#i just chose them because in my sleep addled brain when i saw them at 2am while planning this they looked kinda like eyes

[deathianartworks]

'To the master of the eldritch, she's a growing bed of thorns'

[writingsfromhome]

Golf on TV

Ask: fluffy piece based on Lennon Stella’s Golf on TV (sorry I deleted the original ask but this song is so fluff so ty!)

—————————

I wake up to the bed made, for a second I don’t know where I am. My sleep-addled brain tries to catch up to the present moment. The present morning.

I was in bed, in my new home. It was Saturday morning.

Last night had been a late one. I was the co-lead in an intense case at work and the plaintiff’s team had been smoking our ass in court. Last night we’d gotten boxes of newly admitted evidence and every single person stayed well into the AM to sort it out. The other side liked to play dirty and this is how they did it. Little did they know we’d found our smoking gun. Never underestimate Stewart, Stone, and Nowak.

But I’d gotten home and passed out on the couch. Well, I’d gotten home to Harry passed out on the couch with the TV on. He must have tried staying up for me even though I had told him to go home. But he stayed.

I remember the tension leaving my body just seeing him snuggled on the couch, his face a kaleidoscope of colours reflecting off from the TV. I’d met Harry less than a year ago, a meet cute moment where both of us had gone for the same taxi. He’d waved me in like a gentleman and I’d invited him to share it. Turns out we were only going a few blocks from each other.

He was from London, in San Francisco for work. The taxi ride had been 27 minutes in total but in that time it felt like we’d known each other for 27 years.

As soon as I saw him on the couch, I’d dropped my jacket there, and gotten in beside him. He’d barely stirred, and I passed out pretty quickly thereafter.

I sit up and the sham that was draped over me falls over the side of the bed. I check my watch, still on my wrist. It was past 7. A solid 4.5 hours—that was a restful night for me ever since I took this case on.

Harry must have carried me to bed, I realize. And I’d been dead to the world while he did.

I never expected to see him again after that taxi ride. Until a few weeks later, he was waiting for me in the courthouse lobby. He’d looked me up, saw I had a case that morning, and waited. It was his last week in San Francisco and he wanted to take me on a date. He hadn’t stopped thinking about me, he’d said. I hadn’t either.

I’d dated plenty before him, had several boyfriends, even a situationship. Harry was the first guy I ever felt relaxed around. From that first date he made sure I felt cared for, that I was happy—he was unafraid to put me first. Even when he had to go back to London and we were long distance for three and a half months, we were always talking.

I’d felt unwanted before. Those were the days I chased after boys that only liked me for doing the chasing. Never did they actually want me. Because when they got me, they’d leave and keep me chasing them forever. Harry had never once been shy about the fact that he wanted me. That he chose me over everything.

We were always running towards each other. Never after each other.

I blink away the sleepiness and notice Harry had put me in a tshirt. It was the little things.

That’s when I hear the voices coming from downstairs. Harry…and my mom.

It was time to get up.

“Good morning princess,” my mom spots me first. I looked bad this morning—even though Harry had attempted to take my makeup off whenever he’d taken me to bed, and replaced my slacks for shorts, I still had craters for eye bags and a tangled bedhead, and dehydrated and inflamed skin from sleeping with makeup. But mom never stopped calling me princess.

“Harry and I were just making pancakes,” she points to the griddle behind her. God, mom loved Harry. It was weird because she’d only ever met 2 of my boyfriends since I started dating as a teen. She hated both of them and was never shy about it. All the others she’d heard about over the phone or a late night snack at her house back when she lived close to where I worked. She hated them all equally. “We’re worried you’re not eating enough.”

I catch eyes with Harry, it was a constant argument with us. But it was hard to eat with a regular appetite when I was so close to the end of big cases. He knew that. He used my mom as a shield to push his own agenda, they worked as a team like that.

But it never made me mad. It was more caring than any ex had ever been.

“Pancakes are your favourite,” Harry says while towel-drying his hands. He’d been ‘washing up’, as he would say with his accent.

“They are,” I say as he walks around the island to me and kisses my cheek. He was always weirdly chaste around my mom, nothing like his behaviour late nights in bed.

Mom grins at me from behind him. She was obsessed.

So was I though.

“Let’s eat!” Mom says. “C’mon, we gotta eat before they get cold. Y/N grab the fruit behind you.”

“Sure mom,” I grab the bowl she prepared. Harry watches mom leave the kitchen with the pancakes and syrup. As soon as she’s out of sight he tugs me right against him.

“Y’know you don’t have to wait for her to leave to be my boyfriend?”

“Is that what I am?” He nuzzles my neck. “I thought I was just your boy-toy.”

“Nah,” I let him kiss me even though we’re both smiling. “My boy-toy’s like, 5 years younger than you are.”

“Yeah well, he’s not the one trying to take your makeup off at 5am while you talk about invoices and flash drives.”

“Oops,” I must have been talking about our smoking gun in my sleep. I couldn’t even rest unconscious. “Thank you for that. You could have left me on the couch.”

“Maybe if I was your boy-toy. But I’m your strong English boyfriend, I take you to bed.”

“And you do it so well,” I pat his arm condescendingly, stealing one more kiss before skirting away. I leave him chuckling in the kitchen and gathering the coffee for breakfast.

Before Harry, I didn’t realize love could be so selfless. That it didn’t have to hurt all the time. That one person could be enough.

“Y/N?” Mom asks. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” I’d gotten lost in thought and I see Harry smirk. I guess I was just staring at him.

“For your dad’s birthday coming up?!” She sighs. “I’ve been talking about his dinner—Harry said he has to go back to London the week before. I thought we could do a birthday dinner early so Harry can be there. You know your dad would like that.”

He would. My dad was just as keen on Harry, telling me that he was good for me—the way a man should be. Those were his exact words.

I remember I’d been confused at first when Harry and I started long-distance dating. He was more stable and consistent than relationships I’d had where we lived inches apart. Being long-distance, I’d only missed him physically when we were apart, he was still there for me in every other way.

When he officially transferred to his San Francisco office 5 months ago, he had surprised me. I remember opening my door to him standing there with flowers and macarons—my favourite dessert. I’d nearly smashed them all when I screamed and threw myself onto him.

After that moment I knew I was done with romanticizing dysfunction and compromising. His love was healthy and pure, and it was for me.

I tried my best to give that to him in return. Lately I’d been a bad girlfriend working long hours and barely seeing him. But I’d make it up to him. He didn’t know this but I’d booked the same flight to London with him, that’s why mom was trying to move dad’s birthday dinner up. So I’d be there too.

“Sounds great,” I say. “That way we can all make it.”

“Perfect I’ll make us a reservation.” Mom picks up her phone and begins typing on it with one finger, one key at a time. She tsks, “Oh why is it doing this now.”

“Here Mrs. Y/l/n,” Harry holds his hand out. “What are you trying to do.”

“This new update has been driving me crazy,” she hand her phone to Harry. He glances at me and we bite back a smile. Mom was notorious for being Bad at Technology. But Harry was always patient and tried teaching her.

“The search bar’s on the bottom now,” Harry shows her. “That’s where you type it in.”

“It was fine at the top why do they always have to move it around, gah I’ll just do this on a computer.”

“Yeah no rush mom,” I say.

“Well I’ll clear the table now. I need to get going soon I have a squash game at half eight.”

“Yeah I need be in by then.” Court opened at 9:30 today and I had to be there a half hour early to submit what we had.

“You two stay here,” mom begins piling plates. She’s surprisingly strong when she snatches the mug Harry’s trying to take away himself. “Let me clean up. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Thanks for the breakfast mom!” I shout as she heads away. Harry echoes a thank you.

“Don’t thank me,” I hear her mumble as she walks away.

Me and Harry are left grinning at each other. He holds his hand out on the table and I clasp his.

“Your mum’s sweet.”

“My mum,” I tease him. I keep his hand held as I go around the table to his seat. He tugs me down onto his lap. “Did you actually call your mom mummy as a kid?”

“Did you call your mum mommy?” Harry asks in a decent American accent.

“Maybe,” I smile.

“Maybe.” He replies.

“I’ll just ask your mum when I meet her someday.”

“She really does want to meet you.” He says seriously. “She thinks I’m deliberately keeping you away.”

“Maybe you are, so she can’t answer all the burning questions I have about you.”

