarch learned how to make clones, but refused to do so in life.”

So she isn’t past the threshold yet. “I’ll leave you both to this now.” Keep this room safe.”

She puts her hand on the wall and steps out, almost blinded by the light beyond.

She can only hope finding the room didn’t deny her the chance.

Think.

No. She won’t. She clutches her Heart-shaped stone and keeps herself standing with her sword. She won’t think. Won’t look back.

Three days couldn’t have passed, have it?

You cannot believe the youth can do this. Twas not possible to split the consciousness into a clone. Only copy.

“I believe in him. Raha’s had time to learn beyond the Allagan knowledge. And his youth has that same determination.”

She’s the Warrior of Darkness now, not the Warrior of Light. She will never wear that title again.

Lin can feel Hydaelyn pick at her mind, but she fights back. Fears she’s had, the moments of weakness. Haurchefant dead, Raha shot. Raha breaking.

Every time her darkest parts took hold.

She trimphed each time. If this doesn’t work, she can live. She took the chance.

You do remember that clones--

“Cannot have children. So?”

She’s wondered about motherhood, but it’s something she can live without. And if Hydaelyn tries to hint at body, well, she also remembers living without that as well.

Your soul is splintered. I thought I mended it, but last time I saw you, I saw you have embraced the fractures, refusing the healing. You act as if you are not your body’s soul.

“I am, but I’m not. I was born someone I refuse to say the name of, but I became Mneme Enki before the rejoining. A’lin’s memories turned me into something more. I go by Lin now. No clan, no father. I am me.”

Pain shoots through her left shoulder, her mind returns to Myste and Zephirin, the javelin of her own aether piercing her skin.

I can heal the pain, the splinters. You are weaker as sixteen than you are as one.

“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts? Are you telling me that?” Her voice is tense.

Zephirin and the pain flash again.

And again.

She will stand still. She won’t look back.

She is stronger as the sum of every memory locked in her. She can learn from others, not just herself.

Hydaelyn chose her. Why, she doesn’t know. Her life in Amaurot, what little she can piece from it, was not on her side. Nor were they for Zodiark. One day she’ll find that fragment, somewhere deep in her soul.

You won’t look back.

“Not until they’re ready.”

“Lin, where are you?” She can hear voices she knows well.

Very well.

Ah, so Hydaelyn tries another tale. Blind her with rage as she had been when Haurchefant died.

Make her beg atonement like a fallen Warrior of Light of the Fourth Astral Era.

Have her kill loved ones in her rage.

“Don’t come near,” she says. “I’ll attack.”

Monsters come towards her. She can’t tell if something woke up in the tower or ir this is the madness in that tale. She won’t attack, she’d sooner pass, endure every hit.

She steels herself with every technique she remembers of the sword. She hasn’t needed it for a long time, only bringing the stone to the front on the rare occasions she wanted to talk to herself. But she puts it in front of her, blocking the swipe.

Defend, don’t attack. This could be Biggs in front of her, not a Zhagnol.

Another swipe, but she doesn’t block. Pain.

So much, but this could be games with her mind. She will not give up. Not unless G’raha is lost, and he’s safe behind her.

One being tries to get past her. She flashes an abyssal drain near it. Don’t get too close. Just enough to grab attention. She won’t fight.

She tosses skill after skill in her head to prevent damage, even her damaging skills she keeps at range. Defend, attract.

She could heal, but that would require her to give in to the anger, fight what she’s facing. Until she can trust her eyes, she won’t.

Shadow Wall. When the violet light dies down, she changes.

Dark mind.

Rampart.

Reprisal.

Every step of the way she keeps defending. The wall is up behind her, she knows that much.

It’s only when she can’t find the will for any others she finally gives in.

“Give me the strength, Fray, A’lin.”

Living Dead. It’s not the best shield, and she can’t get her stamina back alone.

It gives her five minutes though Five minutes of not feeling the attacks.

Still, the time is lost on her without touch.Hearing, seeing. She parries what she can as more beasts come to her.

She takes a deep breath, prepared to lose awareness, and with it, whatever Hydaelyn wants her to.

“Your tale will not end here.”

Two voices echo together. The slightest difference between the two G’rahas.

A’lin stands up, and her vision clears. The beasts are still there, but she can also see Biggs, Wedge, and Cid on the rear.

“I’ve been trying to get you to fight this thing for half a bell.”

“Couldn’t hear you. Was in too much pain.”

Two hands rest on her shoulders.

“How did--”

“You did it, I think,” G’raha says. The younger one. “You hit something that woke them from their slumber.”

Lin grins. “I see. Well, I should finish what I started then.” She takes a pose and wraps herself in the shell of Grit.

She can’t find Hydaelyn in her mind, but she can still feel the blessing. Hydaelyn may want to take it from her, but she’ll fight every second of it.

She and the Older G’raha swap between their skills with ease, as the younger focuses on healing them. Biggs and Cid keep the creations from fleeing. A dance she hasn’t had since Nidhogg possessed Estinien. A dance she missed.

Their strikes are like music in and of itself, his flames with her diving plunge. His Glare with her Verthunder. He throws up the shield as she releases a cascade of refulgent golden arrows.

But once the enemies fall and she’s at Biggs and Cid, she puts her weapons away and find herself back in her Red Mage dress.

G’raha kisses her. The older one she loved. She smiles and kisses him back.

She pulls away for a second, turns to the young one and kisses him too. A few seconds. She pulls away and smiles as a blush cover his cheeks.

“Sorry,” she says. “I made a powerful enemy today. I’m glad I’m alive. if you--”

The younger one silences her with a kiss.

She can share them, learn their similarities and differences, both be willing.

“I destroyed my copy of most of his memories after waking up,” G’raha says. “At least, what I could. He insisted I keep his control over the tower, his ability to cast and defend. I can’t do much, yet.”

She’s passed the threshold, and let her love do the same. She avoided the rage of Halone upon a hero.

But she’s no longer a champion of the Mother. She can only hope the Blessing will never be taken away, She needs to use it, only three more times.

“Let us head to Seventh Heaven,” Cid says. “And the Rising stones beyond. You three have had a trying day.”

[antique-traveler]

the gravities of terrestrial life

read it on ao3

Whew. Crises averted. Two apocalypses stopped, two timelines saved, one cult left to figure itself out under Keechie’s leadership. It was all behind the Hargreeves now, and Klaus had to admit he felt pret-ty good. He was sober for longer than he had ever been. It took time for him to figure out how to blur out the gruesome faces and bodies that crowded every inch of his vision without the drugs, but Ben had helped him figure it out.

That was the one thing that was missing: Ben.

Klaus was expecting to feel devastated when the day finally came for Ben to move on. To feel a dark hole somewhere in his heart, like part of him was missing. And to an extent, he did feel that; Ben had been his constant guide for the last 16 years, seen him through addiction and recovery and relapse, but above all of that, Klaus felt relief. Ben had told him about the strange phantom pain that came with being stuck between two worlds. Klaus could finally relax knowing that Ben wasn’t in that pain anymore, that he could finally move on to whatever the next stage was.

Besides, in losing one brother, Klaus had regained another. Before Five had disappeared, he and Klaus had been inseparable. They were the twins, Four and Five, joined at the hip. When Five went missing, Klaus truly felt like he lost half of himself. They were fraternal, so it wasn’t any of that cheesy “not seeing yourself in your twin” shit that Klaus saw on soap operas, but Five was the only person who’d been with him all his life. They never knew their mother, and God knows that Reginald was no father, so they were all each other had. Klaus no longer had someone to zap him away from an unfriendly spirit, or to reassure him when everyone else shuddered at the chill that followed him into every room.

When Five went missing was when Klaus really started doing the hard shit. Sure, he smoked and got stoned every now and then when Five was still around (Five normally acted as his lookout, but never joined in), but after his disappearance, Klaus found someone to get him coke, LSD, PCP, you name it. Ben was the one who stepped in first, originally in the flesh, then as a specter. Klaus loved Ben, he really did (though he’d never admit it to his face), but something in him left with Five.

Then that one fateful day in March, 2019, that piece came back. Klaus threw the fire extinguisher before he fully registered what he saw rippling through that portal. That old face looked familiar somehow, almost as if he’d seen it in a dream a long time ago. Something about the cheekbones. Then he noticed those two moles on the man’s left cheek, and the image began to transform. In the blink of an eye, there was Five, laying before him on the concrete.

Klaus was, to say the least, shocked. He wasn’t that old man, he wasn’t what Klaus had imagined Five would look like at the ripe old age of 29, no, he was… Five, exactly as he had looked the last time he was seen, almost seventeen years ago. The rest of their siblings rushed to help him up, but Klaus stood frozen, staring at the twin he had been missing for more than a decade, now almost half his age. As Luther carried him inside the Academy, Klaus stood in the courtyard, staring at the spot where Five had fallen.

The next three years were a drag and a blur. Just when Klaus had gotten that piece of himself back, he disappeared again. Or rather, Klaus disappeared. He started an independent spiritual community, tried to stop the love of his life from joining the army, saved the world (twice), and he did it without Five.

But all of that was in the past, now. Now, Klaus sat in an armchair in an un-destroyed Academy, drinking some shitty Earl Grey tea, listening to a jazz record, and reading an X-Men comic, chuckling at all the ways they got superpowers wrong. He and Five were yet to confront the time they had missed together, and both of them were painfully aware of it. The closest they got was Five cooking eggs the way he knew Klaus liked them, and Klaus picking up Five’s favorite brand of whiskey because he wasn’t old enough to buy it. Every now and then they’d exchange a curt nod and a slap on a shoulder, but that was as far as they got. Klaus sipped his tea and grimaced, turning the page of his comic, when Five strolled into the living room with a steaming mug of coffee and the thickest book Klaus had ever seen in his life. He plopped down onto the sofa the same way he did all those years ago, and opened his colossal book with a sigh.

Klaus grunted at one of Mystique’s witty comments and Five looked up at him. “That’s a good issue,” he said nonchalantly.

Klaus looked up at his brother. “Yeah, it is.” He paused for a moment, “Did you read it? When you were-”

“In the apocalypse? Yeah.” Five clicked his tongue as punctuation and stared blankly at his book, not even pretending to move his eyes across the page. He just breathed, letting the silence between him and Klaus grow even thicker.

“Do you wanna… talk about it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Got it, yeah…” Klaus trailed off, sighing dramatically. “Was it really just you?”

Klaus never was one to follow instructions.

“And Delores.” Five didn’t even look up from his book.

“And Delores.” God, Klaus hated awkward conversations like these. He felt like he was back in rehab, trying to cobble together some sort of summary of his life without revealing too much. “Y’know, I still have that, uh, book you bought me. The Time Machine?” How ironic, Klaus thought.

“I didn’t buy that for you.”

“What? Yes you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Shoplifted it.”

Klaus’s jaw practically fell off his face. “You? You shoplifted? For me?”

“It’s not like we got an allowance, Klaus.” Five finally cracked a smile and closed his book.

“Perfect little Five, dear old Dad’s favorite son, broke the law for me?” Klaus leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

Five grinned a little and gestured to Klaus, “Well, it’s not everyday your twin brother turns thirteen.”

Klaus laughed a little before realizing that, yes, that was their thirteenth birthday. The last birthday they had together before Five went missing. “I used to read that, like, every night after you disappeared. For, like, a year.”

Five’s smug grin relaxed and his eyes grew solemn. They both breathed, not knowing where to take the conversation from here. “Seems kind of poetic, huh? I’m stuck in the future after the world ends while you’re reading a book about a guy in the same situation.”

“It’s not lost on me. I used to avoid this room like the plague ‘cause I didn’t want to see that thing.” Klaus pointed at the portrait of Five hanging above them, expressionless. The real Five stared right back at it, not quite mirroring its face.

“There weren’t many calendars where I was, but I always kept track of the date. Every October first I’d light a match and blow it out- not many candles either.”

Klaus got up slowly, and strolled over to sit beside Five on the sofa, now much taller than his twin. He took a moment to really study his face. It really was him, exactly the same as he was seventeen years ago. Klaus reached up and touched his own face absentmindedly, feeling the beard that Five should’ve been growing by now. Hell, he didn’t even have acne yet. He was thirteen again, scrawny and baby-faced and filled with hormones. Five looked straight ahead, avoiding Klaus’s gaze, and Klaus thought that he must be thinking about the same things.

“So I guess this is round two for you, huh? On the whole puberty thing?”

“Don’t remind me.” Oh boy, Klaus recognized that voice. That was the voice that Five used when he really wanted to look cool and nonchalant. Five should have known by now that that disguise was useless on Klaus, his own twin brother.

“I’m sorry.” Five leaned forward, elbows on his knobby knees, staring down at the floor. Klaus brought a hand up to rest tentatively on his shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” Five swallowed something thick and exhaled loudly. “Me too.”

“Guess you’re my big brother now, huh?”

“Shit,” Five’s voice broke, and he brought a hand up to cover his eyes as he turned away from Klaus, shoulders trembling.

“Fuck, no, I’m sorry.” Klaus brought his arms up around Five’s shoulders, leaning his head on his back. “Shit, that sounded awful.”

“God, would you fucking listen to yourself?” Five shoved Klaus off of his back and stood up. “You, with your beard and your voice and your fucking chest hair, and here I am, fucking prepubscent! You think I don’t know how fucked up this all is? That I’m twenty years older than my twin brother and I still sound like my balls haven’t dropped yet? I know, Klaus. I know that you missed me, I know that it sucked, I know that you’re sorry, but I’m still trying to get used to losing forty goddamn years of my life! I don’t have the luxury of being sorry because I’m the one who’s living all this shit!”

Klaus blinked up at Five as he panted and wiped at his eyes after his outburst. God, what could he even say to that? Five was right, Klaus was in no position to joke about Five’s whole… deal. Klaus looked down at his hands, studying the tattoos he got so long ago. HELLO. GOODBYE. He took in a deep breath. “Looking at these stars suddenly dwarfed my own troubles and all the gravities of terrestrial life.”

Five stopped his heaving and stared at Klaus. “What?”

“It’s from The Time Machine. From after the time traveller helps defeat the Morlocks. I told you, I read the shit out of that book.” Five huffed and ran a hand through his hair, dropping himself back onto the sofa beside Klaus. “I’m sorry, man, I- I was out of line.”

Five sighed, “it’s fine.”

Klaus looked back at Five. He remembered back to when they were eight. Back then, they were easily mistakable for identical twins- they were the same height, wore their hair the same way, and were both baby-faced enough that any distinguishing features were smoothed out. Klaus hadn’t quite yet learned to stop talking about the horrors he saw daily to anyone who would listen, so Five was his near constant outlet when a room got a little too crowded with people nobody else could see. Five would put an arm around him, make his hands do that glowy thing that made Klaus’s eyes hurt if he looked too hard, and the next thing he knew he was somewhere else, Five’s arm still around him, gasping for air.