“I can just imagine you and her teaming up against me. My sister will join in too.”

I’d met his sister a few months back when she visited. We hit it on immediately just like Harry and I had. It was a bit of a relief.

“I can’t wait to swap stories over breakfast with your mom.”

“Oh you’d love her breakfast,” Harry smiles fondly. I feel a twinge then, sometimes I wondered if he ever got homesick. Especially when he talked about memories from home. “She does the best English breakfast. You’d have to try black pudding though.”

I crinkle my nose, “Isn’t that the one with the blood?”

“Mmmm it sure is,” he grips my hips and a shiver shoots up my spine.

“Gross! Why would anyone eat that? Or your-what’s that other pudding thing? The one you tried making last winter that’s all puffy-“

“Yorkshire.” He smiles.

“You literally poured hot oil on your mixture. It’s clogging my pores just thinking about it.”

“That’s it. You’re coming to London before the year is over and you’re going to be begging for more when you have a proper roast. What I made at home was a pathetic attempt.”

“Mmm I don’t get it.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I just don’t get English food. It’s like people who wear crocs, or golf on TV, I don’t get it.”

“You just descibed,” Harry tucks my hair behind my ear, “the perfect date. We’re sorted for the weekend.”

I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But I love you.” I kiss him. He pulls me back to him when I part.

“I love you.”

“I really do need a shower before I head in though,” I remind him.

“Maybe I’ll join you,” he says low enough so my mom can’t hear.

“If you’re brave enough with mom still here.” I tease.

“Okay hon,” she pops out of nowhere. “I’m heading out. Good luck with court today.”

“Thanks mom.” I get up and give her a big squeeze. “I appreciate you dropping by.”

“Of course. And I’ll drop dinner by tonight I saw the state of your fridge, you should clean that thing out y/n.”

“Yess mom,” I roll my eyes. Harry snickers behind me. Mom should see his fridge, it was half beer cans and takeout containers.

While mom tells Harry about the dinner she would drop by for us I get a headstart on my shower. It was already quarter to 8 and I couldn’t waste any more time.

Harry joins me shortly after, he lowers my hands when he gets in and washes my hair slowly with care. I nearly pass out in the shower with how good his fingers feel on my scalp.

“Thank you,” I turn to him after I wash it out.

“Don’t mention it love,” he kisses my temple.

“Harry,” I suddenly feel choked up. I think his scalp massage had unblocked some chakra stuff because I’m suddenly overwhelmed with feeling.

“What?” He tilts my face up.

“I’m just…I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

“Nonsense.” He swipes my tear away even though the stream of water makes it all the same.

“No I…I never thought I’d meet someone like you. I used to think love was hurting. It doesn’t make sense anymore-“

“Like golf on TV.”

“Yeah,” I laugh and it breaks up the knot in my throat. “Yeah like golf on TV. Now being in love feels like soccer-“

“Football.”

“Soccer,” I correct him. He grins. “It makes sense to me.”

“If you didn’t have work in 30 minutes,” Harry pulls me into him and crushes me against him. It feels good, like being held together. “You’d be face down in bed in the next 10 seconds.”

“Where’s this Harry when my mom’s around.” I tease.

“This Harry’s just for you.” He says just as he turns the shower off. I draw away as he grabs us some towels and I watch him with an unbreakable joy; if it was physical it could illuminate this tiled shower and bounce around the whole room.

He was the reason I got through all these gruelling hours for court. Because I knew I had someone waiting for me, that I could steal an hour away with, and it would leave me refuelled enough for another 24 hour work-day.

“Why are you smiling at me like that,” Harry asks as he hands me the towel. I shake my head and wrap it around me. He watches as I blow dry my hair, kissing my shoulder when I’m done.

“I’ll leave when you leave. Should I drop you off to the office?”

“Please?” I ask. “That’d give me an extra 5 minutes.”

His face lights up.

“No,” I say as he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. “No Harry I have to be early!”

“I only need 2,” he says as he launches me onto the bed. “Maybe 3.”

I pretend to be annoyed but I inch up in bed as he makes his way over and I can’t think of a better way to spend the extra 5 minutes. Or 10. Oops.

If the old me ever met the new me, she’d probably try to stop me. She didn’t know what love could look like. That it could be a gentle smile, a drive in to work, making sure you’re eating, helping your mom out with her phone, or washing your hair for you in the shower.

I’d tell her—the old me, that it was as simple as this: I wanted him, only him. And he wanted me too.

[aminiatureworld]

Leaden Dreams

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,908

Warnings: Vague depictions of sleep paralysis

Premise: In which the reader experiences sleep paralysis

Author’s Note: First time writing Kazuha! I just finished his story quest today, so I hope that I have an okay grasp on him. Still working on his talking style a bit but I adore his personality.

Also though I experience the part of sleep paralysis where you’re awake but can’t move (can’t recommend the experience) it’s usually during the day so I don’t really experience dreams. As of such if this is inaccurate in any ways I’m very sorry.

Albedo

Albedo knew about sleep paralysis on a theoretically level, knew that it was a phenomenon that caused one’s brain to awaken when the body was still fast asleep. He’d never given the concept much thought, not any more than he might any other bit of science that remained shelved in his mind.

Now that was certainly not the case.

Albedo knew the telltale signs, the small spasms that revealed the battle between your mind and your body. Knowing that you were fighting to move your limbs, open your eyes, relax your jaw, he would always speak first, knowing that you might not immediately respond.

“It’s alright my dear, I’m here. I know it’s frightening, but I promise you’ll be able to move soon. Just focus on one thing, alright? Maybe your eyes this time, since last time you tried moving your tongue. That’s it, just one thing first. It’s always better to start small.”

He wouldn’t move from his sleeping position until you regained control of your body, afraid that a sudden touch might cause you even more distress. Keeping himself carefully pressed into the mattress he didn’t fare lift his head, for fear his face might melt into something frightening. Since he knew he was helpless, his goal became to stop things from getting worse.

The moment you began to move however the alchemist would jump into action. Turning lights on he would pick up the glass of water from his nightstand before gathering you up into his arms, positioning himself so you could listen to his heartbeat as you drank. The first time it had happened he had left the room to get the glass to soon, and the memory of you curled up desperately into the covers still tugged at him.

Albedo would then go through what you had half-dreamed with you, thoroughly debunking all the distortions of your normal life. That shadowed human outside the window was a combination of the balcony and the half opened curtains. The voices were partially his own, partially your brain trying to process your own breathing. The figure hiding behind the door of the hallway was because of the boxed piled along the other side of the wall. The people dancing on the ceiling could be fixed with a repaint. Over and over he would remind you of the fact that you were safe, that your amygdala was simply going into overdrive. Over and over he would thoroughly debunk your nightmares until once more things settled into place, piles of clothing becoming one more fabric, dressers no longer dancing as if possessed.

He would tell you to wake him up if he began falling back to sleep, determined that he should be watching over you to make sure an episode didn’t happen as you were falling back asleep.

In reality though you didn’t mind if he drifted off a little before you. His breathing was a soothing melody, his slow, steady heartbeat a rhythm with which you could anchor yourself. He was staid and sure, and that was something you grasped onto desperately, something you would never stop appreciating.

Soon enough his reasons would soothe your mind, and you’d fall once more asleep.

 Kazuha

The first thing Kazuha always did was pull the blankets over you. If the outside world was threatening you, then he’d simply block it out.

Making a cocoon around the two of you he would begin to tell stories. Fairy tales, things that had happened to him during his travels, anything that you brain might latch onto. The stories were always very short and self-contained, easy to understand, and through your panic addled brain you always seemed to find them.

Sometimes when things were particularly bad he’d softly cradled your hands, careful not to move to quickly or too suddenly in case the sensation caused you to panic even more.

“Our hands fit together so well, don’t you think? I could write a poem about them, or maybe about yours. Maybe you’ll help me with it after this is over? It will be soon dearest, I know it will.”

Sometimes he would sing little songs that he’d picked up. Usually sea shanties, their rhythm helped you, less complex than poetry, more lyrical than the jagged fear that screamed at you.

Kazuha wouldn’t ask you to share immediately. When you finally moved he would first squeeze your hands gently, kissing them before your forehead, asking if it was too hot beneath the blankets, then making sure a light was on if you needed a little fresh air.

He never acknowledged what had happened before you did, but he wouldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen either. Instead he would ask if you wanted to listen to a story or tell one. Whichever you chose he would keep holding your hands, making sure that even when he gave you space there was still something that grounded you.

Sometimes when you cried he would tell a very specific story.

“There once was a warrior, brave of heart. So brave were they that shadows tried to chase them. Someone this noble cannot exist! They cried out. The warrior must be false. We will find their weakness. However no matter how hard they tried this weakness was never found. For the warrior was truly brave in heart and soul.”

Normally you might consider such a story overdone, but in those liminal moments between fear and sleep the story format helped. This was simply a harrowing part of a story, but there would surely be a better end.

 Scaramouche

Scaramouche never thought that he’d ever sleep next to you.

Humans were loud and irritating, and that only became more true when the Harbinger was trying to get a few precious hours of sleep.

However after a particularly bad week he decided that the only solution to your terrible lack of attention was to deal with the matter himself.

He wasn’t necessarily nice about it, grumbling about your poor sleeping habits, saying that this was an awful waste of time. However the moment that panic consumed you, the moment that things started to twist around you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm.

“These idiotic phantoms are nothing. Come on, I know you’re strong enough. How could you ever let something so puny win against you.”

Though you certainly didn’t agree with him about that you had to admit it helped somewhat. Though your initial panic never disappeared, it became easier to climb out of your dreams, to see a light at the end of the endless tunnel of fear.

Every time you jerked once more awake Scaramouche let himself admit some sort of relieved satisfaction.

“You’ve done it again. As you always have. I don’t know why I bother sleeping here when you’re competent enough on your own.”

Nevertheless Scaramouche would always let you embrace him, not commenting on the tears that often accompanied you. Loosely resting his arms on your back he let out exaggerated breaths.

“Will you sleep now?”

It didn’t matter if you said no. Scaramouche would simply mutter something about bad sleep habits, but he would nevertheless stay awake.

He would always fall asleep last, even when his eyes burned slightly and his body called out for rest.

If he was going through all this trouble after all, he might as well see it through to the end.

 Xiao

Xiao saw dreams as extensions of human karma, of human wants and needs and wishes.

If a human dreamt a good wish, it was a revelation of their hearts desire. If they tossed and turned with nightmares it was their fears and shames manifesting. A dream was never just a dream, a shuffle of random events and names and faces. Dreams were alive; dreams had their own wills, all connected to the will of the human they were attached too.

Xiao loathed to see you haunted by your dreams. How could someone so wonderful as your be chased by something so awful? The little that you told your partner caused a distant sort of dread. He could never understand your fear of falling asleep, but he surely felt the dread of whether or not you might be allowed peace.

The threads that surrounded you, that surrounded all humans, always tensed when you were entering an episode. Careful not to leave your side too much Xiao would light a few candles, not too much to be jarring to your eyes, not too little to add to your nightmares. If you could only open your eyes then Xiao would pay even more attention, making sure that the dim lighting didn’t add to your distress, shifting the candles or blowing them out if need be.

Xiao didn’t talk much normally, but he would keep up a steady stream of questions in these moments, even if you couldn’t answer them. Whether you were aware of his presence, whether the window being open was a problem or not, whether you needed more light or less. He would keep these questions in the back of his mind for you to answer once you could again, not only so he could do better next time, but in case the nightmares we too close to be spoken about.

Usually Xiao would ask about them again in the morning, and sometimes you would discuss it then. Though the yaksha knew that nightmares were often the fears that humans accumulated, the curses that attached themselves to unsuspecting victims, he never talked about that aspect with you, indeed when he talked about it at all. Most of the time he would just listen, tracing soft circles along your back and down your arms.

Right after an episode Xiao would make his way over to you. Most of the time he would stay in one place while the episode was happening, near the candles or by the window, making sure he didn’t startle you anymore. Now though he might move every once in a while, or turn your head softly towards him if your eyes became fixated on one spot in the room. Always he’d go to open the window, and the familiarity of the routine became something that lulled you back into a sense of piece.

Not sleeping himself Xiao never told you that you need more rest, that you should go back to sleep. If you needed to stay up the rest of the night so be it, he would be there with you. If you were too tired and found yourself drifting off to sleep he would promise to protect you, to fight off any demons that might be lurking.

Sometimes Xiao feared that his burden of curses exacerbated your sleep paralysis. Those evenings he would wait for you to sleep before slipping away. Always he would leave his sleeve and his mask, making sure that if you woke up you would still have something of his presence to comfort or protect yourself with. Those nights he would stare out into Liyue and think about all the things that he carried with him, all the things that you did too.

Regardless of those nights he would be there in the morning.

“Did you sleep well afterwards?” He would always ask. Regardless of your answer, which he would surely pay attention to after his second question, he would stare into your eyes.

“Do you think things would be easier without my presence?”

Always you said no.

[birdbrain90]

Lost and Found - a Sylki Story

On a lighter note than recent ones, this one's for @sheherlocked I'M SORRY IT'S GARBAGE THO LOL I WROTE IT IN 2-ish HOURS. Sylvie had long since lost the ability to be surprised. Sleeping with one eye open for as long as she had, constantly needing to look over her shoulder, to be prepared to run at a moment's notice, it was all standard practice for Sylvie.

And then there was Loki…

The fool demigod managed to shake her to the core with something so simple as a tilt of his beautiful face, a shimmer of magic across his body.

She had been following him for weeks, not wanting him to find her. No, that was the lie she told herself. The real reason was the fact that she was terrified to reach for him. Every time she would get close, desperate to touch him, something in her brain would not let her. However, she did not want to lose track of him, so she followed, like a tigress stalking her prey.

She had been steeling her nerves the past few days, finally finding it ridiculous that this had gone on for so long. She was going to go talk to him. She had to. It was the only way to find out why he had spent so long searching for her. She had watched him interrogate, search, interrogate some more in order to find her. He had described her as a “beautiful blonde woman in black and green.” having no more to go on than that, because common people wouldn’t understand much else about their crazy journey they’d been on.

She had felt bad, watching him fall to his knees and weep, far away from the world where no one else could see him, or so he thought. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him he would never be alone again, but why should she? He was supposed to be by her side until the end, to stand with her when her life’s mission was complete. And yet, when the time came, he chose rational thought and logic instead. Why was she even following him? Why, when He Who Remained lay dead at her feet, was he the only face in her mind? Somehow, hearing his cries, watching his shoulders heave as he let his fist collide with a nearby tree trunk, she found it hard to be upset about all the rest.

Eventually, she managed to lose track of him. She had drifted off to sleep unexpectedly, and he was gone when she woke up. What followed was a search that took her days. Days of tracking his footprints and asking around for a beautiful man with black hair in an old, collared shirt that desperately needed tailoring. She eventually found him again, sitting on a rock by a river, someone else next to him.

A woman with long blonde hair and dressed all in blue, sat near him. She looked older, with much wisdom on her face as she ran her hand along Loki’s back.

“My darling, do not lose hope.” The woman muttered. “You will find her. I know this because I’ve never known you to give up when you want something. I was there the night you ate all those freshly baked biscuits. Do you remember?”

His mother. Sylvie had never met Frigga, and she barely remembered her own mother. She crouched behind the nearby foliage, listening to Frigga’s words and looking every inch like the lost child she truly was. She watched Loki lean against the woman, who put her arms around him and held him tight as he began crying again. Sylvie could already tell when Loki was crying without even seeing his face, his stuffy nose a dead giveaway.

“Mother, I’m so tired of being alone.”

“You’re never truly alone. Surely you know that. I am always with you, sweet boy.”

Loki’s cries intensified as a clarifying thought tore through Sylvie’s mind, almost knocking her over. Loki’s mother was long since…. “Loki... what are you doing…?” Sylvie stepped out into the clearing, scaring at least three centuries out of the God of Mischief as he frantically waved the illusion of his mother away, stumbling in the process and falling straight into the river.

Oh. Oh shit.

Sylvie didn’t even realize what she had done. She had no plan for this. She had let her heart get in the way and now she had revealed herself. She had no choice but to move forward now.

“S-...Sylvie?!” Loki exclaimed, his voice cracked from crying and landing in cold water. He hauled himself out of the river, stumbling toward her as she walked up to meet him. “Surely I’ve gone mad. It can’t be.” He reached out a hand as if to touch her arm, but retracted it immediately.