Klaus saw that same face sitting beside him, and it hurt to look at. To see all those years that Five lost. To know that he was born on the exact same day as Klaus, his twin fucking brother, who looks like he’s thirteen, but was more than twenty years older than him. God, Klaus hurt for him. He clasped a hand on Five’s shoulder. He didn’t quite know what to say, if he should say anything, but Five was leaning into his hand, and soon his head came to rest on Klaus’s shoulder.

“I’m fucking tired, Klaus.” Five drew in a shaky breath as Klaus looked over at the coffee table at Five’s book. War and Peace. Seemed apt enough.

“I know,” Klaus sighed and wrapped his arm around Five, “tell you what, you can call me your big brother if you want.”

[frombeginingtoend]

You’re Back

Summary: You, Klaus, and Ben were always a little different from the rest of The Umbrella Academy because of your powers. When Ben passes, and everyone leaves the house, you and Klaus lose touch, but soon, unforeseen consequences bring you back together.

Notes/Warnings: major character death, drug abuse

Word Count: 2.2k

---

When the alarms went off, my head flooded with a tsunami of existential dread. The shouts of my father trying to round us all up, save for Vanya, never failed to put a pit at the base of my stomach.

I hope this time you send me into someone, hissed one of the many sprites I could conjure. I like to mess with your squishy little heads.

"What if I don't want to do that anymore?" I croaked, staring into the floorboards as if they had murdered my parents.

Do you think what you want actually matters? Let me out (y/n).

"You can't do anything unless I tell you to. You're powerless without my say," I muttered. I repeated the phrase under my breath as I changed into the Academy's uniform, finishing with the mask. How I longed for an ability like Luther's strength or Allison's rumors. Hell, I would prefer to be like Vanya, no true powers but a passion and a drive to be better.

Nevertheless, I was brought on today's mission to stop a break in/hostage situation at a bank... yet again.

"What the fuck is that thing?" screamed one of the armed robbers.

An imp, covered in ashen grey fur and sporting a long, red, scaly tail, slithered it's way to the tall man. This one was decent enough to obey commands in exchange for food rather than making a home in the mortal world. Food, of course, ended up being the tall man robbing a bank. The moment his tail wrapped around the man's neck I knew to look away.

He liked to eat the skin first.

We were only thirteen, yet we were the ones who saved the day and took out the bad guys. I remember I used to think the police would appreciate having heroes like us to do some of the dirty work for them. As I got older, I realized that what we were doing was technically illegal. As I got older, I realized that most detectives and police officers hated how much work we took from them. In some cases, we made even more work for them.

Years passed, and it seemed like no one understood how much I hated living in The Academy. I never wanted to be a hero. I never wanted to be the line between two dimensions, two states of living. I didn't want to be torn from one world to the next. It was a life of constant agony that no one else could dream of comprehending.

The only people who seemed to give any semblance of understanding were the boys who's abilities were closest to my own. Klaus: Number Four, The Séance, Ben: Number Six, The Horror, and me: Number Eight, The Omen. God, all three of us hated ourselves so much. We were all forced to keep using the abilities we despised, no matter how hard we opposed. We had to get dad's approval, we had to make him proud, had to live up to his expectations. Well, after Ben died... after Ben died we all gave up. One after another we left the house, The Academy. We went on our merry ways to flourish or fuck up. Klaus and I? Oh, boy did we become fuck-ups.

Drug addiction, alcoholism, desperate attempts to forget and to numb yourself to all the bullshit around you.

I hadn’t seen any of them in years. I hadn’t even talked to them. I ran into Klaus at rehab once though.

“(y/n)? Is that you?”

“Klaus? Hey, hey, man it’s good to see you again. How are... how are you doing?”

“One week clean,” he bragged with jazz hands for effect. I tilted my head at the sight of his palms. Without asking, I snatched both of his arms by the wrists to inspect the ink. I smiled at the words permanently marked into his skin.

Hello - Good Bye 

“I like these. When did you get them?” Klaus just shrugged.

“I don’t remember, honestly. A while ago. Hey, why, uh, why are you here? What have you gotten into?”

“Oh, right.” I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I didn’t have to explain myself, but knowing full well that I should. “It got to be too much, I’m sure that’s why you’re here too, right? It started out as just drinking, but then, y’know... I was drunk all the time... and my- my tolerance was too high, so I thought I'd try weed. That worked out for a while, but... it didn’t always get them to stop, so... I got into harder stuff.”

“What kind of harder stuff?” Klaus looked almost disappointed in me. The look in his eyes broke my heart. I gulped in a hard breath, then two, then I started crying.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a fuck-up. I let all of you down. Just like I always did.” Klaus pulled me into his embrace. He was hesitant, but still firm. One hand rested on the back of my head, the other in the center of my back.

...Let me out, (y/n)...

“How do you make them stop, Klaus?”

“...I don’t know.”

We spent the rest of our time together. Klaus no-doubt relapsed within an hour of his release. He was more dependent on that release than I was. It's probable that he didn’t think I knew that the only reason he was in rehab was to lower his tolerance. I was in my apartment for less than an hour when it came to me again.

...Let me out, (y/n)...

“Get out of my head.”

You can’t control me.

“Yes I can. Now get out of my head.”

I don’t want to. If you want me gone, you’ll have to come and end me yourself.

“Fine, you think you can win? Why don't you try to fucking stop me?”

It was surprising how peaceful the end was. That piece of shit that wanted to take over my body died with me because it was a prideful moron. I woke up on the ground. Everything around me was in shades of grey, and in the distance, a little girl with a basket of daisies made her way down the path. Despite her innocent appearance, I knew exactly who she was, and it calmed me.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you so soon,” she spoke, still a few yards away.

“I- I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t think I would end up here.” I looked around at what should have been a stunning, colourful forest, downplayed like an overcast summer sky.

“You shouldn’t be here. At least, not yet.”

I looked at the girl more closely, fear building in my chest. “Are you casting me out?”

“For now,” she noted solemnly. “It will be hard, based on how you dealt with it in life, but I’ve always liked you for your tenacity.”

Her words shocked me. I didn't think anyone would like me, especially the one who made me. What had I done more that ruin what she created? “You... really liked me?”

She nodded. “I wish this would turn out differently, but you have to figure it out on your own.”

“Please don’t,” I pleaded, “don’t send me there. They’ll tear me apart.”

“It will make you strong. You’ll figure out how to come back.” She slipped a daisy behind my ear and gave me a soft smile when I fell to my knees.

“No. No, please, no! Please!” 

The end was much less pleasant the second time around.

Everything smelt of nickle and ash. Time wasn't real. It could have been two hours or sixty years and I would be none the wiser. Pain started to fade away with each new incision to my skin. Each poisonous bite was weaker and less painful than the last. The more torture I endured, the more they broke me, the less I felt it. Until the day I snapped.

The demons and spirits who tried to attack me on my way out  stood no chance to my newfound strength. I shoved into the scorched earth, or slapped them across the face as I marched my way out of hell.

"Where's (y/n)? I figured they would want to be here to spit on dad's ashes," Diego muttered. He laid on a couch and tossed an orange into the air for entertainment.

"I don't think they wanna honour him in any way. They hated his guts," Allison offered.

"You guys don't know?" Klaus asked, genuinely shocked and confused.

"We don't know what?" Luther piped in.

"(y/n) died last month. Their neighbor found them in their bathtub."

"They killed themself?" Vanya spoke with a brittle voice. Klaus nodded.

A hush fell over the six who were present in the living room. Diego sat up off the couch to stare at Klaus with a deadly gaze. "Have you talked to them?"

"No. God as my witness I tried, but I can't get to them. I have a feeling they were the only person who would have been able to."

"Why didn't you tell any of us?" Luther growled from his seat at the bar. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"Okay, big guy, you were on the moon. I couldn't have told you if I wanted to."

"If you wanted to? Why didn't you want to?"

"Would you want to call each of us up and break that kind of news? Oh, I've been having a fine and dandy time on the moon, by the way your favourite sibling just killed themself," Klaus mocked.

"Oh, shut your fucking mouth, Klaus. You know how much they meant to each of us. You should have known we would react like this after a month."

"How do you think it made me feel, Luther? I was the last of us to see them! Don't you think that maybe I feel a little responsible for their death?" Klaus was losing it, he could see Ben's worried face from across the room, like he was signaling Klaus to stop talking. He didn't care about that, though. He cared that he couldn't stop his best friend from killing themself. He cared that while they were suffering, he was finding his next high.

"When did you see them?" Allison asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"We were in the same rehab center. They got sober, coached me through it for a month, then we went on our separate ways." Klaus couldn't help the dreamy, sing-song tone of his voice. He found that that was how he spoke when he was sad or disappointed, but that didn't help his case with Luther.

"They were an addict?" he interrogated, tone aggressive and angry.

"Yeah. What of it Spaceboy? They had a power none of us could dream of dealing with. Do you know what it's like to have a demon breathing down your neck? Have you ever looked into the void to ask a tiny little monster to eat someone's face? I haven't, but (y/n) did. They needed something to make those thoughts go away, to push back those memories. I don't blame them for what they did, and neither should you." Klaus was fuming at this point. Who were they to judge them? Who were they to think they knew what (y/n) went through or how they should have dealt with it?

The floorboards by the living room entrance creaked, drawing everyone's attention. 

"Thanks, Klaus. I'm glad you defended me." I smiled at my favourite living brother. "But I'm back now, and I don't plan on leaving again any time soon."

"Holy shit. Is-is that really you, (y/n)?" Vanya jumped to her feet. It was nice to see her again, especially after having crawled through the surface of the earth.

"Yeah, yeah it is, Vanya. Oh, before anyone gets any snarky ideas, Klaus was telling the truth the whole time. I was an addict, we got clean together, and then I... killed myself. I-" I faltered for a moment, "I'm sorry... that I left, but I found out things about myself that I never would have if I had stayed alive. I think, in the long run, dying is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"What the fuck is going on?" Diego asked. "What happened to you?"

"Huh? Oh, the scars." I looked over my exposed arms and ran my fingers over some of the lighter, raised, and pinkish skin. I forgot about the gallons of blood that soaked my body and lack of clothes and matted my hair. "I was in Hell for a while. There was this hole penitence thing, it's a long story. I'd rather not relive it."

"Looks like Hell gave you a better attitude," Diego joked.

"I yelled at a demon and it exploded, Diego. Can you yell at things and make them explode?"

His eyebrows rose in shock. "No I cannot."

At this point, Klaus was on his feet, and I pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," I whispered into his ear. "I didn't want it to happen like that. I didn't mean to leave you alone."

"You came back," he whispered back. "That's all that matters right now. You're back." 

We stood in a warm embrace for what seemed like minutes, and I didn't want to let go of the only comfort I had received in what felt like years.

"You need to take a shower. You're getting blood and ash on Allison's skirt."

[name-me-regret]

Till I Touch The Sky - 2/9

Till I Touch the Sky Chapter Two: And Away We Go

Summary: Peter decides to explore more in his dreams, and in the waking world, he’s finally finished his medical webbing...

Read on AO3.

FANFICTION MASTER POST

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“All your life, no You couldn't be mad about it You've been sailing, sailing oh You couldn't be sad about it And it's been all this time And you haven't lived without-out it You are shining, shining it seems though That your life, you've found it

No oh oh oh But you've never No, you've never seen the rain...

And it gets you down But that's okay You've been pushed 'round You feel the pain And when you fall Just lean on me 'Cause you've never known Never seen, never smelt, never felt The rain...”

~Never Seen The Rain - Tones and I

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

April 10, 2015, Friday

Peter tiptoed out of the apartment even if May couldn’t see him where she was balancing her checkbook at the table. He’d gone to bed early due to having had a hard day at school. Coach Wilson had insisted he at least try to do the fitness challenge even though he had a medical note from the doctor. It hadn’t been so bad when he’d started, since the sit-ups weren’t too strenuous but he just hadn’t been able to do more than ten (that last one hadn’t really counted). It was the pull ups and the rope climb that had done him in, although it was a combination of everything.

He wouldn’t say he had collapsed, but he had needed to lean on Ned as they’d gone to the boy’s locker room to shower and change. It hadn’t been fun to hear Flash taunting him about his pathetic attempt at the challenge (even if he hadn’t done much better). The most embarrassing part was Liz asking if he was alright as they’d left the locker because she was a nice person and Captain of the Decathlon Team, and it was mortifying that she now knew how out of shape he was.

It had thankfully been his last class of the day, so he’d headed straight home, and after finishing his weekend homework, he’d decided a nap wouldn’t be too terrible. His Aunt was off that day and she’d said she’d wake him after she’d finished balancing her checkbook, and as was started to become a constant, he started dreaming again. He dreamed her balancing her checkbook because she’d said she was going to do it.

This was the first time it had been daytime in his dreams, and he guessed it reflected what his mind knew was the time of day. So, since it was daytime, in his dreams it was also daytime.

He knew that Riley and Hailey should be home by then, and decided to pay them a visit. Hopefully, his teenage hormonal mind wouldn’t have them undressing or showering this time. As he passed through his door, he yelped as he had to step back as he was almost run over by the someone rushing to catch the elevator. Then he remembered that he passed through objects and apparently people as he’d seen when he’d seen when he’d tried to touch his Aunt May before.

Peter went through the front door this time, looking around curiously to see what his mind thought the Jones’s house looked like. Of course, since he was very familiar with his own apartment, theirs looked like his except with everything on the opposite side like a mirror. The decorations and other stuff weren’t the same, but the same windows were visible from the front door as you walked in.

That’s where the living room was at, between the door front and the windows, and like their apartment, the couches didn’t exactly match. One was a light brown couch that while it seemed big enough to seat at least four people, there were only two cushions; whether they could be removed was debatable. The other was a light brown loveseat, and both of them were around a a small coffee table that was cluttered in sheet music and some art supplies.

There was an old but well kept acoustic guitar in the corner, leaning against a cabinet with nice looking decorative china. On the other side of the cabinet was an easel, folded up and leaning more against the wall than the cabinet. There was a small paint stained bucket close to it sitting on top of a haphazardly folded folded canvas drop cloth.

He hadn’t known there was someone that could paint, wondering if it was Riley or Hailey. Peter also wondered which one of the two was the musician. For someone that had no artistic talent, Peter thought being able to either paint or make music was amazing.