“Hi. Sorry. About that I mean.” She gestured to his soaked clothing. He shook his head, and a green shimmer ran the length of his body, drying him instantly.

“Sylvie. I’ve been… I mean, I thought I’d... You okay?”

“I should be asking you!” She was suddenly irritated by the fact that he continued to put her first. “Your mum is dead, Loki, yet I saw her sitting by you. What’s that about?”

Loki didn’t have words for quite some time. Sylvie watched his face flush, and his eyes water. However, no tears fell this time.

“She was always the one to comfort me when I was upset. No one else has tried since.” Loki spat his words out with more bitterness than he intended. Sylvie did not deserve to bear the resentment he’d carried for centuries.

And it damn well broke her heart…

All of a sudden, she rushed for him, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing as tight as she could. She couldn’t find words. There were none to be had in this moment. All that mattered was how warm and firm his body was under her arms, and how equally firm his arms were when they came to rest on her shoulders. It took him a moment to wrap them around her, but she felt him melt against her when they did. Somehow, they didn’t need words. In this moment, the chaos of two hearts racing against one another was enough.

Loki sunk to his knees, taking her with him, holding her like she was going to fade away. Like she herself was an illusion he had unknowingly conjured to comfort his aching soul. She felt real though, as she clung to him, so he had to believe she was.

“I’ve been searching for you.” He finally spoke, his voice small and fragile.

“I know. I’ve been following you.” He snapped his head up at that, searching her face and smirking. Of course she was two steps ahead of him. She always had been. “I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I didn’t know what to say.”

Sylvie slowly removed her glove, running her bare hand along Loki’s face. She took note of the way the breath hitched in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.

“How long has it been since someone held you like this?” Curiously, she removed her other glove, cupping his face in her hands and drawing her thumbs all over his soft skin. He was beautiful, and there had never been any question about it, but to see him like this, mouth open, eyes shut, it was otherworldly. His head rolled from side to side, unsure of which way to lean in order to maximize the feeling of her skin on his. His breaths had grown more shallow, and he was quietly panting against her as she held him. “Years? Centuries?”

“A bit of bo-” His words died on his tongue as she pressed her lips to his throat, her hands tangling in his hair. “Oh, don’t stop…” His words were almost a moan as she continued. It was just as bad for her. She had had several flings in the past, merely to keep herself going, but she had made it abundantly clear that nothing was ever real. Not until she met Loki…

Sylvie squeaked as she felt herself lifted and flipped over, a large weight suddenly on top of her. Her senses were scrambled by the feeling, the scent of citrus and spice, and a pair of warm lips suddenly devouring her own. Her mind was addled with the feel of him against her, and she lost all ability to perceive the world around her as she kissed him like her life depended on it.

Eventually, someone would stumble upon them, kissing in varied stages of undress. The story of an entangled couple who disappeared in a flash of green light was one that would echo through the town, sending search parties into that very woods for a short period of time until the next place they had been spotted cropped up on the internet. Chaos always suited them better, anyway...

[scullysexual]

Time Can Heal (2/ )

Season Two | Abduction Arc | Canon Divergence | Angst 

Chapter One | 

Mulder realises his quest for the truth costs too much.

CHAPTER TWO

Read these tags if you’re interested in knowing what my plan is with this fic. If you don’t want to basically the version you get here is a first draft kinda thing. I’m posting as I write. Ao3 will be a more refined, final version which you are free to read as well. I’ll post the ao3 links onto here when it’s time so these chapters you read won’t be perfect but it’ll be something and you can all be my betas. You can read this, wait for the ao3 version, or read both- it’s up to you. 

- - - 

Dana lay awake in the darkness. Wrapped up in her cocoon of blankets, staring at the ceiling. The clock ticks on beside her but the sound of it just sets her on edge, the repetitive noise doing nothing but irritate her yet she’s too drained to reach over and turn it off.

There are no more tears left to cry. Crying can cure insomnia, your body beyond exhaustion that it finally stops fighting and lets you fall asleep.

Of course, one needs to cry in order for that to happen.

Mulder would call her when he couldn’t sleep. Not often but sometimes. He would tell her stories of past cases before she was assigned, or tell her some obscure fact about some obscure thing and she would listen, her eyes closed, occasionally muttering something in a sleepy response. She would hear a faint smile in his next sentence as he jokingly asks if he’s keeping her up. Maybe she should call him now, repay the favour…

NO!

She rolls over, staring towards the wall. No, she won’t give him the satisfaction of chasing him, of pining after him. She won’t beg him stay again, not after her post-mortification after doing that the first time had turned out to be for nothing. If he cared about what she had to say he would have listened to her and stayed then, not just upped and left like he did.

She wants to hate him. She does hate him. How many times did he ditch her? Left her to deal with the consequences of their various trespasses. Or all the paperwork he would dump on her counter for her to deal with? How many arguments he would get into with local law enforcements because they didn’t agree with what he had to say and her name would be dragged into the complaint made by them to the Bureau when she did nothing wrong.

Or how about never putting her name on the door? Never giving her a desk? Never giving off any indication that there were two of them fighting this.

Mulder was right. He had done her more harm than good.

But you chose to stay with him. You should’ve asked for a transfer if it bothered you that much and you never did.  

Mulder gave her an out after the Bellefleur case. He said he wouldn’t take it personally if she decided that another field would be more suitable for her. She stayed because it excited her, challenged her, made her realise that these were the victims she wanted to protect. The real people hurt by monsters that nobody believed in. Real people who wouldn’t  be given justice because most looked at the statements, saw the words ‘abduction’, ‘UFO sightings’, ‘mutants’ and toss them into a filing cabinet never to be looked at again.

And now Mulder had done the same.

She kicks the sheet away in frustration, pretends its him she’s kicking over and over again until she’s pushed the bedding onto the floor, huffing with anger and exertion.

The coldness of the room covers her as Dana switches onto her other side and curls up into a ball. Wherever he’s gone she’ll find him. They’re FBI agents, their whereabouts are always on a record, he can’t run from her.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Missy visits on the Saturday. Dana makes an effort to get out of bed, forces painkillers down her throat, and sit downstairs.

She knows Melissa isn’t here on her own volition. Maggie had called her, asking for her to come round. Dana knows this because she listened to the phone call. Melissa may love her but she has never been able to stay still for very long.

It doesn’t matter. Sometimes Dana found it stifling with just her and her mother in the house. Maggie knew something was up, knew Dana was spending too must time trapped away but Dana could never talk to her mother like she could her sister. Maggie would try to offer some help, some way to resolve the problem when she didn’t want that, she just wanted someone to listen and Missy would listen.

Missy was good at that, at knowing when it was time to offer advice or time to listen, to be a soundboard and absorb information.

Mulder had been good at that, too.

Her head falls back against the side of the couch in frustration. Does everything she think really have to lead back to Mulder?

Melissa arrives, Maggie goes out, and Dana is finally free to talk.

She confesses everything; Mulder telling her that he was leaving the X-Files, leaving Washington. How shitty it’s made her feel, how she doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat anymore and as predicted Melissa listens all the way until Dana’s finished.

“He just left?!” Missy’s furious herself. Equally as confused to his motives.

Dana nods, feeling the pang in her stomach at the thought of going back to work and not seeing him. It was so stupid. They are separated, the X-Files were closed and they were reassigned. Why is this bothering her so much?

Because there was always the knowledge she could see him whenever. A day trip to the Hoover Building and she could say hello like she did the first week they were reassigned. That had kick-started it. They were no longer working together but he still called her, still asked for her opinion, for her expertise. They would always be a team even if higher ups tried to keep them away from each other.

But this wasn’t the higher ups decision. This was Mulder’s. Mulder’s choice to leave, to get away from her.

Can’t you see I’m giving you a way out? A chance to get away from me?

He had said that to her but now she feels like he was getting away from her.

Was it because they took me, Mulder? Am I a hinderance? Something you need to keep out of arms reach so it doesn’t disrupt your mission?

It didn’t matter if he said he was leaving the X-Files. He still had his badge and gun, he still had his sources, he didn’t need the cases in the drawer, his quest could still be completed with or without them. He’d proven that in Arecibo and he hadn’t needed Dana there either.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Minnesota. He was moving to Minnesota. Minneapolis to be more exact and what was in Minneapolis? The Metrodome was in Minneapolis, that could have its bonuses.

Other than that, Minnesota was a far-cry from Washington DC but maybe that was what Mulder needed- get away from the dregs of this city and start anew in that city.

Anyway, he didn’t have a choice. He asked for the transfer and a transfer was what he was getting.

Guess it was time to start finding a new apartment in Minneapolis.

His eyes do a sweep of his current apartment. He’d have to find someone to lease it to. Scully? Scully doesn’t have an apartment anymore, maybe her?

Don’t be stupid. She’s not going to want anything from you.

Maybe The Lone Gunmen then. Surely one of them could use their own place rather than all sharing the Den. It wasn’t like he had any other friends he could lease it to anymore, he burned all those relationships some time ago.

His eyes move across the living room, landing on the X taped on the window. He sighs, striding across the room towards it. His stubby nails scratch at the tape, fighting to get it off the pane. He scrapes and scrapes at it, cursing, getting frustrated as only tiny bits off tape come off and get stuck to his fingers until finally a corner comes loose and he’s able to pull the rest off in one go.

No need for that anymore, Mulder thinks as he scrunches the tape up into a ball and throws it into the bin.

He turns back to the window, only the faint outline of an X in its place and it suddenly dawns on him what it means, what removing it signifies. His chest restricts, he becomes overwrought with emotion, tears pinpricking in his eyes and why? It’s just some damn tape, nothing but pain and lies and anger.

Still the tears come, he cannot stop them and Mulder collapses onto the couch, cries into his hands and wonders why.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He’s half-asleep on the couch, TV playing loudly to drown out his thoughts while he tries to go to sleep. His neighbours hate him; the downstairs neighbour hates him for bouncing his basketball, his neighbours either side of him hate him for how loud he has the TV. Not that it matters anymore, he’ll be gone in five days.

There’s a knock on the door. His sleep-addled brain gets excited. For some inexplainable reason he thinks it’s Scully but why would it be? Scully hates him and she’s never knocked on his door in the year he’s known her.

There’s a mind to ignore it. He’s not home even though the TV can clearly be heard. He’s asleep, then.

But the knocking is persistent.

And what if…

Mulder gets up from the couch, his bones protesting as he moves but he pays them no heed. He deserves the physical pain for the pain he’s caused other people. He’s not deserving of a bed when there’s so many people who will never sleep in one again.

He drags his self-hating, painfilled body to the front door and unlocks it.

His heart leaps at the sight of the person behind it. In the darkened hallway he thinks it’s her and he can barely believe it. She doesn’t hate him after all…

Until the old hallway lights flicker on and his heart deflates inside his body. It’s a Scully but not his Scully.

It’s Melissa Scully and she looks pissed.

“Can I help you?” Mulder asks wondering why Melissa Scully would be paying him a visit at this time.

“Can I come in?” Her voice is hard, like it was when she told him to drop his cynicism on her last visit

“Sure,” Mulder says moving aside as Melissa steps in.

He closes the door, switches on the light, mutes the TV, and sits down on his couch.

Melissa stands.

She doesn’t take her coat off.

She’s not here to stay long.

“So,” says Mulder breaking the silence. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Dana told me everything,” she tells him.

Mulder’s heart sinks. Of course she did. He’s not angry. Scully let’s nobody in. Nobody but Melissa. What did he expect?

“Did she send you here to try to convince me to stay?” He keeps his voice levelled, controlled. He’s not angry, he’s really not but this is his choice, and whether Scully wants to believe it or not, it is to keep her safe, keep her alive. “Because if that’s the case my mind is made up. Nothing she can say or you can say will change it. I’m doing it to keep her safe.”

“Dana didn’t tell me to do anything. I came here on my own.” She regards him coolly. “Dana used to speak highly of you. She tell me how brilliant you were, how grateful she was that she had someone as caring and thoughtful for a partner. Someone who put others before himself yet since I met you I’ve not seen any of that. I mean, look how long it took you to put your gun down and just sit with her.”

Mulder looks to the floor. He can’t believe it. Scully’s really said those words about him to someone? When was the last time anyone has ever referred to him positively?

“You can’t even look at me, can you?” Melissa says and Mulder moves his eyes from the floor to the woman.

He has nothing to say. He’s being all those things right now. He’s doing this to protect, why is everyone refusing to see that?

“It’s to protect her,” he says.

“How? How is this protecting her? Please, tell me.”

Mulder looks away again, towards the window. Through the light, at the outlined X.

“Because this is my fault,” he mumbles. “I didn’t tell her the consequences.”

“What consequences?” Melissa asks, thoroughly confused. “The consequences of being an FBI agent? I think she knows the consequences, Mulder.”

Mulder shuts his eyes, breathing heavily. People still think her abduction was some FBI related incident. Scully probably believes it was too. Nobody believed Duane Barry, only Mulder and that will be everyone’s downfall.

“It’s more complicated than that.” He looks away from the window, and the X, to Melissa. “And Scully knows that, she just refuses to see it.”

Melissa sighs, looking down at her feet before looking back at Mulder.

“She needs you right now. Whatever it was that happened to her, you’re the only one she feels that can help her.”

I am helping her. I’m helping her by getting away from her before I cause more destruction.

“But you’re not going to, are you?”

Mulder swallows. “It’s for the best,” is all he says.

Melissa scoffs. “Fine. If you think so.”

She stuffs her hands into her pockets and walks herself to the door. Mulder’s eyes fall back to the floor but they follow her shadow.

“She loves you,” Melissa says, hand on the door handle. “Did you know that?”

No, he didn’t.

“She never said it outright but I heard it. And I think you love her too.”

Yes, he does.

She yanks the door open. “I hope you figure out your life, Mulder, before you lose her forever.”

She leaves then, the door slamming behind her. Mulder sinks into the couch, his hand rubbing down his face.

Maybe losing her is the best way to show her he does love her.

- - -

Tagging: @bevh78 @mypanicface @weseeusinthefall

[green-spear-of-causality]

For the OTP Drabbles Ask thing. 21- Proto-Cu and Robin Hood

- And so it begins.

I hope you enjoy, @oddnub!

21. "Jinx, you owe me a coke." *Can't speak until they buy the other a soda*

Proto Cú's Luck was as abysmal as ever.

First, he woke up and fell off the bed. After untangling himself from his blankets, he padded towards Chaldea's mess hall only to accidentally bump into Gilgamesh -- yes, the one from his older self's Grail War. The Gold Archer then proceeded to mock him, pointing out his messy hair (that was hastily put into its ponytail, give him a break it's his day off - ) as well as his clumsy footing while laughing in that condescending way of his. Proto Cú hurried around him to grab a bite to eat, only to slip in the remnants of last night's Food War and fall face-first into a pile of molding cheese. Gilgamesh howled with laughter, and Proto Cú felt his cheeks burn as he stood up and went to the sink to wash his face off.

He didn't think it could get any worse than this.

"Yo."

Proto Cú whipped his head around to see Robin Hood wave to him, the Green Archer situating himself on one of the very few untouched seats. All the others had some form of ketchup, eggs, or relish on them (Nobu knew how to utterly vandalize a place).

"Yo..." Proto Cú sighed out, wiping his face off on a dish towel. Robin's mouth quirked in amusement at seeing the Lancer's miserable face, eyebrow raised in concern.

"You look awful. What happened?"

"Goldie happened."

"Ah." Robin tilted his head towards him in sympathy, and Proto Cú felt a wave of gratitude for the Archer. Ever since they met, they hit it off almost instantly. It was similar to how his and Emiya's friendship worked, actually; the main difference was that he apparently shared a single brain cell with Robin, considering the amount of memes they casually throw at each other.

Another thing they shared was their love of pranks. Proto Cú had waited until he felt that their friendship was on a more secure level to hide Robin's cloak (it...actually smelled pretty nice) underneath Alter's mattress. He did it with permission from the Berserker, of course; he didn't have a death wish. He then got to watch with amusement as Robin sent him a withering glare for the rest of the first day, the May King scurrying around Chaldea and asking numerous Servants if they've seen his cloak. The Archer eventually found it a week later, looking like he fought four lions to get to it and flipping Proto Cú the bird once they saw each other again.