He carefully made his way out of the living room and down the hallway. This apartment was a bit larger than his and his aunt’s, since it appeared to have three rooms instead of the two theirs had. He poked his head through the first door and saw that it was obviously Miss Jones’s room, judging by the more ‘adult’ things inside. The second door was Riley’s room, since he saw the older boy in there when he peeked inside the ajar door. That meant the room at the end of the hallway was Hailey’s room and the door between both rooms across the hallway was obviously the bathroom.

Peter went into Riley’s room, the opening in the door too narrow for a normal person to pass through, but it wasn’t a problem for him since his body passed through half the door. He was in his bed, obviously doing his homework and Peter wandered curiously over to see what he was working on. His textbook showed that it was Algebra, but not the kind he was taking, since he had all AP classes. He was a grade behind Riley, but he easily understood what he was working on.

’Questions ten and eight are wrong,’ he said even if the other couldn’t hear him. He felt bad that his subconscious thought the other was bad at math, but maybe he’d overheard a conversation and that’s why his mind dreamed it so. Although, he always wondered at how vivid and real his dreams felt and nothing weird, like an elephant suddenly appearing, had happened. He was more use to those kinds of dreams, just not elephants appearing per say; just weird dreams.

A few wet dreams here and there as well, but no one needed to know that.

Riley groaned as he got lost on a problem and erased his equation hard enough to almost rip the paper. “I hate math,” he growled, free hand running through his brown hair. He had straight hair and not the unruly curls that Peter had, which he hated since tangles were a hassle.

“It probably hates you too,” a voice said from the doorway. Peter and Riley both turned to see Hailey there. She was wearing a tank top and these tiny shorts that would have made Peter’s cheeks heat up if he’d actually been there. The girl walked over and plopped on the end of her brother’s bed. “I’m pretty sure ten is wrong... maybe eight, I don’t know.”

The teenage boy cursed and erased ten but hesitated on eight. ’It’s wrong,’ Peter confirmed even if, again, they couldn’t hear him. The other sighed and erased it as well.

“You need a tutor,” Hailey said with a laugh. “I probably do too, cause math probably hates me too.”

He frowned at her. “A tutor? Like who?”

Hailey shrugged, pulling back her hair into a ponytail. “I don’t know.” She thought for a moment and then snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know, that kid down the hallway. I think he goes to a brain school or something. He’s probably pretty good at math.”

Peter felt excitement at realizing she was talking about him. “The twelve year old?” Riley asked with one eyebrow raised.

He felt embarrassed at Riley’s words. He did not look like he was twelve!

She giggled. “I think he’s our age, actually,” she said, rolling her green eyes at her brother’s incredulous face. “Seriously. He’s just got that cute baby face.”

Peter groaned at his face being called ‘baby face’, but smiled at the cute part. Although, he maybe didn’t want a girl to think he was cute. Handsome, yes. Cute, no.

“You should ask him to tutor you.”

He looked at Riley to see what he’d say and Peter wished this was really happening. It would be like a scene out of a manga or something, having your crush asking you to tutor them. Peter wished this wasn’t just a dream. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if the other liked boys anyways, since he liked to think he had a good gaydar being bisexual himself, and he didn’t get that vibe at all from Riley.

“Nah, I don’t want to look stupid in front of some twelve year old,” Riley said with a shake of his head.

Hailey laughed again. “You are stupid, stupid,” she taunted.

Riley promptly kicked her out of his room then, the girl laughing the whole way back to her room. He sat back on his bed, stared at his textbook and then his notebook, closed it with a scoff and tossed them both on top of his backpack. Then he stood and left the room, and Peter went over to look at the textbook to see what kind it was. Just as he thought, a standard Algebra textbook for a high school freshman.

Then Riley was back and Peter’s eyes widened in surprise to see him carrying the guitar. So, he was the musician. That pleased Peter to no end, since while he had no musical talent, he loved music. So, he sat on the edge of the bed, and was glad he’d finally managed to walk and touch things without passing through them. He couldn’t physically move or affect them. At least he didn’t fall through walls anymore, and the floor once, which had been shocking since he’d ended up one floor below.

He strummed on the strings for a while, and then he started on a song that was very familiar. Peter closed as he listened to the notes of the Bruno Mars’s song. Then Riley started to sing in a low scratchy voice that went well with the love song. He was confused at the wording though.

“Oh, his eyes, his eyes make the stars look like they're not shinin',” he sang. “His hair, his hair falls perfectly without him trying. He's so beautiful and I tell him everyday.”

As he continued to sing, he replaced the words in the song that had ‘her’ with ‘him’ and ‘she’ with ‘he’. Peter could just stare at the other as he sang the whole song in this manner. Finally, the song came to an end. “The whole world stops and stares for a while. 'Cause boy, you're amazing just the way you are... Yeah,” he finished off.

When the song ended, Peter had one thought in his mind; Riley was gay. There was no other explanation. He was either gay or he was bisexual like Peter.

Riley had just been talking with Hailey about him, and then he started to sing a well-known love song... to a boy! So, maybe it was slightly possible he had a tiny chance with him. When he’d thought he was straight, he knew there was no way Riley would ever be interested in Peter. It wasn’t even that he was a asthmatic, skinny nerd, but because he was a boy. Now that he knew he was maybe gay, he had a chance; a slim chance but at least it was something.

Then Peter remembered a crucial bit of information: this was a dream. A very vivid, coherent dream, but a dream none the less. That meant that his desire for his crush to like him had made his mind insinuate that Riley was gay in his dream. So, that meant that Riley was not gay.

Peter just wished he was.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

April 15, 2015, Wednesday

Peter looked over his formula, confident that it would work this time. He poured the next chemical and started to stir it and then pulled out the stirrer. The fine webs stuck to it, and he fist pumped the air. He was glad he was alone in the lab, or that would have been embarrassing if someone had seen him.

He was just so excited since his project for medical webbing was looking like a reality now that he’d figured out the formula. The only thing he had to figure out now was what he wanted to do with it. He’d presented the idea and a basic outline for his idea and his first attempt of medical webbing at his school’s science fair. He’d won so now he was going to have to present his finished project at the next Stark Expo in May.

When he had won the science fair, he’d gotten a booth at the next Stark Expo. It had blown his mind to learn that he would be able to present his medical webbing where someone would be interested in it, and that his project would be looked over by the Tony Stark.

It was a dream come true for the fourteen year old to meet the man, since he’d been a fan of him. He’d been amazed by the man’s brace actions to shut down the weapon’s manufacturing part of his company, even if that would mean his company taking a hit financially. He had even blown the whistle on his partner selling weapons illegally behind his back, but unfortunately, the man hadn’t wanted to surrender to the police. Stane had taken the CEO, Pepper Potts hostage and had then been sniped to lessen casualties, since he’d already killed the woman’s secretary and two security guards.

Afterwards, there had been no opposition from the board for the company to shut down weapons manufacturing and instead concentrate on other inventions. Even if they had a late start, Stark Industries was now more advanced in phones and digital watches. They had also started to work on prosthetics when one of his friend’s best friends lost an arm while serving in the Army, and Tony Stark’s own best friend had an accident during a training op that left him paralyzed from the waist down. He’d created leg braces that were almost out of the realm of possibilities for this day and age, but he’d managed it.

So, that’s why Peter was sure (at least hopeful) that his medical webbing would get him one of those coveted high school internships. Usually, the internships were given to college students, but there was a few rare high school internships/scholarships. A person had to be super smart to get them, and while Peter had never been one to brag about his intelligence, he knew he was smart. Also, if he got an internship or scholarship for school, then he would be able to go to Midtown School of Science and Technology next year and his Aunt wouldn’t have to worry about paying his tuition.

Now that he had a working prototype, he knew that he wouldn’t feel so inadequate.

Peter just had to figure out how to make a dispensing tool for the webbing. Also, it had to be small enough to fit in a first aid kit. Well, maybe making a smaller version would be for later, and right now use a dispensing tool that actually worked.

“Alright, this shouldn’t be too hard,” he muttered, but made sure to keep the dissolvent close by, just in case. He didn’t want to be stuck in the webbing for two hours (more or less).

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 May 15, 2015, Friday

Peter hated that he had to have some kind of adult accompanying him as he set up his booth, and since his Aunt May would be working until noon. That meant Christopher had to accompany him until the afternoon. He didn’t let this ruin his enthusiasm though, and he could admit that he had needed help setting up. It wasn’t such a professional look, not like those around him in the other booths, but he was proud of his accomplishment. He’d even tested it already, since he’d cut his hand the other day and had used his medial webbing to stop the flow of blood.

He’d made sure he had recorded it, using his phone camera as he used the web-shooter (which was a tentative name for it) to spray on his hand. It had stopped the blood almost immediately, so he could say it was a complete success. When the webbing had dissolved two hours later, his wound had already started to clot and the bleeding had stopped. He’d taken screenshots of the wound in the video, as well as him applying the webbing, and then of the end result when the webbing had dissolved. The printed pictures had been used in his presentation, and he had the web-shooter as well as the canisters of the medical webbing set along the table.

Christopher suddenly bumped hard into the table as he fumbled with the empty box his stuff had come in, and the whole table shook. Peter gasped as the web-shooter almost clattered off the table, but he clumsily managed to grab it before it fell. “Oh shit,” he gasped, clutching the instrument to his chest safely.

“Language, bud,” the man chastised, acting like he hadn’t almost ruined his whole project. After all, he only had one web-shooter, and if it broke, then it was all over. Sure, he could repair it, but he didn’t have the parts at the moment. If it broke, he wouldn’t have a working model for the Expo.

“Christopher, you... you almost broke my model,” he accused, setting the web-shooter down on the table more carefully than necessary.

“Oh, I didn’t notice,” the man said, face the picture perfect expression of remorse. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

For some reason, his apology didn’t sound at all remorseful, but he knew he couldn’t be ungrateful. The man had taken time out of his busy schedule to be here with him today, and without adult supervision, he wouldn’t have been able to be here in time for registration. So, he decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah, alright,” he sighed, fiddling with the canisters. “T-thanks for coming with me today, Christopher.”

The man had undone the box, folding it up and placing it at the back. It’s almost like he’d already forgotten about the whole incident of him almost destroying his prototype. Peter was annoyed by the whole thing, especially since he’d bitten back his previous anger and even thanked him for his help. “Yeah, no worries, Peter,” he said with a dismissive hand wave.

Peter grit his teeth, and then paused. He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. He needed to just forget about it, about any frustration and anger. Peter had to concentrate on his project, his presentation in case someone came up and asked him about it. Especially, since he knew that Tony Stark was going to show up at some point and look at some of the exhibitions. There was a chance his could be one of them, so who cared about Christopher? He was just his aunt’s stupid boyfriend.

 The start of the Expo wasn’t that great, since the exhibits that were around his were more elaborate and better put together than his own. He shrunk down a little bit every time someone passed his exhibit and laughed or sneered at his cheap prototype. There were a few that did come up and asked him about it, seemed a bit fascinated about the idea of medical webbing. The exhibits at the Expo mostly had to do with technology, so there were likely few went there looking for exhibits that had to do with biology, or in the medical field.

Even so, he knew there were a few. It was just, the chances of them find his in all the ones here were slim. Still, Peter wasn’t going to give up. Just being here was a big opportunity, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

A hush fell over part of the room, which was almost as large as a football field and then shouting started and people started to rush toward the entrance. He realized soon enough what it was, which was that Tony Stark had arrived and was starting on his perusal of the exhibits.

Christopher had been sitting one of the chairs they’d been provided for them, on his phone all this time, which was just fine for Peter. He’d been alternating being on his phone and talking to the few people that came to ask about his project. Now, he ran around his table to peer in the direction of where the other people were running, wanting to go, but knowing full well that he couldn’t leave his booth. Besides, he didn’t trust Christopher to take care of his project, especially after he’d almost broken his web shooter.

Peter couldn’t see anything, but he still felt excited to be in the same place as Tony Stark. The man was a legend in the engineering field, and was one of the scientists he most admired. He frequently collaborated with Dr. Bruce Banner, who was very renown physicist and something that Peter wanted to major in when he reached University. That and chemistry, and a minor in mechanical engineering. He’d probably also look into Biology as well. It was just, that he was not from a well off family, so this Expo was his chance to be able to get a scholarship and study whatever he wanted. His medical webbing was equal parts three of the subjects he wanted to study: biology, chemistry, and mechanical engineering.

He didn’t think the man would even look twice at his project, but Peter had the hope that he might. It was a nice thought, even if it wasn’t very realistic.

“I’m going to head to the bathroom for a second,” Christopher abruptly said as he stood. He hardly waited for Peter to nod before he was walking off. The man hadn’t even asked if he’d be alright by himself, or to call him if anything happened. Well, he would be alright since he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He was fourteen already and in a few months he’d be fifteen.

The atmosphere changed suddenly, the constant cacophony of chatter had gone, and he was still working on the smaller version of the dispenser. His aunt had convinced him that when he could, he’d get his invention patented.

Peter lifted his head and saw someone standing in front of his exhibit, and not just anyone, but Tony Stark. Tony Stark who was looking at his poster board and reading the information he’d written on there with cheap markers from the dollar store. The poster board he’d also bought from that same dollar store, and the pictures of his using the medical webbing on his own hand.

“Hey, kid,” the man said when he finally finished studying the poster board, which hadn’t taken long. He was known for being the smartest man in the world, and reading a poster board wouldn’t take him too long. “You’re the winner of the science fair from Midtown Middle?” Peter nodded dumbly, not able to say anything with the famous man right in front of him. He was half afraid that he’d start fanboying and look like a total idiot.

“So, tell me about this... medical webbing idea.” He tapped the pictures. “It obviously works, judging by the pictures. I’m nothing if not skeptical, so how about a demonstration?”

“A-a demonstration?” Peter stuttered, not understanding. “I got... a video of it if...” He paused as Tony reached into his pocket and took out a Swiss Army knife. It looked like the kind that might be given to those in the Army, but he wondered why Mr. Stark would have one. He pulled open the blade and to Peter’s horror, he cut into his palm.

The crowd behind him was shocked at the man’s actions and some called for a medic. As for Peter, he stared at the man as his blood quickly started spilling from the shallow cut. “Well, someone is bleeding. What can your medical webbing do, kid?”

Peter snapped out of his shock, reached for his web shooter, snapped it around his wrist, pointed and pressed the button with his ring and middle finger. Thwip! The webbing shot out of and hit the man’s bleeding palm dead on, the webbing immediately turned partially red, but that was it. The bleeding was stopped.

Tony whistled as he turned his hand around and the webbing stayed in place, even when he shook his hand as he tried to dislodge it. He touched the top of it, and it stretched away from the clump covering his cut, but even then it didn’t pull away from the cut like a bandaid might. He used his knife to cut it off his finger before putting it away. “That’s mighty impressive. How long does this last?”