"I won't forget this," He had declared. Proto Cú remembered waving him off, too busy wheezing as he took pictures of Robin for future blackmail to really consider the implications.

And now, he wishes that he had. Proto Cú wasn't an idiot; he'd get his due eventually from him. The questions were when, and how.

Actually... Proto Cú frowned. "What are you doing up this early? You're usually walking around in another hour or so."

"Can't a Servant change their schedule up a bit?" Robin said innocuously, and immediately warning bells were ringing in Proto Cú's head. Robin prided himself on the amount of sleep he got; while Proto Cú rose with the sun, the May King waited until it was nearly all the way up in the sky to even consider moving.

Crimson eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh."

Robin snorted in laughter at his suspicion. "Nevermind that; let's eat some breakfast!"

"Like what?" Proto Cú asked as he grabbed some dish soap and a sponge, wiping down the seat next to Robin and drying it off before sitting down.

Robin looked around, stopping his search as his eyes landed on something. "Well, we'll just ask the Red Archer himself."

Proto Cú followed Robin's line of sight to the dual-wielding Archer, who scrunched his nose up at the sight of the destroyed mess hall. The Lancer lifted his hand and waved to him, calling out. "Yo, Archer! Do you know what's for breakfast?"

"I was going to try my hand at a Western-styled dish," The Counter Guardian began, making his way over to them, "But it seems that it will have to wait until a new shipment arrives. The only thing left should be the leftovers from yesterday..."

The Red Archer stepped into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a plate of dumplings. Robin and Proto Cú stared; they knew that it was enough food to fill one Servant, not two.

Silence. Then,

"Gimme that bitch!"

"You better STOP! STOOOOP!!"

Emiya grunted as the two Servants pushed each other out of the way to reach for the plate, the taller Archer holding it over his head as they jumped for it. They were arguing all the while, and slowly he was developing a headache because of it.

"Let me at least set down the goddamn plate first or so help me I'll - "

He didn't finish. He didn't need to; Robin and Proto Cú stilled, drawing back and looking at him.

They spoke in perfect unison, seeming to sing the two words. "...You're angry."

Emiya blinked. The duo locked eyes with each other, shouting in tandem. "JINX! DOUBLE JINX!"

Robin then kicked Proto Cú's shin hard, making the blue-haired Servant double over in pain. He grabbed the plate of dumplings, Emiya letting him with a sigh as he dropped back into his seat to eat.

Proto Cú could hear the smugness in his voice. "Triple jinx. You owe me a coke."

"Son of a bitch!" Proto Cú cried out, Emiya sending him The Look as Jack and Nursery Rhyme chose that time to enter the mess hall themselves. The Lancer couldn't believe that he fell for it; Robin was known for playing dirty when it was required, and he's seen him do it numerous times to their enemies.

"You know the rules." Robin sing-songed, and Proto Cú gritted his teeth. He then mimed drinking a bottle, favoring his injured shin as he all but ran out of the room.

Emiya turned to Robin, anger forgotten as curiosity took over. "Mind explaining that?"

"He's jinxed." Robin stated matter-of-factly, taking a bite out of another dumpling and humming in content. Emiya didn't even know that he liked cold dumplings. "He can't talk until he gets me a soda. Specifically, Coca-Cola."

An ominous smile stretched across his face. "Little does he know that I've hidden all of the Coca-Cola Chaldea has in the last place he'd ever think to look."

Emiya blanched. He then paled in horror, eyes wide with disbelief. "...You didn't."

Robin cackled. "I did."

"But - That's - "

"Suicide?" Robin poked a dumpling absentmindedly. "Well...he should've thought about that before stealing my cloak and putting it in Alter's room."

"This is an entirely different manner of beast we're discussing here, Robin." Emiya stressed, resting his hands on the (thankfully clean) counter. "You know what she can do, especially considering it's him - "

"He'll be fine." Robin said, a little bit too forcefully, and Emiya could see that he was trying to reassure himself. The May King grimaced, no longer finding the situation as amusing as he had beforehand.

"...He has to be."

--------

Goddamn smug Archer with his goddamn kicks - ! Proto Cú seethed, unable to voice his frustrations out loud as he made his way over to Da Vinci's Workshop. He couldn't believe that he fell for the oldest trick in the book; hell, he should've expected it!

He threw the door open, startling Da Vinci. The genius let out a breath, body sagging in relief.

"Oh, it's just you, Proto...I thought you were Romani for a second. What can I do for you?"

Where can I get some damn Coca-Cola? Proto Cú almost said that out loud, but he remembered Robin's smug look as he jinxed him.

He grimaced. He mimed drinking something, drawing a C in midair before Da Vinci got it.

"Oh, Coca-Cola? So Robin finally got you, didn't he?"

HE PLANNED FOR THIS?! Proto Cú wanted to scream, instead settling for throwing his hands into the air while his face contorted into some form of angered exasperation. I should've known that it was payback for the cloak...

Da Vinci giggled at his antics, looking over her work with a knowing smile. "Sorry, but I don't have any Cola here. You can wait for the new shipment to come in, if you want to; it'll come in...oh, about three months."

THAT'S THREE MONTHS TOO MANY!! Proto Cú silently groaned, burying his face in his hands. Da Vinci hummed.

"Well, try asking Romani. He's the one who keeps an eye on the shipments coming into Chaldea, and also keeps track of inventory. If anyone would know where to find some Cola, it'd be him."

Proto Cú bowed in gratitude, taking off down the hallway towards the Doctor. In his haste he almost ran over Arthur, scaring the Saber.

"Lancer! Why are you in such a rush?"

Proto Cú waved his hands around wildly, mind in disarray. Can't talk gotta go find Roman so he can tell me where the Cola is because for some reason it's gone from Da Vinci's Workshop and this is turning into some Grand Adventure -

Arthur held up a hand, making him pause. "Is this about a bet between you and Robin Hood? If it helps, I heard him in the West Wing a couple of days ago in the dead of night. I was visiting Mordred at the time, and it was late, so I was surprised to see him out and about."

The West Wing. That was where the female Servants resided, and if Robin was there, then -

Oh no. A voice, one that sounded very much like Ozpin when Hazel found him reverberated within his reference-addled mind. Robin had to have hidden the Cola as payback; that much, he was sure of.

If he was in the West Wing, then that left two options: Scáthach, or -

Don't think about the Devil lest she appear.

Proto Cú nodded his thanks, Arthur wishing him luck with a smile and a wave as he took off. He'd go to his mentor's room first; that way, if he had to die at least it'd be an honorable death. He straightened himself as he approached her door, knocking thrice.

The answer was immediate. "Come in."

Proto opened the door. His mentor sat cross-legged on her bed, braiding Fran's hair as a soft tune played in the background. The Berserker hummed along brokenly with it, a smile on her face, and Proto felt as if he was intruding on a serene moment.

Scáthach side-eyed him. "State your business."

Proto Cú inwardly sighed. Was he really prepared to embarrass himself in front of his mentor? ...It was too late to back out, anyhow. He outlined an invisible drink, spelling out C-O-L-A with his hands before stepping back and waiting for a response.

Scáthach paused in her actions, Fran continuing to hum happily. "If this is about that Green Archer, then I don't have anything of value to you. I heard him speak to Medb three days ago, though, in the dead of night."

...

It really was the Worst-Case-Scenario.

Proto Cú nodded his thanks, and turned to go. Scáthach stopped him, her words giving him pause.

"Good luck, my student. You know what you must do."

Aye. He thought miserably, gently closing the door behind him so as to not further disrupt the serenity. He had two options: either wait for the next shipment to come in, or to brave the horrors of Medb's room.

He didn't think he could stay mute for three months.

Robin's lucky that I'm not going to eviscerate him with my spear. Proto Cú manifested it just in case, tip toeing towards the Rider's room. Then again, this whole mess is my fault in the first place. I've learned my lesson.

He sucked in a breath and knocked.

Silence. He waited with bated breath, deciding to knock again. No response. He almost knocked a third time before noticing that the door was unlocked. Just as he was about to open it, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A dust cloud was seen in the distance, seeming to grow larger with each passing second. A high pitched sound made itself known to him, becoming louder as he turned to face it.

...The hell?

He peered closer. It...actually looked like a person was running -

"CÚÚÚÚÚÚÚÚ!!!!!"

Medb.

Oh shit.

RUN!!!