The teenager let his hand drop at his side, his other hand pushing his glasses back up his nose, and he felt the eyes of the other people around them on him. His heart was beating wildly and he took a deep, slow breath to keep from suffering an asthma attack from his nerves. “A-about two hours,” he told him.

He nodded and held his hand out. “Could I see the dispenser?”

“Y-yeah, sure!” Peter hastily took it off, fumbling with the latch and feeling his cheeks fill with color and heat. He handed it over and the man tried to snap it onto his wrist, but found that the kid’s wrist was more slender than his own.

“Made for your wrist, so not everyone can use it.” He tapped on the board where the rough draft of the smaller dispenser was drawn. “This indicates that this isn’t the finished prototype,” he said as he lifted the larger web shooter. Peter nodded. “What about a severed limb? Do you think it would be able to stop the bleeding on such a large extremity?”

“Please don’t cut anything off, Mr. Stark,” Peter fretted, eyeing the pocket that he’d put the knife back inside after he’d cut his palm.

Tony chuckled. “Not even I’m not eccentric as to cut a body part for a demonstration,” he said. He titled his head toward Peter.

“Oh good,” the boy sighed. “And yes, I believe it would be enough to stop the bleeding on such a large area, and the severed limb as well. The tensile strength of it is pretty strong.” He held his hand out and Tony the web-shooter over, and Peter snapped it on his wrist, stepped out of his booth and then lifted his head, spotted a support beam above their heads that he was sure was close enough for the webbing to reach. He aimed and pressed the mechanism and sure enough, it stuck to it, and he used the special glove (red colored) he’d designed so it wouldn’t stick to it and jumped up a bit, grabbing onto the webbing. Peter hung there for a moment, the webbing holding his weight even as he kicked his feet to swing back and forth.

Peter let go, the glove not sticking as he landed back on the floor. He gave it to Mr. Stark when he held out his hand, and the man slipped on the glove as it stretched to fit his larger hand. He grabbed the webbing and yanked on it lightly, before he snapped his arm back as hard as he could. The webbing held.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Happy, try ripping this off.” He stepped aside and handed the glove to his bodyguard, a burly man with a stern expression on his features. He put on the glove to tried to rip the webbing away, the muscles on his arm bulged as he groaned, but the webbing refused to budge. “I’m sold. What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter, sir. Peter Parker.”

Tony flashed him a grin, slipping his sunglasses off at last. He took out a card from a wallet in the inside pocket of his Tom Ford suit. “Here’s my number. Have your guardian call and we’ll see what you can do in a real lab.”

Peter took the card eagerly, looking over the series of numbers on there as well as what appeared to be the man’s personal email address. It was made from a special titanium material and the Stark Industries logo and everything else had been engraved on there. Peter thought it was most impressive.

“See ya around, Mr. Parker,” he said with a wave, starting to move on to the other exhibits.

“Yes! Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

“Call me Tony. My father was Mr. Stark.”

“Of course, Mr. Tony!”

The man laughed and shook his head, and then he was gone.

Christopher returned a few minutes later. “Your aunt should be here soon. I’m gonna held out. Will you be fine by yourself for a minute?” the man asked. Peter looked at the clock on the wall nearby and saw that it was almost 1pm. He noticed the card in his hand. “Hmm, what’s that?” he asked as he reached for it.

Peter snapped his hand back, shoving it into his pocket. “Nothing, just a part of my web-shooter.”

The man’s eyes narrowed a bit, glanced in the direction where Tony Stark had gone and shrugged. “Alright. I’ll see you later, bud.” He grabbed his messenger bag that he’d left behind and walked off without so much as a wave, but Peter had already gone back turned his attention back to the card as he pulled it out of his pocket. He sat down and a dopey grin crossed his face, fist pumping in the air in excitement.

“Whoa, kiddo, something good happen?” May’s laughing voice asked.

Peter jumped to his feet, face alight with happiness. “May! You won’t believe what happened!” He started to tell her with great detail about meeting Tony Stark and how he’d been interested in his idea.

Peter might have needed to use his inhaler after a while, but he didn’t let even that bring his spirits down. They called the next day even if it was Saturday, and Peter wasn’t even surprised when someone named Friday answered.

They set up a interview for Monday after school, which as it turned out, was just a technicality. Mr. Stark had apparently already given him a scholarship for his medical webbing idea, and even had the papers sent over for him to have it patented.-

[literarytrashcollection]

The New Recruit (3/?)

AN: Some major plot reveals in this one. Also, a touch of Brand New Winter Soldier. Let me know what y’all think of it!

I felt sick sitting in front of the same people in the same conference room. Natasha looked almost smug as I wrung my hands anxiously.

“So, why are we here again?” Tony asked, tossing a stress ball in the air and catching it again. The sound of the soft rubber slapping against his palm started getting annoying after the twenty-seventh catch.

“Y/N has something that she would like to share with the group.” Bucky announced, his face split in half with the Cheshire cat’s smile. I wanted to punch him then and there more than I ever had before. How dare he act like a child, getting another in trouble?

“Does this have anything to do with the information you gave us when we first interviewed you?” Steve asked, bouncing a pen on a notepad in front of him. Everyone’s little tics were going to drive me insane. I wanted to make them all hold still. I wished I could suck all of the sound out of the room.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice caught around the lump in my throat. I cleared my throat, once, twice, three times before I finally felt brave enough to speak again. “I never technically lied to any of you.” I started out. “It was more an omission of truth.”

Tony sat forward a little, his face sinking from the bored look into a more serious one. Everyone seemed to be staring at me with some level of distrust or anger, like predators surrounding prey. The kindest set of eyes were Thor’s. He sat in his chair, sprawled back with hands folded over his chest, lips turned up in a slight smile.

“I was born in the late 1870’s.” I blurted after a long time. “December 7th, 1876.”

If Natasha was any more smug, she would have shoved out of her chair and yelled “A-ha!” She didn’t though, thankfully. No one around the table said anything for a long time, each analyzing me with varying levels of distrust, interest and ridicule.

Finally, after centuries of waiting, “So, you’re older than the Cap and Tin-Man put together?” Sam asked, fingers drumming on the table as he did the math. “Maybe not the number of years they’ve been on this Earth, but their physical age? Actually, no, you are older than all of their years put together.”

I laughed a little, a hysterical burst of crazed laughing that ended as abruptly as it started. “Something like that, yeah.” I nodded. I could feel sweat dripping through my scalp and pooling in my pits. My hands were slick with it. I wanted nothing more than a long shower. It had been decades since I had admitted my true age. I was comfortable without acknowledging my age. This was foreign, a sickly feeling that left me feeling hollow and threadbare.

“You’re 143 years old?” Wanda asked, voice tinged with almost awe that I quickly dismissed as her accent.

I nodded again, cringing a little at the number. “I’ve stayed in the shadows. Maintained the opposite of a notable human life. Unless you count the time I spent fighting during World War Two.”

“You told us that HYDRA killed your family,” Steve interjected, voice clipped with barely contained anger. He’d been asking these questions for how long now?

“They did. My last remaining relatives, grand-nieces and grand-nephews who knew me as this eccentric aunt who traveled around a lot.” I met his eyes without flinching. I remembered Cap as the leader of the Howlies. The Avengers were just the upgrade. The modernized version. Same war, different year.

He chewed the inside of his lip and gave me a curt nod. “You destroyed… massive weapons depots. Sometimes we’d be riding up just as you dispatched the last soldier.”

“And I always gave you all of the credit.”

“Why?”

“I never wanted to be another Captain America. If I gave you the credit, then at least the destruction was believable and I could remain safely out of anyone’s cross hairs.”

“SHIELD knew about you, back then at least.” He countered. “What’s to say they haven’t still been monitoring you?”

I flicked a glance over at Natasha. “She’d have blown the whistle the second I walked in.”

Natasha’s face fell slightly. “I’ve read files on you, from Cap’s era. They made it seem like you died sometime in the late sixties.”

“Y/N Y/L/N died in the sixties. I could no longer use the name and have the face I had. My age just wouldn’t match up anymore. I couldn’t play it off anymore.

“So, new identity, for the second time. The first time was in the thirties, just before I got active in the war. All of them homemade, of course. I watched the technological evolution so learning it wasn’t hard, figuring out how to do that for myself wasn’t hard. I couldn’t have any paper trail that anyone could follow. That identity died in the early 2000’s. I changed back to same name from the sixties. Who’s gonna match the names up, the face, the prints, any of it? If I just keep my head down, stick to a menial job, who cares about little ol’ me?”

“Then why join the Avengers if you’re trying to stay out of the limelight?” Tony asked, giving me a nauseating feeling of déjà vu.

“There’s finally a time where my differences will be appreciated, my powers make me useful and looked up to, rather made into a science project or looked at like a freak.” I shrugged, folding my hands together in front of me.

“Why not back during the war? You would have been worshiped the way Steve was.” Bucky’s devilish smile was gone, replaced by a deep set frown and genuine interest.

I looked over at him and felt my skin start to heat up. “Because HYDRA came after me. Or they would. And what do you know? You did. I can count eight different times you were wiped and sent after me after Steve went into the ice. Not to kill, but you almost did two different times.”

Eyes around the room seemed to flick over to Bucky, my comment a reminder of the sheer lack of stability he had from all the fucking around in his head HYDRA did. Tony’s eyes lingered on him the longest, the pain in his eyes clear and deep.

“That wasn’t me,” Bucky said gently.

“I know it wasn’t. It was the Winter Soldier. He just had your face. You always looked so surprised when I told you that we had met before. As soon as I found that you were on my tail, I had to disappear. I already lived a bare life, your constant stalking just made me that much more of a ghost.”

“Did you ever get the chance to have a family of your own?” Wanda asked, voice definitely sad this time.

“No,” I met her wide eyes and saw the empathy in them. “I run cold. It’s like my body is literally frozen in time. Too cold to house human life. Too frozen to even conceive. So I keep my distance from everyone. The Winter Solider was my first partner, in the early fifties.” I said it without hesitation. Bucky’s face turned bright red and I saw Sam physically restraining himself from clapping his buddy on the shoulder.

“Y/N, listen,” Tony took a deep breath and sighed heavily. He looked tired. The fighting had aged him, made his body wary. “We knew you were lying. We wanted to see the honesty, and now we have it. We’re obviously not going to kick you out or anything. Your powers are… incredible. And terrifying. No more secrets, yeah?”

I nodded enthusiastically, my eyes continuing to roll in their sockets for a moment after I stopped. “No more secrets.”

“Good, dismissed.” He waved us all out, everyone getting up and filing out slowly. I stayed in my seat, staring out the window as I urged my heartbeat to slow.

“Lady Y/N, I believe that I might have the answer to some questions I feel you’ve been asking for many years,” Thor said gently from across the room, still lounged in his chair.

“Oh?”

“My brother, Loki, he spoke of time on Midgard during the time frame you say you were born. He told me of a woman of extraordinary power, more power than any mere mortal, and the time he spent with her. It is possible that you are the production of his time on this Earth.”

My eyes widened slightly. “You mean, I’m Loki’s daughter?”

“No,” he chuckled, face split in a smile like a loyal dog. “You’re no demi-god. But, it’s possible that he tested the mixture of some percentage of his DNA injected into yours. It’s possible he transfused some of his blood into your body and that’s what’s causing these extraordinary powers. Your lack of aging could be similar to our extended aging.”

I stared at him for a long time. “Uncle Thor?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “If that’s the title you wish to use, you may. But Loki is not your biological father.”

I shrugged. “It’s been 130 years since I’ve seen my real father. At this point, I don’t have one.”

West Berlin, 1952

I sat outside a small café, sipping the honeyed tea I’d been given as I watched passersby. I relished in my time in the cosmopolitan surrounded by war and passive-aggressive Cold War penis measuring.

I kept my sunglasses high, the scarf wrapped around my hair hid the majority of my features well. I’d long stopped fighting HYDRA, leaving the work to SHIELD and their agents. I’d moved into a tiny apartment near the trains. I only used my powers within the confines of my home.

“Y/N,” called a familiar voice, in a distinctly American accent. A rock seemed to settle in my stomach and I felt heat begin to crawl across my fingers. I ignored the call, taking another measured sip of tea. “Y/N!” The voice was closer now, memories of dark cement holding cells dredged up with the baritone sound.

I continued to ignore it, letting my eyes wander across the faces in the immediate crowd, trying to pick out a familiar one. I hadn’t made any friends since my move. I’d rarely spoken to my neighbors, the landlord, the waitress tending me. I kept my face down, my voice low. I shouldn’t have known anyone.

The man that slid into the seat next to me made my fingers literally tremble. The barely contained fire burning under my skin seemed to sky rocket from mildly uncomfortable to horribly painful. “No. No. You’re dead,” I shook my head, peering into the ice blue eyes that had once seemed so innocent, another boyish lad sent to a war that he had no business fighting.

“Do we know each other?” Bucky asked. His hair was longer now, tied neatly at the base of his skull. He wore a polished suit of black with a cream shirt beneath it. He was different, in more ways than one. The blankness in his eyes was gut-wrenching, but the glittering metal hand that folded with his flesh one on the table made me nauseous.

“I mourned you with the rest of America when you died.” I hissed.

“I think you’re mistaking me,” he murmured. “I can’t say we’ve met before. I was asked by my superiors to talk to you about a job position we think you’d be perfect for.”

I blinked at him, not that he could tell behind the sunglasses.

“We know about your powers,” he whispered, leaning across the table. “We need a woman of your strength.”

“Do you know that Steve is gone?” I asked. “Are you taking over for him as Captain America? What about the Howling Commandos?”

He barked a laugh that didn’t touch his eyes. “What are you going on about, darlin’?”

That’s when I realized what was wrong with him. Nothing touched his eyes. He’d filled out, much more than he’d been when we’d last met. Not naturally either. I’d seen how much Steve changed after the super solider serum. Bucky’s changed seemed the same. But SHIELD wouldn’t be doing testing like that anymore.

“Who do you work for?”

“A very special deep science-slash-military faction for the government.” He answered, cool as you please. “Your blood would help us create more like you, make your abilities normalized so you could flourish, instead of hide. We could also use your strength in the field.”

“Which government?” I demanded. My skin was prickling. My gut said run.

“We’re the good guys, I can assure you,” he smiled so brightly that I almost believed it. “Let me take you for a drink, we can talk about it more.”

I shook my head. “I’m not interested.” I started to stand but the glittering hand snatched my wrist. He jerked me back and I landed in his lap. A few customers around looked at us, scandalized by our display, but quickly looked away when he pressed a scorching kiss to my lips.