Proto Cú let the fear kick his legs into overdrive, turning tail and running back the way he came. He could hear the Rider's footsteps growing closer; was she..actually catching up to him?

If you stop, you're dead. His mind helpfully supplied, making him almost let loose a string of curses. No matter how many turns he took, she was right there behind him. It was like she had a Cú Detector on hand.

I need to lose her somehow!

He was in the East Wing. Think...Think! His older Lancer counterpart yawned as he stepped out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Perfect.

Proto Cú slapped his fellow Lancer's back as he ran by, diving behind the couch as the other stumbled. "What the - ?"

"YAYYY THERE'S ANOTHER CÚ!!" Medb's voice made the counterpart yelp and start running, leaving Proto Cú alone as he emerged from his hiding spot. He dusted himself off, sending a silent apology to his older self as he ran towards Medb's room.

It was time to end this nightmare.

--------

He'll be fine. He has to be. Robin paced back and forth in one of the break rooms, Emiya watching him out of the corner of his eye with a knowing smirk.

"Worried?"

"Shut up." He retorted, mentally berating himself for not telling Medb to go easy on him. This is the last time I let my anger get the best of me.

The door burst open. Robin's head whipped up to see Cú - not Proto, but the other Lancer version - throw himself into the room and slam the door shut behind him, locking it.

Crimson met steel. "Hide me."

"Pardon?" Emiya asked, confused. Cú gave him no time to respond; the Lancer moved around behind him and peeked over his shoulder, eyes trained on the door. Robin noticed his messy hair, strands sticking this way and that, and figured that the blue-haired Servant just woke up.

"A crazy bitch is after me." Cú whispered, eyes wide yet unmoving. "I don't care what I have to do to make it up to you; just hide me."

Emiya glanced down at him. To Robin's amazement, his face morphed into a strange expression for a split second before going back to its default. "There's a side room tucked away in the back right. Stay in there until I say otherwise."

"You are a lifesaver!" Cú breathed a sigh of relief as he went through the side door, shutting it softly behind him.

Robin stared at Emiya.

"Don't say it."

Robin stared.

"...It was spur of the moment."

Stare.

Emiya flushed in embarrassment. "It's not - "

The doorknob jiggled.

The two Archers zeroed in on it, falling silent as it rumbled more violently. The readied themselves for a battle they'd rather not have, drawing their weapons -

The knob broke as Proto Cú burst into the room, scouring it for .4 seconds before chucking something at Robin. The Green Archer yelped as the offending object hit his head, falling into his lap innocuously and resting there.

"There's your motherfuckin' Cola." Proto Cú said in exhaustion, closing the door behind him and dropping to the ground. Emiya lowered his weapons, letting them dematerialize as he let out a puff of air to relax his suddenly tense muscles.

Robin opened the Cola, taking a sip. "You're alive." He noted.

Proto Cú bristled. "Yeah, no thanks to you! I can't believe you've done this!"

The British accent made Robin chuckle. "I know, I know. Bringing in Medb was a bit much."

"A bit? A BIT?!" As Proto Cú began his (unnecessarily long) rant, Emiya gave the two a small smile. They really did act like an old married couple, didn't they?

All's well ends well, I suppose.

-------- OMAKE! --------

Fsn Cú: ...Is it safe to come out yet?

Fsn Cú: Oi! Guys? Helloooo?

Robin: Just come out of the fucking closet already

Robin: We all know you're gay for Emiya

Fsn Cú, opening the door: Okay, thanks -

Fsn Cú:

Fsn Cú: Wait -

Fsn Cú: WHAT -

[wrathofthewind]

vii. Curse

Arnalt came in and out of consciousness, and every time he came to, the world was upside down. It was only after several days of being steadily administered with a continuous flow of spiritual energy and heavy dosages of anesthetic tea that he finally had the strength to peel his eyes open. His arm was bandaged and splinted, but it hurt like a bitch when he tried to move.

Ithana hadn’t just injured his shoulder, she’d also fractured a line in his spiritual power, causing a momentary break in his spiritual flow that made him hallucinate or faint with vertigo. 

He must’ve tried standing in his haze several times because his arms were now held down by ropes.

As soon as he looked conscious and stable, and after answering a few questions to the attending medic to confirm his state, the ropes were released and the attendant sighed with relief. 

Bael was there, a drink in his hand, and behind him Pallax was giving instructions to that servant girl Pagytha. Something, something, he likes them with a sprinkle of cinnamon, oh, they were probably talking about his breakfast. It was hard to feel starved though when you were so nauseous.

“Ugh.” Arnalt grumbled and an attendant quickly came to help him sit up. “What’s the status?”

Pallax immediately reported. “Compound fracture on your scapula, swelling and trauma to the glenohumeral joint, and some ugly bruising but nothing your highness hasn’t healed from before.”

He lowered his head.

“It’s not your fault I’m so behind on my training.”

“I am your teacher. This is my responsibility.”

“You can’t hope to compete with the Lioness of—“

Crack.

“CAN YOU NOT— ugh, I’m too nauseous for this shit.”

Pallax had easily dislocated his shoulder with a single chop from his hand, and just as quickly…

Click crack.

He adjusted it back in place. His face clenching and unclenching as he did so.

“In penance for my oversights.” He kneeled down and lowered his head, ashamed.

Arnalt had barely woken up, he rolled his eyes. “That was unnecessary,” he winced again, “but fine, fine.” He waved his left hand a bit to dismiss it. “Stand.”

“Ok if I had a Pallax in my state I would not be this fat.” Bael said this just as he reached for a plate of biscuits and scarfed them down. “You know?” He had his mouth full but kept talking a bit. “Or moobee I coulth conk urr sum villages or sumthin…” he wiped his mouth and took a large drink from a half-full glass that was laying by his side. He seemed to think for a minute then look at Arnalt’s shoulder seriously.  “Good thing it’s not a permanent injury.”

Arnalt nodded, and smirked, even though he was deathly pale, nauseous and still a bit damp from the pain sweats. “Hmf, how could it be?”

“Ithana really has a soft spot for you, I once saw her crush Gildegad’s whole hand. Before she smashed his nose in.”

And Gildegad never got that hand back. It was eventually cut off and replaced with a metal one.

Tyssen came into the room and Arnalt quickly felt his surroundings shrink. “Bael, could you leave us for a minute?”

“Alright,  I just wanted to check if you’d be ok. I’ll leave you to your business.” He gathered his things and finished his goblet. “Try not to start unnecessary duels again?” Once more, Bael’s face felt momentarily serious before that wide smile and mirth rippled through it once again and he hopped off to go. “Have a good one! Don’t get more bones broken while I’m gone! I can’t always have my Chef on hand to make your recovery meals gourmet you know? And…” his voice trailed off in the hall and Tyssen quickly shut the door.

The attendant had already left.

Arnalt immediately looked at him with a satisfied smile about to form, but his face quickly fell. Tyssen didn’t look happy.

“They caught him.”

Well, he hadn’t counted on that!

“Didn’t he memorize the map last night?”

“He did, but, he was a little overzealous and I believe he didn’t actually sleep, I woke up to find him in the same position, still reading the thing. I don’t think he slept.”

Arnalt wanted to scream for very different reasons now.

“An exhausted brain leads a fool to his grave. Where are they keeping him? And how… where did he get caught?”

“He somehow ended up close to Ithana’s stables, they found him on his way to steal a horse.”

If Arnalt could use both his hands he would’ve cradled his whole head. As It was, he just cradled his forehead with the one.

“As for where they’re keeping him… They’re not.”

“Don’t tell me…”

“The Prison Wagon departed to the Winterlands that very same day.”

A failure. All for naught.

Arnalt extended his arm and Pallax handed him a bowl of soup. He took one look at it and sneered. Pallax chose another plate, one of the many Bael had left behind, and this one was a bruleed toast with with fresh ham and melted cheese, a dab of marmalade peeping through the crust.

Arnalt shook his head again.

Finally he settled on the plate of sautéed sliced potatoes with chives, warm grains with fried bacon slices and a vegetable concasse.

Arnalt ate silently until the plate was clean.

An hour passed. Tyssen and Pallax didn’t move a muscle.

“I should let him rot up there. He deserves it.”

…

“I don’t care if he’s a stupid teenager.”

…

“I’m not that far from his age I wouldn’t have let myself get caught like that.”