When he broke away, his fingers all but crushing my jaw as he held me close. “It wasn’t an option.” He snarled, voice rough like gravel beneath bare feet, the sound scraping against my nerves.

I gripped his wrist, letting my hand heat up until he released me, growling in pain. “Guess you’ll have to get me first.” I snapped and started running, all care for the people staring after me gone as the Winter Solider chased after me.

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[paranetics]

also drarry, 24

24. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

Harry’s socked feet slide against the wooden tiles of his kitchen, pace rapid-fire switching from sleepy to hurried as Nimh yowls, tangling her body with his ankles. 

“You’re not a famine victim,” he admonishes her even as he pours a little extra into her bowl. Straightening, he casts a Tempus and realises that it is, in fact, just past four p.m. and Draco is late. “Bloody Slytherins,” he mutters. The pettiness of the statement is left unappreciated, alone except for the company of his cat. 

He wanders to the front room, stares at the heavy floral drapes and considers drawing them for a moment for no other reason than to look up and down the street for Draco, but he hasn’t drawn his curtains in ages and decides, wand dangling uselessly from his fingertips, that he’d really rather not. This house, the one he’s chosen to lock himself inside, is chock full of ghosts and memories half-buried beneath dust.

Harry spends a lot of time these days going through boxes, piecing together parts of Sirius’ life, collecting little scraps of stories of the other erased Black family members. He’d had Hermione and Ron help remove the portrait in the hall, the stench of Dark magic hasn’t completely deserted that part of the house, an angry black charred mark stained permanently where she had been, then told them to bugger off and live life, he’d do the rest. 

He hasn’t done much, these days, mostly spends his nights and days wandering number 12, Nimh trailing him, silent and pale, like a ghost where he’s supposed to be living. Standing morosely, staring at nothing, it takes a couple of minutes for Harry to register the familiar three-part knock.

“You’re late,” Harry accuses crossly when he yanks open the door. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shuffling past Harry and undoing his coat at the same time. He genuinely sounds it, too. 

Draco dumps his coat and scarf unceremoniously on Harry’s coatrack, beelining for the kitchen, grabbing the gelato container off the counter, knowing without asking that it’s for him, that Hermione brought it over, and knowing that Harry left it to thaw for him. He reaches for Harry’s spoons and digs in, aware that it’s already gone cookie-dough soft.

“Didn’t keep you long, did I?” he asks around the spoon. 

Harry sneers at him. “Thought Malfoys were brought up with manners.”

Draco shrugs. “You don’t exactly inspire extreme cleanliness.”

Harry shrugs back, hoping his expression is sharp and mocking, but suspects he only lands somewhere around vaguely fond. Draco’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he winces, hard, when he leans against the counter. Harry tilts his head at him.

“You okay?” he asks.

He’s never asked before, but they’re friends now, or – sort of. Something. Harry doesn’t trust anyone these days, but eventually, he’d had to give in. Draco used to sit outside on his porch, looking all sorts of miserable, last dredges of February snow settling on his shoulders and melting in his eyelashes. He was the Daily Prophet’s last resort, every other reporter and newswriter thrown firmly away when Harry’s front door had launched fireballs at them. All except Draco, who’d just stepped neatly to the side and gazed long-sufferingly up at Harry’s shuttered windows and yelled that he knew that Potter was hiding, and what, is he a coward now, he who faced the Dark Lord won’t even answer his front door.

Draco was meant to gather material on him for the new wireless show that the Prophet runs on the radio. He hasn’t said anything about Harry. Harry would know, he listens to it, the neat mish-mash of Muggle and Wizard pop, to soothing classical at night. He likes Draco’s morning show the best, he runs it with a muggle-born called Mark with a slow American drawl and wit just as quick as Draco’s, enjoys listening to them sniping at each other while reading the weather and other trashy celebrity stories.

“You should meet him,” Draco had remarked once, in the early days, standing by Harry’s dead fireplace, shivering. “He’d like you, and Mark doesn’t like anybody.”

Harry hadn’t said no way back then, and he won’t say yes now. Since then Ron and Hermione had started building a tentative relationship with Draco, by dropping by and exchanging books and various gossip, mostly about Ministry folk, all of them that Draco remembers. Molly still makes Draco wildly uncomfortable, so does Ginny, but she’s with Blaise now, so Harry suspects he sees her much more than any of the other Weasleys. 

He doesn’t think of her much these days, what with almost eight years behind them. She comes by once in awhile, red-cheeked and grinning, and Harry’ll hug her and take the bread from her arms and congratulate her on making her way in the Quidditch world while Hermione eyes him warily over the top of her coffee mug.

They’re worried for him, they don’t say, staying locked up and hating the idea of exposing himself, his screwed up head, to the disappointment of the whole world. Draco has, at least, started to attempt to establish something normal in Harry’s life, dropping by every day and just… talking. It hadn’t been like that after Harry had first let him in, snappish and tense and Harry’s magic had crackled so brightly you could taste it in the air, scrape your fingernails against the wooden boards of the wall and come away feeling electric.

“I’m fine,” Draco says, too late to be convincing. 

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, hoisting himself up onto the counter next to the stove. He swings his feet, heels banging against the cupboard. “Tell me what kept you, then.”

“Someone’s stealing from my coffee stash,” Draco answers immediately. “Someone who runs the evening show. I’m investigating,” he adds imperiously, top lip smeared with chocolate.

Harry smiles, indulgent. “I’m sure. Who did you run into on the way here?”

Draco pauses, eyes widening minutely. Harry’s smile stretches into a grin, delighted his guess had been right, probably not doing anything to discourage the suspicion Draco has that Harry might be a Seer.

He looks away, down at Nimh who rubs her tabby-cat hair all over the ankles of Draco’s trousers, wiping the smudge away with his thumb. “Nobody,” he mumbles.

Harry leaves it, deciding he won’t push where he’s not wanted to push. Suggests he’ll read some James Bond aloud, tatty copies Ron left when Harry had first started complaining of boredom and simultaneously expressing worrying amounts of venom towards the telly. Draco says yes, looking relieved.

They curl up in front of Harry’s fireplace, still coated with dark ash. Harry settles on the plush rug, cracks open the spine of Goldfinger, one they’ve read before, and falls into the familiar cadence of the words. Draco’s laying on his back on the sofa, stroking Nimh, who’s lounging on Draco’s stomach. When Harry catches sight of them, Draco’s eyes closed, Nimh purring as he strokes her, the knuckles of his other hand dragging against the carpet, mismatched socked feet tucked against the armrest, Harry’s voice stutters and falls away.

Draco cracks open an eye and catches Harry staring at him, dry-mouthed and heart beating too fast.

“Lord, Potter, you look like you’re having gas,” he says.

Harry pulls a face immediately. “Charming.”

“You think so,” Draco says, turning away and making himself more comfortable. “Come on, then. We’re not even at the good part.”

–

It’s four a.m., five a.m., some undesirable time when Harry wakes, shooting up in bed, heart in his throat, blood rushing in his veins. There are items in his room floating about, magic gone haywire with whatever panic his dream was. It’s pouring outside, he realizes, the heavy torrent-slash-hurricane outside momentarily drowned out by his own panting, and Harry times his breaths with the beat of the wind knocking something around outside. 

Distantly, Harry hears Nimh yowl and screech downstairs. He sighs out, savours the warmth of his bed before he gets up and putters down the stairs, sticking his glasses on his face and casting Lumos at the same time.

He freezes, horrified, in the pitch-black of his sitting room when he hears the faint three-part knock Draco uses, and Nimh meows, desperate, in response. Harry almost trips over her and the carpet in the entryway, trying to get the door open. Late night visits have always been bad, and eight years haven’t washed away the memory of living in constant terror. He throws it open and Draco tumbles in, groaning. Harry catches him before he hits the ground.

He’s soaking wet and Harry’s door immediately becomes a puddle, Harry struggling to drag Draco inside and close the door at the same time.

“Ugh,” Draco murmurs, and that’s when Harry sees the blood.

He doesn’t freeze, even though he’s never been good at seeing his friends in pain (Ron, on the ground in the forest, groaning with incoherence, fingers searching blindly for Harry or Hermione or both, skin stark white, freckles a sick, sharp contrast, flashes in his mind). He kicks the door shut and manages, somehow, to drop Draco onto the sofa and peel off his blood-stained, rainwater-soaked coat.

Draco shivers, lips blue, white shirt almost all the way red, hair plastered to his forehead. Harry gives up and finally, after years gone unused, lights a fire in the grate and kneels down in front of Draco, gently casting warming charms.

“What the fuck,” Harry says. “Why aren’t you at Saint Mungo’s?”

“D-d-don’t,” Draco tries and Harry shushes him. “I don’t want,” he says, stubbornly, “a-a-any-anyone but you. You’re the only one I trust to-to-to do this.”

Harry’s hands slow on the buttons of Draco’s shirt, helping him shrug it off so he can see. The skin on his back is the worst, stripped raw, tiny little pinpricks that have blood gathering at their opening. It looks like he was poked all over with a needle, deep enough and hard enough to draw blood, enough to satisfy someone with a problem.

“Okay, okay,” Harry whispers to himself, braces his palm against Draco’s knee and casts all the healing charms Ron taught him, back when Ron started Healer training. 

Draco hisses, sharp and painful, digs one of his hands into Harry’s shoulder, like he wants to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, unsure which to pick. Nimh meows, soft and curious, trekking across the back of the sofa.

When Harry finishes, done the best he can, he makes Draco wear one of his too-big Weasely sweaters, puts him in drawstring pants and makes him sleep in Harry’s bed. He’s too wired to sleep, so he stands in his kitchen for hours, sipping the same mug of coffee, watching his Tempus charm tick from the wee hours of the morning to the afternoon, blood gone angry, magic crackling in his hands, flinging all the ceramic pots on his neighbour’s windowsill to the concrete below. Harry times his breaths with the sound of the terracotta hitting the ground. Crack, crack, smash.

–

Draco comes downstairs half-way between noon and afternoon, looking pale and sallow – and that’s saying something. Draco hasn’t eaten much in the years after Hogwarts, gotten notoriously bad at taking care of himself, doesn’t look like a healthy weight.

“You look like shit,” Harry says instead of all the things he wants to say. You’re alive, I’m glad and you have no idea how worried I am and I thought we were friends, what’s going on, please tell me.

Draco says, “Smells like there’s a hypocrite living in your skin, Potter.”

Which, okay, fine, maybe.

Draco’s eyes are cautious, movement slow and careful, like he’s trying not to startle a wild deer. Harry should be treating him like this, Harry ain’t the one that showed up in the middle of the night, half-frozen and soaked in blood and sky-jizz.

Harry pushes a plate of bacon sandwiches toward him, kept under a warming charm, and waits for Draco to finish eating before he asks, “So what happened?”

Draco shrugs.

Harry sighs, looks up at the ceiling. “Look,” Harry says. “I’d really like you to tell me.”

“Okay,” Draco says, slight reluctance at the base of his vocal chords. 

“Because, you know, we’re friends now, or–” Harry stops. “Wait. Really? Okay?”

Draco sighs. “I probably should’ve told you sooner.”

Harry keeps his vehement agreement inside, stomps it down with the rest of the speech he’d spent those hours alone rehearsing. 

“I mean, there’s this group of guys that loiter in Diagon Ally, just outside where I work, you know. They don’t like me, understandably, I think they were veterans or,” Draco shrugs. “Sometimes they follow me. Cast stinging hexes, calling out rubbish. It’s distasteful, especially since I did, you know, apologize.”

Harry remembers, sometime in March, figuring out the crochet needles, the way his lungs dropped to his knees when Draco, twenty-one, tired and just starting to re-learn who Harry Potter is, went on air and talked about his involvement with Voldemort. 

Mark, who hadn’t grown up here, seemed rather surprised at the story, murmuring, “You never had a problem with me.”

Draco, saying, “People grow up, life goes on. Either you accept it or you end up with part of yourself locked up. You get stagnant, fall out of the loop of life.”

They’d fought that day, like they were back at school, hard and childish and Harry’s magic filling the house to the brim with the taste of iron, pissed that Draco would say that on the air, Draco snapping waspishly that neither of them had realized that they were still on the air, that maybe the reason Harry was taking it so personally because it was true.

Almost four years ago now, Harry thinks with some surprise.

“I was heading in early, I was going catch the coffee thief. There were more than usual,” Draco laughs, sardonic. “I didn’t hear them over the sound of the rain.”

–

Harry’s heart stutters painfully, standing in between the door and the concrete steps leading to the sidewalk, reminding himself he doesn’t have to go, he doesn’t have to listen to the fury that sets in his chest.

But Harry’s always wanted to avenge the people he loves, always been stopped by people more sensible than him, forced to let emotion wash over like waves crashing over more waves in an ocean. He thinks of Sirius here, with a pang, then Remus and Dumbledore.

That’s what makes him take his first steps out, flipping the hood of Hermione’s Oxford hoodie over his head, drawing Sirius’ old leather jacket tighter around his shoulders, tucking his hands in the pockets of his denims and quickens his pace. It’s eleven p.m. so Harry passes almost completely unnoticed, and no one who sees him recognizes him or cares.

He draws up to them, four guys leaning against the concrete brick building of the robe dry cleaner’s across from the wireless building where Draco runs his show. Harry recognizes it from Hermione’s description, she’d come in excited the day after guest starring, half-giddy and half-patronizing, saying Harry ought to visit it, isn’t it such a nice place. 

Harry takes off the hood and tilts his head. It doesn’t take them long to notice him, takes them a nanosecond to recognize his scar.

“Hi,” Harry says, false cheer, conversationally. “My name’s Harry Potter. From what I understand, there’s a man from over there,” Harry waves vaguely behind him. “He’s got a Death Eater mark. His name is Draco Malfoy.”

The guys glance at each other nervously.

“What’s he gotta do with us?” one of the blokes asks bravely.

Harry flashes a smile that isn’t friendly at all. “You touch him again and you won’t get a second warning. If you fought in the war, if you remember what it felt like,” Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t fight for this, reckon you didn’t really, either. I don’t care about your petty revenge. Voldemort righted wrongs with violence. We don’t do that. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

“And besides,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he turns away, “people grow up. Life goes on.”

When he gets home the door is ajar, and he can hear Draco’s voice talking to Nimh, pitched low, and she meows anxiously, reacting to his pacing. Harry pauses in the doorway and stares at him, hand rucking up his perfectly styled hair, waving his wand around. He calls Harry’s name once, into the air, like a hopeful question, like this isn’t the first time he’s asked.

“Yes?” Harry says, from the doorway. 

Draco spins to him, wand brandished, then relief breaks the scowl on his face and his eyes widen. “You’re outside,” he says.

“Astute observation skills,” Harry remarks, stepping inside and making sure the door’s locked when he closes it this time. “Those guys won’t bother you anymore.”

Harry watches as Draco rakes his eyes over Harry, cataloguing the dirt on his body, the reddened mark on his jaw, the flecks of blood on his knuckles. He’d punched one of the guys when they’d jeered after him, calling Draco purist scum. Hermione would deny that even now, these days. It’d not been pretty.

Draco meets his eyes again, bright and grateful, and he strides up to Harry, presses him into the doorway and kisses him. Harry makes a surprised sound, brain going offline at the first brush of Draco’s mouth against his. He’s cold from the night air but Draco is a hot, long line against his body. Unsure what to do with his hands, Harry clenches them at his sides, then puts them on Draco’s shoulders, wants to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, unsure which to pick.

Draco’s hand slides along his jaw, fingertips brushing the raw spot that’s sure to bruise later, angling Harry’s head as he kisses back, dizzy.

“Oh, hello,” Harry says, when Draco pulls away, hands sliding down to his waist, keeping him close.

“Hi,” Draco says back, smiling. Harry thinks of chocolate smeared on his top lip, thinks of  Draco curled up on his couch, of Draco wearing his jumper. 

“What’s this, then?” Harry can’t help but ask, even though he knows he’s smiling big enough to crack his face.

“This is me trusting you,” Draco says very seriously. “Like trusting the big scary world for an hour in order to punch someone.”

Harry nods, deciding to go with it. “I’m familiar with the metaphor.”

Draco laughs, a helpless little goose-honk sound that Harry had never imagined Draco could make when they were at school. Just for that, Harry decides to kiss him again. 

(this is. a drabbleFAIL……. i’m so sorry. unashamedly inspired by Natasha’s On a Clear Day – which is such a great fic. check it out.)

send me a prompt and a ship + i’ll write a drabble!

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Cassandra Pt 2

Hi everyone! Here is the second part of the Cassandra story!

Highly recommended that you read the previous parts before this one:

Cerberus Prequel

Part 1 

Enjoy! 

I was pretty sure I was going to die. 

… Well, not really, as I had already seen the future, but still, it was not looking good for me at the moment.

I rolled, cursing loudly as an axe came crashing down beside me. The monster trying to kill me paused as it struggled to pull its weapon from the ground. I used the moment to catch my breath, this was hard! The Minotaur stood up, utilizing all eight feet of muscle it possessed. Its red eyes glared in my direction as steam poured from its snout, misting the cool autumn air. It hefted its axe a few times, and, seemingly convinced that it was in good enough condition to continue to use, started to move in my direction once more. The creature sensed my struggle as I tried to crawl away and laughed, a low, ugly sound. It irritated me.

“Hey buddy, just because I’m a little out of shape does not give you the right to laugh at me.” I grinned. “Besides, I’ve already seen your future, and trust me, it isn’t pretty.”

It ignored my words and charged towards me once again. I let out a sigh, rolling on the ground out of the way, waiting for an opportunity to strike. I hadn’t expected it to believe me.

After all, no one ever did.

My gift was also my curse, a present that turned out to be my doom, and also interestingly enough, the reason I was currently here, fighting the Minotaur.

“Please help me defeat Apollo.’’

It had been my last desperate cry for help. I was at the end of my rope. One too many times I had seen the future but been unable to save anyone. One too many times I heard a friend die while I stood by, powerless.

No more.

“…” There was only silence. I started to break out in a cold sweat. Deals with the gods were tricky business; my life was already ruined by one god, if I offended Athena as well…

“What an… interesting request.” The voice came from right behind me. I spun around, still clutching the amulet in my hands. Feeling the slight overwhelming sensation that comes from being in the presence of a god, I suppressed the urge to run away, and settled for a polite bow.

“Athena, I’m honored.”

Athena looked almost like a mortal woman at first glance, albeit with overly sharp, defined features that seemed too regular to be natural. Her intense gaze pierced me through, making feel as if she could see anything and everything. I unconsciously backed up a few steps, trying to put a little distance between us.

“I’m sure you are.” She seemed amused. “So why is Apollo’s little rebellious priestess calling my name?”

“I’m not his priestess anymore.” I cleared my throat nervously, trying to stand up straight. “I haven’t been for a few millennia, not since he cursed me.”

She chuckled, the sound sending cold chills down my spine. It carried with it the sound of war drums, of thunder and rain and unimaginable power. “Oh, little seeress, you will always be a priestess. You made an oath upon your soul to dedicate your life to serving Apollo. His… peculiarities… do not invalidate that.”

I… was not expecting that answer. I sat down on my couch, putting my head in my hands.

“So is there no way to free myself from this torture?”

“You could always agree to sleep with Apollo… he may lift your curse.” Athena suggested casually, her face coldly indifferent.

“I’d rather die.”

“Not really an option, considering he’s made you immortal.”  She smiled, the expression strangely out of place on her severe features. “Although I admire the strength needed to reject a god continuously for thousands of years.”

She sat down next to me, stretching languorously.

“You wish to be free from your current fate?”

I nodded.

“What price would you be willing to pay?”

“…” Staring at the goddess silently, I thought over the question. My current life was hell. This never ending cycle of foreseeing a terrible future, warning those around me, only to be mocked, disbelieved, until I am forced to watch them die. The terrible irony of knowing the future but being unable to change it. I wanted it to end. 

But I knew more than anyone that trying to make a deal with a god was a risky move. There were many tragic figures in worse situations than myself.

“Can you kill him?” I almost didn’t recognize my voice, it came out flat and angry.

She laughed, throwing her head back  and holding her stomach. Wiping tears from her eyes, she answered “Perhaps, I’ve never tried, but you couldn’t afford it.”

“Can you help me change my fate? Sever the connection between me and Apollo, remove my curse?”

“Much more likely, and possibly fun.” She seemed to be considering it, staring intently at me. “But it’s going to require not a small amount of work on your part.”

And so I found myself in my current situation, fighting the Minotaur to the death. I kept dodging, allowing it to run past me. We repeated this over and over, I was betting on it losing stamina and showing me an opening to strike. In one hand I clutched a dagger. Once a ceremonial knife used in sacrifices, it was the only possession I kept with me since leaving the temple of Apollo. After millennia, it was still razor sharp. 

If I could just get close enough…

My foot caught on a pile of rubble, and I lost my balance. The Minotaur laughed, throwing its head back with a roar of victory. It stepped forward, blocking any escape, and raised its axe…

“My dearest Cassandra, whatever have you gotten yourself into now?”

A casual voice spoke out, completely out of place in this bloody atmosphere.

I looked up, surprised that the axe hadn’t come crashing down on my face yet. The Minotaur was frozen into place, unable to move a single muscle. Perfectly poised in a position to strike, like a living statue. Only its eyes moved frantically, the white dominating as its pupils constricted with fear.

I, on the other hand, was free to move, and did. Without hesitation, I stood up, and quickly drew my dagger across the creature’s neck. Blood poured over my hands, and the bull head slipped down, falling to the ground with a meaty thud. The knife hadn’t even paused when cutting through bone. The body was still frozen in place, axe held aloft.  It matched perfectly with the vision I had seen of its death on my way over here.

Another prophecy come true.

“How vicious!” A dark chuckle raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “Using such an unfair advantage, not really the proper action of my priestess, is it?”

I turned to face the being I hated the most in the world. “I’m not your priestess, Apollo.”

His smile made my skin crawl, as he took slow deliberate steps towards me. I wanted to run, but found my feet rooted into place. “You are whatever I say you are.” His voice was nothing but a whisper, but it blocked out all other sounds. “Your life is bound to my will, secured there by your own oath and blood.” Only centimeters separated us, I could feel his breath on my ear, but couldn’t flinch away. “You. Are. Mine.”

I felt his power holding me in place fade and immediately tried to kick him between the legs. Instead I was thrown against the nearest wall of the labyrinth, my ears ringing with the impact. Apollo sighed with disappointment.

“Your life would be so much easier if you would just give in, my dear.”

I glared at him, spitting out blood. “Death. first.”

“How quaint.” He looked around, his expression becoming bored. “What are you even doing here? The Minotaur no longer guards any treasure, just an empty labyrinth.”

“Maybe I hoped it could kill me.” Trying to hide my panic, I struggled to my feet.

“Nice try, but then you wouldn’t have killed it the second it was caught in my power.” His gaze lazily crawled over my skin, making me want to hide. “Are you scheming against me, Cassandra?”

I tried to shake my head, but he held up a hand, stopping the movement. “No, don’t lie to me, dearest. It will only disappoint me.” He tapped a finger thoughtfully to his chin. “Well, perhaps I will leave you to it.”

“What?” I couldn’t disguise my shock.

“You haven’t looked this lively in ages, my love.” He grinned. “I want you to try your hardest, so that you’ll feel that much more despair when I pull all your clever plans down around you.”

“No…”

“And then you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“NO….”

“You’ve seen the future, Cassandra.” His smile turned cruel. “We both have. You will lose, I will win. But keep delaying the inevitable.”

I fell to my knees.

“Do your best, Cassandra.” His form was gone, but his voice whispered in my ear. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my despair.

I wasn’t sure how long I knelt there, tears running down my face. I knew this feeling of hopelessness well. It had been a constant companion over the thousands of years that Apollo had been playing this game with me. I had resisted for so long…

I shook my head. I would keep resisting. If there was even only one breath left within me, I would use it to curse him on my way to hell. It may be hopeless.

But I was not going down without a fight.

I moved forward, working my way through the labyrinth. I counted turns, keeping  track of my location as I made my way to the center.

Apollo had been right, there was no treasure here. It had once been a prison for the original monster. Then it became a holding place for great treasures. But over the years, they had been plundered by the gods or their human heroes, and there was nothing but blood and violence left. No one came to the labyrinth anymore.

But I wasn’t looking for treasure. 

I came to find someone.

I finally reached the center of the labyrinth. In it, a simple, lovely cottage rested. Surrounded by a beautiful garden of flowers, it wouldn’t have been out of place in a fairy tale book… if it weren’t for the statues.

Guarding the house, horrible twisted stone statues stood all around the perimeter. Humans, monsters… all trapped in a moment of indescribable pain, in incredible lifelike detail.

As I looked on, shivering with fright, I felt a darkness take over my vision.

No! NOT NOW! I silently screamed but it was too late.

It was a vision of the future, but not one of me. Before me stood a beautiful woman, her appearance only marred by her waist long hair being made entirely of living, writhing snakes. Dressed in black with proud eyes and an arrogant smile, she extended a hand holding a blade. A young, handsome man stood before her, carrying a large, mirrored shield. It was cracked, broken. He was thrown to the ground, about to be defeated… She was laughing with delight, not paying attention to her surroundings. I screamed a warning, but it made no sound.

An unseen hand stabbed her from behind.

The woman stumbled, confused, and the young hero stood up, his sword raised. I ran forward, wanting to grab his hand, but I passed right through him as the blade came down, chopping through her neck. Her head rolled off her shoulders, her mouth stretched in a silent scream, her eyes wide open and afraid.

NO!

As I cried out, the blackness faded, and I woke up in unfamiliar surroundings.  I looked around. I was on a soft bed, surrounded by warm, colorful furnishings.

Where was I?

“I presume you are lost?” the sentence was lazily drawn out, as if the speaker were too bored to bother to get the words out faster.

I jumped to my feet, searching around the cottage, but seeing no one. “Hello?”

Stepping out of the shadows, the woman from my vision frowned as she continued to question me. She looked exactly how she had when I had seen her death, except now she was wearing dark sunglasses over her eyes. I was grateful, I didn’t feel like spending the rest of my life as a stone statue. Apollo would probably use to it decorate his bedroom or something equally distasteful.

“Why are you here?” The impatience in her voice brought me out of my reverie.

“Medusa?” I stepped forward, a smile on my face. “I’m looking for you!”

Her blade came out, pressed against my throat. “You found me.” her face was stoic, without seeing her eyes I could only assume she was angry. “Now who told you where I was?”

This… was not going well. “It was Athena. She said she was calling in a favor?”

“That stupid witch. I thought we agreed to leave each other alone?” Medusa was muttering under her breath, as she turned away from me to pour herself a drink from a bottle of clear fluid.

Definitely not going well. “She also said, if you come help us, she will give you what you are searching for.”

THAT got her attention. She finished her drink in a single gulp and her face stretched out in a grin. “Why didn’t you start with that?! Let’s go.”

It took two flights and a cab ride  to get to the location Athena had told me to meet her at. Throughout the whole trip Medusa stayed silent. Not wanting to force her to interact, I thought carefully through the vision I had had of her death. I knew that simply telling her about it wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t believe me. I could only look for the people around her, to see if I could identify which person would betray her and stop them.

I hoped she wouldn’t join the list of tragedies I couldn’t prevent.

We finally arrived, to a broken down hotel surrounded by a lake. As we stepped onto a boat driven by a hooded man, I felt our environment change. We were no longer in the realm of humanity. This place was different. I shivered in the cold and wind, hearing the screams of the damned. I knew where we were now.

The Underworld.

I wanted to run away, but before I could lose my nerve…

“Welcome to our home!” We were greeted by a smiling couple and dragged inside for tea.

“Athena should be here any minute.” The young woman guided Medusa and me to sit down on a couch and sat in between us, grinning from ear to ear. “In the meantime, let’s get to know each other!”

“They may not want to talk about themselves, Persephone.” The man pouring the tea gently corrected the woman. “Please excuse my wife.” He handed each of us a cup with an apologetic smile. “She tends to forget that not everyone wants to be her new best friend.”

I stared at him, confused for a moment. The smiling, polite man was HADES? God of the dead? And this bouncing smiling woman was Persephone, Queen of the Underworld?

“Shush, they will if you don’t talk them out of it! Then what am I supposed to do with the friendship bracelets I made?” Persephone grumbled a bit, before turning to Medusa. 

“I already know who you are, dear, and I’m glad to see you aren’t dead.”

Medusa grinned, seemingly despite efforts to keep a straight face. “I’m glad to not be dead.”

“See!” She turned to Hades with a smile. “We already have something in common!” As she spoke, a large three headed black dog jumped onto the couch, licking my hand with a whine. “Cerberus! No licking the guests during tea!”

The dog ignored her reprimand, and I couldn’t help but pet it in response. It was just too cute!

“Anyways, Medusa, I’m sure Athena has been up to her shenanigans, but I’ve heard what you’ve been through… if Poseidon or that pipsqueak Perseus ever show up near you again… just call out to me, dear. I’ll cut their man parts off and feed them to Cerberus.”

“PERSEPHONE!” Hades interjected, shocked, but his wife simply waved off his concerns.

“Oh don’t worry so much, I can take them.” She then turned away from the stunned gorgan and looked at me with a smile. “And I assume you are Cassandra?”

“Yes.” She had surprised me at every turn, but still the giant hug caught me off guard.

“THANK YOU!” She actually had tears in her eyes. “You sent me those seeds, right? If you hadn’t, my husband and I might not be back together.”

“Oh… it wasn’t a big deal.” I had been acting on impulse, a vision of a young woman eating seeds and becoming happy. I was glad that it had worked out so well.

“Oh it is a big deal! You are such a wonderful girl….” Her eyes squinted, as she seemed lost in thought. “You both are…”

“Persephone…” Hades had a warning tone.

“I’ve got it!”

“Don’t…”

“You’re both adopted!” With that she hugged both of us, and shocked into silence, Medusa and I simply looked at each other with confusion.

Hades groaned. “I’m sorry, she does this a lot.” He pulled her off of us and sat her next to him. “Sweetheart… you can’t adopt every person that you like. They are fully grown women… surely they don’t need…”

“Are you trying to separate me from my lovely daughters?” Persephone was pouting. “Of course they’re grown women! Doesn’t mean they don’t need a good mother now and then!” She turned back to us with a smile. “You two are okay with being adopted, right?”

Who could turn down the puppy dog eyes she had?

I found myself nodding, and to my amusement, saw Medusa mimicking the gesture.

“Great! That’s settled. Just so you know, I don’t tolerate others who bully my children. If anyone ever bothers you…” She cracked her knuckles, and the whole realm seemed to shake with power. “Let me know. I’ll kill them and hide the bodies.”

Hades sighed. “She’s like this now, what will she be like if she actually gives birth?”

“I’d start preparing soon…” The words escaped before I could hold them back.

“What?”

“Never mind!” I shook my head. But I could see it. Not a full vision, but a glimpse into their future. A tall, handsome man, with his father’s dark hair and kind eyes, but his mother’s mischievous grin. Wow.

I didn’t have long to contemplate the view, however, as a new presence joined us.

“Welcome everyone.” Athena walked forward her eyes taking everything in. “Let’s talk about what needs to be done.”

“What is this all about, Athena?” Persephone looked curious.

The goddess smiled. “Not much, We are just going to break into the realm of fate, and change Cassandra’s thread of destiny.”

I felt my jaw drop. Wasn’t that a little much to ask of strangers? To my surprise, Persephone was already nodding.

“Anything for my daughter. Count Cerberus and me in. Hades has to tend the underworld, though.”

Medusa agreed quickly as well. “If you pay me with the information you promised. I would go to Olympus itself and cut off Zeus’s beard.”

They all turned to me. I was overwhelmed. Just earlier today I had been caught in despair, hopeless, without a way out. Even with their help though…

I sighed, feeling obligated to warn them. “You should all know, I’ve seen a vision of a future, where I face off against Apollo.” I looked away, not wanting to see their expressions. “I lose.”

“…” There was a moment of silence. I felt my shoulders hunch over, my head hanging low.

“You really are cursed.” Persephone reached out and lifted my chin, smiling brightly. “I don’t believe a single word of that prophecy.”

“W-What?”

Medusa snorted. “Don’t worry so much. The future is bad? We’ll just change it.”

I felt tears run down my face. “Everyone… thanks.”

Persephone’s grin turned vicious. “Thank us after you stomp all over that twat Apollo’s face!”

Laughing out loud, Athena raised her hand. “So can I assume you are all willing to join in this plan?”

We all nodded.

“Then let’s get started.”

[lastsonlost]

How did I miss this one?

ATHENS — A prospective client walked into the narrow, dimly lit room in the basement of a broken-down building in central Athens. Elena, 22, took off her robe and stood up. Evaggelia, her 59-year-old, fiery-tempered madam, immediately went into her pitch.

“My girl is flawless,” Evaggelia said in Greek. “I recommend her without reservation.” She recited the “menu,” and added that with one exception, “my girl does everything in bed.”

Without taking off his sunglasses, the paunchy middle-aged client rubbed his chin and eyed Elena, a Russian-Polish prostitute, as she flipped her blond hair and turned in sky-high black heels. “O.K.,” he finally said.

I was sitting a foot away on a small couch fitted with a plastic slipcover inside a brothel, witnessing this age-old transaction. We were on Filis Street — a warren of alleyways and dingy two-story houses — which has been home to Athenian brothels for most of the past century.

The trade is more desperate now because of Greece’s lost decade since the 2008 financial crisis, which has left no profession unscathed. The collapsed economy and the arrival of tens of thousands of migrants have pushed even more women into prostitution — even as prices have fallen through the floor.

And for all the talk of a new era in gender relations, with women around the world speaking out and forcing a reckoning against sexual violence, #MeToo does not exist here in this room bathed in red and purple lights, where the women are silent and their bodies are for sale, and a coffee table is loaded with condoms.

“I had a flower shop for 18 years — and now I’m here out of necessity, not out of joy,” said Dimitra, a middle-aged woman who lost her shop in the crisis and now works as a madam on Filis Street. “I used to be called Mrs. Dimitra, but now I’ve become a whore.”

“Prostitution has increased and changed, basically in the context of the new political, economic and cultural environment,” said Grigoris Lazos, a professor of criminology at Panteion University in Athens, referring to Greece’s painful economic austerity.

Mr. Lazos spent six years researching how the country’s twin crises — migration and economic austerity — had changed prostitution in Athens. He found that the number of prostitutes in the city had increased by 7 percent since 2012, yet prices have dropped drastically, both for women working on the streets and in brothels.

“In 2012, it would require an average of 39 euros” for a client to hire a prostitute in a brothel, Mr. Lazos said, “while in 2017 just €17 — a 56 percent decrease.”

According to Greek law, a brothel has to be at least about 655 feet away from schools, hospitals, churches, nurseries and public squares, among other places. But given the density of downtown Athens, it’s virtually impossible to house prostitutes there legally. Mr. Lazos found that only eight of the 798 brothels operating in the city in August were legal.

The number was vastly different from the police statistics, which count no more than 300 brothels in the city. A spokesman for the Athenian police, Theodoros Chronopoulos, explained that the official number does not include hidden brothels.

Mr. Chronopoulos said that officers aggressively work to break up trafficking rings, pointing to rising arrests. But the police mostly leave brothels alone, he said, partly because of the sense among the authorities that they help single men deal with loneliness.

“We’re quite tolerant when it comes to brothels,” he said, “because we understand that what they do is social service.”

The police later provided an additional statement, with Mr. Chronopoulos saying: “There is no tolerance when it comes to brothels. The checks are intensive and constant and violations are applied where appropriate.”

None of the women I interviewed spoke of their profession as a social service, and they often expressed disgust for their male clients. Evaggelia, the madam where Elena works, said of the men: “They’re not worthy enough of a girlfriend. They think that by paying 20 euros, they buy something.”

All the women insisted on using only one name because of the stigma and for safety reasons. None said that she had been forced — except by necessity — to be there. But none wanted to be here.

“I hate sex,” Elena said. “I like the money, not the job.”

Anastasia, known as “Amazon” to clients, has worked as a prostitute since she was 14. She’s now 33, and says the work is harder than ever.

“People don’t have money anymore,” she said one afternoon in Satovriandou Street outside a hotel named Easy Access, where clients have sessions that last from 10 minutes to a half-hour.

Anastasia says they promise, “I’ll come when I get paid,” or they ask for bargains. Men often ask for unprotected sex, she said, and many prostitutes who are drug addicts take on such clients for less than 10 euros.

“The ones that do it have AIDS, so they don’t care, they’re even doing it for vengeance,” according to Anastasia, who is in rehabilitation for drug addiction. “But they’ve destroyed the market.”

The number of H.I.V. cases in Greece has actually dropped since 2012, when intravenous drug use was rampant during the height of the financial crisis, said Dimitra Paraskeva, the head of Greece’s H.I.V. office. Greece had 628 H.I.V. cases last year, almost half the number from six years ago, according to official data.

In the cheaper Athenian brothels of Metaxourgio, I met Monica, a 30-year-old Albanian prostitute who grew up in the northern city of Thessaloniki. She said she entered the business 10 years ago, when she lived in Crete. She moved to Athens five years ago, in search of a new life, and initially worked in a taverna.

She had completed one year toward a culinary degree to become a cook and wanted to use her earnings to pay for a second year — but her boss never paid her a salary.

“I came here,” she said of the brothel, “because it’s the only job that, once you do it, you know you’ll get paid.”

Today, she spends six to eight hours a day trying to entice clients, but most do not stay.

“They don’t have money,” she said. “They haven’t had money for the past seven years.”

When she does get a client, she charges 10 euros for 10 minutes, and is allowed to keep half.

“A few years ago, they used to tip,” Monica said. “They’d give you 20 and 50, even 100 euros if they liked it. Now, no more tips.”

With the Greek crisis, the clientele changed, too, the women noted. They are now largely migrants, many who live in the apartments above the brothels in the gritty, low-rent areas. Many Greek men are simply too poor to pay anymore.

“Their wages used to be 800 or 900 euros,” Monica said. “Now they get nothing.”

Besides the increase in migrant clients, Mr. Lazos’s research pointed to an uptick of about 5 percent in Greek clientele between 2012 and 2017.

“It’s something that a man can’t quit,” Manolis, a 33-year-old taxi-driver and brothel regular who insisted on being identified only by his first name, whispered one afternoon on Filis Street. A small white light was on outside several doors left half-opened, a signal to roaming clients that a prostitute was available.

“Sex is like smoking,” Manolis said. “You’ll find 20 euros for it, one way or another.”

Despite the drop in prices, customers have become choosier.

“Seven or eight years ago, 20 to 30 men would go to the bedroom with the girl,” said Vaso, 65, who has been a madam for the past 20 years. Today, she said, it is more like five or six.

“Now they come, take a look,” she said, “and say, ‘I’ll be back.’ ”

[emospritelet]

Dark Heart prompt: Malcolm to Gold “Not you again.” Gold to Malcolm “Why do you hate me?” But only if you’re going to go with Malcolm as the death and only if it tilts into your plan.

Well, there has to be a reason Gold’s emotionally closed off, right?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

Send me a prompt from this list so I can torture the babies more or give them more sexytimes

AO3 link

Twenty eight years earlier

Gold drove along the narrow street, eyes darting from left to right as he searched, fear heightening his senses.  He drew to a stop outside a small terraced house, its front garden overgrown with weeds, its windows dirty and the sills in need of painting.  A stuffed rabbit lay on the seat next to him, a well-chewed blue felt waistcoat stitched onto the brown faux-fur body, and he snatched it up as he got out of the car, making his way up the uneven path to the front door and knocking rapidly.  It was a moment or so before it was opened, a moment that seemed to last an age, and he was about to knock again when the chain rattled and a widening gap revealed the dark hair, unshaven cheeks and somewhat bloodshot eyes of Malcolm Gold, his father.  His lip curled.

“Not you again!” he growled.  “I told you before, lad, fuck off and leave me alone!”

“Milah’s gone.”  Gold pushed past him into the house, looking around as he headed for the kitchen.  “Milah’s gone, and she’s taken my boy!”

“Probably out spending your money,” said his father.  “Or drinking.  Not like she’d be cleaning the bloody house, is it?  Not when you do it all.”

“No no no, she’s taken him!” he insisted, shaking the toy rabbit.  “The neighbours said she hasn’t been home since yesterday, and Bae doesn’t go anywhere without this!  She’d have to come back for it, but she hasn’t!”

“Well, she’s not here,” said Malcolm irritably, raking a hand through his hair.  “She can’t fucking stand me, you know that!”

“I - I just thought…”  Gold ran a hand over his face, trying to quell his rising panic.  “I thought maybe she might have left him here.  It - it was the only other place I thought they might be…”

“What, because I’ve shown such an interest in the brat?” scoffed Malcolm. “Try the pubs near the docks, she’s always giving the sailors a bloody lap dance, from what I hear.”

“For God’s sake, Dad!”

Malcolm let out a grumbling sigh, as though dealing with a missing grandson was too much of an inconvenience.

“Alright, fine,” he said grudgingly.  “When did she leave?”

“I don’t know!”  Gold paced back and forth, fear making him snappish.  “I was away with work for a couple of days, and she wouldn’t answer the phone!”

“So you came running back, did you?”  His voice was sneering.  “When did you get so whipped, boy?”

“She has Bae!” snapped Gold.  “I have to find them!”

“Why?  Why d’you care?”

Gold was taken aback, and for a moment he could only stare.

“Because - because she has my son!”

Malcolm let out a nasty laugh.

“That what she told you?  God, you really are a fucking gullible idiot!”

Gold shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing.

“What are you talking about?”

“She was shagging half the town for fuck’s sake!” he spat.  “She turns up two years later with a kid, and you’re the only one stupid enough to believe her when she says it’s yours!”

“She said she was sure I was the father!”

“Aye, because she’s a cunning bitch!” shouted Malcolm.  “I tried to tell you, didn’t I?  You’ve got a decent job with a good wage, but you’re not her type, lad!”

“I know we haven’t exactly been happy,” said Gold impatiently.  “But that’s not—”

“Oh, open your bloody eyes!” snarled Malcolm.  “She knew you’d be the only one to take her in and look after the kid while she went out bloody drinking and whoring herself around the place!  Have you not the sense you were born with?  She’s gone, and good bloody riddance!  If you ask me, you dodged a bullet.”

Gold let his hands drop, his brow wrinkling.

“What?”

Malcolm grumbled to himself, crossing to the kitchen counter and tugging the cork from a bottle of whisky before pouring himself a glass and taking a drink.

“If she’s gone and taken the kid with her, think of it as a blessing,” he said.  “You’re only a young lad, you can start again.”

“Start again?”

“Find yourself a pretty girl,” said Malcolm, his voice rough from the whisky.  “Find a dozen pretty girls, and thank your lucky stars you got a second chance at life, instead of listening to the constant whining of a brat who’s probably not even yours.”

His words pierced Gold to the core, as they always had, and he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from screaming.

“He’s my son,” he said quietly.  “I know it.”

“Really?” Malcolm let out a hollow chuckle.  “On the birth certificate, are you?”

Gold hesitated.

“Well, I wasn’t there when he was born, was I?” he said.  “But - but she said he’s mine!  She promised me!”

“Well, that means bugger all,” said Malcolm.  “The two of you weren’t married.  You weren’t there when he was born.  Whether you were there when he was conceived is a question only she can answer.  If she knows, of course.  Seems to be it could have been any one of a dozen.”

He was grinning now, as though his son’s pain was amusing.  As though it proved a point he had tried to make on more than one occasion.  Gold had a sinking feeling that it did, and a sliver of ice was making its way down his back.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Does if you want to go chasing after them,” said Malcolm, taking another drink and smacking his lips.  “You got no rights, boy!  No more than any of the knuckle-draggers she used to shag in the pub toilets.”

Gold squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the words.

“I know he’s mine,” he said simply.  “I can feel it.  In every way that counts, he’s mine, and I—”  He swallowed, the word he almost never used sticking in his throat before he could let it break free, scratching on its way out.  “I love him.”

“Love!”  Malcolm laughed nastily.  “Love makes us sick, you bloody idiot!  Love only ever ends in pain, how many times have I tried to tell you that?  It means nothing!”

“You loved my mother,”said Gold quietly.  “I know you did.”

Malcolm rounded on him, his features twisted in what looked like a mixture of hatred and disdain, his eyes flashing as his lips drew back over his teeth.

“And what did it bring me?” he demanded.  “Pain.  Death.  You got something to love, you got something to lose.  It’s a stick for others to beat you with!  To steal your time, your money, your soul!  Love’s a joke!  A fucking disease!”

“I’d give up everything for my son,” said Gold, his voice shaking.  “Everything!”

“Then you’re even more of a fucking idiot than I thought,” said Malcolm witheringly.  “He’ll cling to whatever bottom-feeding drunkard she chooses to bang next, and be calling him Daddy while you’re still here crying into your beer.”

Gold turned away, the truth of his words making tears prick at his eyes.  He heard Malcolm snort in derision.

“You always were a fucking soft touch,” he sneered.  “About time you changed that.  Family’s nothing but a millstone around your neck, dragging you down.  Kids especially.  Tried to tell you that, didn’t I?”

“Oh, you made it perfectly clear how little you cared whether I lived or died, thank you,” said Gold quietly, and Malcolm snorted again, staring out of the kitchen window at the unkempt garden.

“Fed you, didn’t I?” he asked sourly.  “Clothed you, kept a roof over your head.  It was what she wanted.  You were what she wanted, from the moment she knew she was carrying you.  It was always you.”

His voice trailed off in a whisper as Gold turned slowly to face him, and he took a gulp of whisky, coughing a little before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and banging down the glass.  There was silence for a moment, the atmosphere in the room dark and ominous, and Gold swallowed hard.

“Why do you hate me?” he whispered.  “I tried to do what you wanted.  Tried to be what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?”  Malcolm let out a cold, humourless laugh, not looking at him.  “You could never be what I wanted, lad, don’t you see that?”

He poured another whisky, drinking half of it and setting down the glass, and Gold squeezed his eyes shut before looking at him again.

“You wish that it had been me,” he said softly.  “You wish that I had died, and she had lived.”

Malcolm took another gulp of the whisky, still staring out of the window.

“Yeah.”

It was like a blow to the chest, even though the response was what he had expected.  For a moment it was hard to breathe, and he concentrated on a spot on the kitchen counter, a brown stain where coffee had slopped over the edge of a mug and dried in a scallop-edged ring.  There was pain, deep in his chest, a heavy ball of darkness where he thought his heart should be.  He pressed the heel of his hand against it, taking a deep breath and walling off the pain before straightening up, his face smooth.

“If Milah contacts you—”

“She won’t.”  Malcolm drained his glass.  “You’re free, boy.”  He glanced at Gold, and jerked his head towards the door.  Now go on, get out.  I don’t need your family drama ruining my weekend.”

[simmonstrinity]

Reiki On Dogs Marvelous Unique Ideas

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Learn Reiki Newcastle

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[alltheworldsinmyhead]

      OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER TWO 

                            eremika soulmates through time modern au                                   

                                                (  ao3/ff.net )

GIGIL

FILIPINO, a physical response – like trembling or blushing – to the situation that overwhelms your self-control

i used to wish upon the stars, the toys I once adored

forgotten now, are rolling ‘round the corners of the floor

finally, my dreams have counted up to one hundred today

someday, I’ll trade them all for just this very one

it’s really not bad trying something new every once in a while

especially if I can do it with you by my side

RADWIMPS - nanadenomaya

Destined. Promised. Twin flames. Joined souls.

Soulmates.

So many names for the one phenomenon that goes beyond human understanding and rational thought; wild force, exhilarating and powerful like a tornado. A seed of magic planted in the solid ground of reality.

The scientists, of course, try to rationalize it. It’s a simple thing, basically, they say. If the pair of souls was born and reborn time and time again near each other if two people have met and fallen in love and shared lives together multiple times, if, against all laws of probability, they found themselves through time and space, it just has to create a bond. A bond that becomes stronger and stronger each time they have to part ways – a bond that, after centuries,  transforms from something alike to spiritual connection into a physical pull. As simple and as complex as that.

But this explanation doesn’t cover everything and certainly doesn’t stay true to the magic of it all. Legends and stories fill in the gaps in scientific logic ; mothers tell their kids that the pain of the first meeting is the pain of all the times they had to say goodbye to each other, school children whisper and giggle about how the heat of touch is all the passion and desire soulmates had for each other in all their lives. Not everyone is blessed like that, but those that are, add even more to the whole mystery; watching a pair of bonded soulmates is a strange experience, as they always seem to exist in a different universe, in their shared bubble build on secret smiles and subtle touches.

As a kid, Eren always wondered; will he be able to read someone’s mind? How is it possible, to just meet someone and bam! they’re yours forever? Holy shit, will they share thoughts, will they talk to each other without opening their mouths?

He would spend hours playing in the summer heat with his best friend Armin and just talk about it. They would imagine a thousand of possible “first meeting” scenarios per minute, wondering how it would look like, feel like. Armin would bring his parents’ heavy scientific books and read them to Eren, patiently explaining all the complicated terminology and then they would tell each other fairy tales, rationality and magic and wonder blending into one.

It all sounded just so cool and unimaginable, no matter how many times his mother tried to cool down his enthusiasm.

“It’s not all sunshine,” she warned him, time and time again as soon as he started babbling about wanting to meet them now. ” It’s not as easy as it sounds. This desire to protect someone, to be by somebody’s side, this can be more destructive than anything else in the world. “

And of course, he didn’t listen. Why would he?

He couldn’t wait to meet them. He couldn’t wait to get to know them. He couldn’t wait to remember their past lives.

Mikasa, on the other hand, never quite believed in the notion of soulmates, no matter her having one. It was… bizarre. And she couldn’t understand why somebody would want that. Surely, normal relationships aren’t anything worse or less. Where is privacy, where is a place for little, intimate secrets when the other person can read your emotions like a book wide open?

Around the age of eight, the perspective started to scare the shit out of her.

One evening, perched up on a kitchen stool, she quietly asked her father how she can check if she even has a soulmate and he ruffled her hair affectionately and told her there’s no way to do that, that that’s something you don’t even know you’ve lost until you’ve found it. That some people are born with this ache, but it’s so constant that they become numb to it and just simply live their lives like everyone. That they are not aware that they’re drenched in gasoline until they cross eyes with that other person and touch their skin and catch on fire.

“Why eyes?” she asked then, even diligent, and he kneeled down in front of her.

“The eyes are a door to your soul,” he told her. “The skin turns lighter or darker, freckles and birthmarks disappear and rearrange. Sex changes, hair becomes blonde as the sun or dark as the night. Even your character transforms, your little quirks and interests and the way you talk. But eyes? Those never change. At least that’s what I heard.”

And his face darkened a bit and she is reminded that he and her mother were not destined, that he had no memory of any previous lives, that he didn’t remember eyes of any other woman or man from his past. And so she wrapped her arms around his neck to cheer him up but the anger burned in her stomach; why did he long for a soulmate? Wasn’t her Ma enough? How was his life somehow lackluster because he was not cursed with burning in pain every time he touched his wife?

And so Mikasa decided, right there and then that she would never have a soulmate. Period.

…

The reality, of course, caught her off-guard, her usual self-control gone and forgotten. Where is her unflinching gaze and calm demeanor when she needs it? Where are her silent goals not to fall prey to the whole soulmates nonsense, fall in love in a normal way, stay Just Mikasa, without any added past lives and pain and a person that would suddenly appear in her life and would expect to stay in it forever?

Beside him, she can hardly walk straight. The whole world is spinning in front of her eyes, she feels as if she had a dangerously high fever and she’s afraid she may not be able to find a way to the apartment in which she’s been living for the past three years. His mere presence is just intoxicating; this physical pull towards him, pain piercing through her every time she as much as steal a glance at him.

This want.

But before she can dive head first into the ocean of shame, she starts to wonder, if all those strange feelings are really hers. As the pair of them quietly makes their way through the streets, she begins untangling them; slowly and methodically, ignoring her racing heart and sweaty palms.

Wait. Stop. This is mine. And this is not.

With a wave of surprise, she realizes that although the boy beside her – the one that keeps staring at her and can’t stop smiling, the one that not only trips over his feet but he also skips cheerfully every few steps – this boy wants her too. Just as badly as she does. That she makes him dizzy, that she takes his breath away.  He leans closer and closer to her side, and he seems to do it unconsciously. The warmth simply radiates from him; all the enthusiasm and curiosity. Yes, he doesn’t seem half as troubled and lost as she does, probably, she concludes, because he’s a way more adventurous person than she is, but make no mistake, Mikasa; he may be the smoother one in this situation, but it doesn’t mean  he doesn’t feel the same things you do.

Because he does. She knows it. Eren’s desire burns right along hers and somehow, instead of making her even more flustered, it comforts her somehow.  

Her place really is near and soon enough they leave the freezing wind outside and the matching rhythm of their steps echoes on the empty staircase of her apartment building; Eren steals glances at brick walls and peeling paint, and the obvious lack of elevator. He’s mostly just surprised; Mikasa, in her nice black coat and leather boots looks more like someone living in one of those modern, glass-and-steel skyscrapers in the center, rather than downtown, in a building that has probably seen a huge chunk of last century.

They climb ten floors in silence interrupted only by Eren’s silent wheezing every few seconds, at which Mikasa hides her smile under the scarf.

“Well, no shit you’re so fit, ” he says when they reach the top of the staircase. He sounds slightly winded and he’s clutching on the railing, sending her a grin.

“How do you know if I’m fit?” She turns her back on him, fiddling with keys and fighting blush.

He’s about to say something along the lines of: “Because you just went all the way up like it was nothing” but she adds:

“You haven’t even seen me without these clothes on.”

‘Yet’ hangs in the dead silence that follows, the single word so heavy that it almost turns into a physical being, into a third person standing in between them.

She yelps – and his heart skips because how adorable – and covers her mouth with both hands, keys slipping from her fingers and falling on the floor. And he just clutches on the railing even tighter and simply bursts into laughter, because how could he not?

“For a moment you got me there, that was smooth, I’ll give you that,”  he manages to utter.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, leaning her forehead against the wood of the doors. “Oh my god. It wasn’t supposed to sound like that. “

His fit of laughter lasts for a few more minutes before he senses some kind of uncomfortable buzzing under his skin; it’s like an itch, only more burning and unpleasant. He raises his head up to look at Mikasa and realizes that she’s still standing frozen with her face pressed to the door, slightly flinching each time she hears him laugh.

Oh god, she’s really not the joking type, is she?

“Oi, Mikasa,” he says quietly, straightening up and taking a few steps closer to her. “Hey, I get what you meant, okay? Don’t get all worked up about it. “

Before his brain can process his actions, he places a hand in-between her shoulder blades, his fingers gently patting her back.

She shivers slightly underneath his touch and all the blood in his body seems to flood his brain and buzz in his head.

“Sorry,” comes her muffled response. “I don’t know – how to deal with all of this.”

When she turns around to face him, she is greeted by the sight of his loop-sided grin.

“That actually makes two of us, you know?”

She does, actually, know this. Under the layer of good humor, she can sense the nervousness in him; can see it in the way he licks his lips and scratches the back of his neck every few seconds. And so she nods with a small smile dancing on her lips.

“Let’s go and warm up then, okay?”

Her apartment is small and so disgustingly clean that he cannot help but feel ashamed when he thinks about his own flat; Armin’s books and notes thrown haphazardly on the kitchen table, Jean’s unreal amount of hair products taking every free inch of space in the bathroom and his - well –stuff pretty much everywhere.

Mikasa’s place has none of that. The walls are all painted white and there’s not a single smudge on the cream-colored carpet laying on the floor, nor a wrinkle on the curtains obscuring the window. It should feel clinical and cold, this overwhelming sea of whiteness, but it doesn’t; somehow, despite being so pristine, the apartment feels strangely intimate.

It’s clearly a space that she spends much time in and there are traces of this domesticity  everywhere he looks – in a neat row of cacti on the shelf by the window, in a collection of beautiful, black-and-white photographs adorning the walls, in a bunch of chipped mugs by the kitchen sink and in a warm-looking blanket cocoon in the armchair.

“You want something to drink, maybe?” Mikasa asks politely, gently setting his red scarf on the shelf by the door, her other hand outstretched as she waits patiently for him to hand her his jacket.

He flinches, realizing he has spent the last few minutes standing in the middle of her living room and gawking, leaving traces of melting snow all over her floor.

“I- um, sure, sorry. “ He tugs on the zipper sloppily, eyeing with horror the ever-growing pool of dirty snow water near his boots. ”Shit, I‘m so sorry, let me mop this up, wow, you have it so clean in here, I just- sorry -“

Suddenly, he hears a snort and looks up at her and- is she smirking?

Sure, it’s subtle and barely-there (seems she has regained some control over her facial expressions) but still, the smirk is there and what’s more, he can feel her amusement across the bond.

“Forgive me.” She sends him a small grin. “You looked so horrified. Don’t worry, let me put on a kettle for some tea and we’ll clean it up.”

She hesitantly reaches out and pats his shoulder, her eyes sparkling with humor.

Somewhere, on the back of his mind, he realizes that’s the first time she initiated the contact between them, but most of his brain is basking in the feeling of her fingers touching his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

The warmth. The warmth.

He’s sinking in it, bathing in it almost; he probably looks like a goddamn idiot staring at her with the goofiest smile and puppy eyes but he just fucking can’t help himself.

Mikasa unlaces her boots and puts them by door; she orders him to do the same and, as Eren watches her rummaging through the kitchen (a braided crown of black tresses slightly undone; the straight line of her spine underneath her blouse as she leans down; her long, long legs gracefully moving her from one place to another) he feels something blooming in his chest; something new and hesitant and small, but maybe even more powerful than a lightning strike on the street half an hour ago.