…

“He’s so bloody dumb, he really is only muscle and no brain.”

…

“Your Highness your injured.” Tyssen simply mumbled.

“Your Highness I can’t recommend this.” Pallax quickly trailed.

“Pass me the toast, and we depart in a week.” Arnalt finished.

“Why do you bother keeping it alive? He’s already lived an enchanted life for any Kurian!” Tyssen finally spoke his mind.

“He is my ward!” Arnalt said simply. “I’m responsible for him. They said he wouldn’t grow more than a few inches and look how tall he’s gotten, they said his brain would be addled by the curse yet look what he’s become, DUMB SURE, but smart enough, they said he was weak and he would die and if anything he eats like TEN men combined, weak is NOT what he is. He’s not cursed, he’s like any other boy with potential for greatness. And I, Arnalt Azuria, am the first in the history of Aegeria to successfully raise a Kurian. Isn’t that something!”

Pallax rolled his eyes but Arnalt didn’t catch him, thankfully.

“Your Highness, he is 15 now, fast approaching maturity and his curse is catching up with him, with us! You saw what happened! He decimated that hall. The mission was perfectly under control and his impulsiveness nearly killed us all! He may not be getting weaker, or smaller, but it’s worse because he’s becoming stronger, and even more dangerous! That magic…”

Pallax interceded. “I must agree with Lord Tyssen your highness. Sometimes the best mercy with a ferocious animal is to eliminate it, prevent the destruction of many with the sacrifice of one. I had often heard that children cursed by the Kur especially would naturally die before age 16 and their death was marked by a burst of malicious energy. It could very well be that he’ll unleash the poisons at Tahr and perhaps that’s why—“

“…”

“Go on, say it. Speak your mind Pallax.” Arnalt spoke sharply.

“Perhaps this is the real reason he’s being sent to the Glaes, and, this might’ve always been the fate that was planned for him, even if you granted him your Mercy.”

Silence enveloped the room.

“And what of it?” Arnalt insisted. “If this was my family just waiting for an excuse—“

“They didn’t need to wait!” Tyssen cut in, finally losing his patience. “He gave them one! And he’s been giving several the more we approach his 16 suns! This is what the Opal spoke of, and you—“

“I KNOW WHAT THE OPAL SPOKE OF.”

…

Arnalt felt that pain and numbness again in his arm, and took a deep breath to both control the pain and control himself. He’d long put the plate down. “I heard the Opal. It was my coronation of course I heard the Opal. But a prophecy is just that, a prophecy, predictions, possibilities, and not all of them come true, or if they do, not the way anyone ever thinks. In the end we can only guide ourselves by our own code and our own nature and let Fate fall where it may. You were both there, and all you heard the Opal saw was that among us had risen a blight. That this blight would cause a devastation, that the heavens would split… You know what I heard?”

Neither Tyssen nor Pallax answered.

“I heard him say I—“ he slammed his fist on the night table next to him, “ARNALT THE EAGLE AZURIA, HAVE THE POWER TO PREVENT THIS.”

He swallowed the bile in his stomach, as any extertion made him want to hurl. But he kept his back straight and bore through it.

“So trust me. Because this is what I see right now. I see a 15 year old boy, with enormous potential, who is mostly scared and vulnerable and needs guidance. That boy could very well become the destruction of our realm if we keep treating him this way. It will be our fault, not his if he destroys us in the future!”

Tyssen and Pallax glanced at each other and nodded. Whether they agreed or not, there was nothing else to say.

“In a week then.” Tyssen echoed.

“We’ll need a good reason to take his highness away from the palace. And the healing facilities.” Pallax finished.

“I think it’s time to pay a visit to my dear Lady Olandra.”

Understanding reached the two knight’s faces. Pallax rubbed his chin. “This, this might work.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a  young woman was shoved inside with a yelp! Just as quickly the door slammed shut and when Pallax jumped to push it open he found it impossible, someone was holding it in place from the outside. 

A bolt slid across and locked all them all inside abruptly! A few steps were heard and then faded. They couldn’t get out. 

“YOU!” Arnalt stared at the young woman.

The young woman lifted her face and it was covered in black dust! 

“Sire!” She cried. “Help!”

[jgvfhl]

Gwaine Fest 2019

For @candicewright, I hope you enjoy!

‘Twas the Week Before Christmas

It was a week or so before Christmas celebrations in Camelot would truly begin, but already the citadel and lower town were getting crowded as people's families arrived from outer villages and towns to spend the holidays with loved ones. Decorations of evergreen, holly, and ivy were gradually appearing in house windows, along with candles at night. There was snow on the ground, but there hadn't been a huge snowfall yet, although everyone knew it would come. Camelot always got snow for Christmas. The taverns and inns were reaching capacity by this time, and the evenings inside were even more crowded than normal, often with standing room only.

Luckily, Gwaine knew to get there early. Getting to the Rising Sun tavern early meant two things: there was still hot cider left, and you could get a seat. So he had done that tonight, although he was alone. Usually, he could convince someone to come with him, but the knights he had asked had all been busy. Many of them had extra duties in the evenings this time of year due to the influx of people into the city. Gwaine didn't particularly mind. He was a sociable person, and he had found people to talk to at the tavern. But it was getting late, and the tavern was filling up fast, getting louder and more raucous with each new addition. Gwaine finished off his tankard, delivered it to the bar, said goodnight to the owner and his wife, and began the task of finding the door.

When he finally got out, he took a deep breath of the cold night air--and was promptly bumped into by someone else leaving the tavern with a bit more drink in his system.

"Watch it!" the man shouted, and dragged himself onward.

Gwaine arched an eyebrow at him, but ignored it and started his walk back to the castle. The streets were clearing now, as the temperature dropped, but there were still a few souls out walking with him. Familiar faces, for the most part, although he didn't know their names. He continued on, passing the invisible divide between the wooden homes lower down, and those built of stone or plaster ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadow slip out of an alley behind him, but he shook his head and chalked it up to tiredness and alcohol.

But then, a pair of hands seized his wrists and yanked them behind his back. Simultaneously, someone's gloved hand covered his mouth, and he felt the distinct chill of a blade against his throat.

"Don't try anything," a gruff voice ordered. "Come with us."

He had no choice. He was shuffled off the street into a black alley and shoved bodily against a stone wall. His sword was taken from its scabbard and leveled at his throat. Finally, he got a look at his assailants--and they were familiar. Again, no names came to mind, but he had definitely seen these men before. Not all in the same place nor at the same time, but he knew them. They were not here for a friendly chat and catch-up.

"Ring any bells, do we?" asked the man who had spoken earlier.

Gwaine eyed them, and the sword aimed at him. "Something like that," he replied cautiously.

The man turned his head to the man holding Gwaine's sword. "Put that away, this is personal." In response, the man backed away, but the others closed in.

Gwaine was ready for the first punch and ducked, hearing the crunch of finger bones. He punched the first man in the stomach and ducked to the side, only to have another man's fist strike his head and send him stumbling back into the wall.

If I can just get a weapon from one of them, he thought desperately as he dodged another punch and received yet another. But there were simply too many of them in such a confined space. He had no place to run or hide or dodge away, and certainly no time to search them for a knife.

Someone kicked the back of his knee, and he dropped. He reached out in retaliation and hit one of them in the groin, allowing himself the small satisfaction that came with the cry of pain. But he didn't have much time for celebration, because a boot was coming right at his face. Instinct made him turn his face away, but it still hit, knocking him back against the wall in a heap, his head striking the stone wall behind him. His vision went spotty. After that, his only hope was to cover his face and head and hope their intention was to leave him alive at the end.

Suddenly, a different voice cut through the chaos. Gwaine recognized that one. In a heartbeat, the dynamic shifted, as he heard someone land several meaty punches before drawing a sword. "Don't move," Percival warned. "You're all under arrest." God, he loved Percival.

"And you're going to arrest us all on your own?" the spokesman jeered. That was a stupid man to challenge Percival.

Running footsteps announced that Percival was no longer alone. Gwaine supposed several guards had come to his aid. He peeked up through his arms to confirm this. They had surrounded the group of men, spears lowered.

The men realized running was a bad idea. The guards rounded them up, including the two Percival had sent sprawling and the man Gwaine had incapacitated, and forced them out of the alley. When they had gone, Percival sheathed his sword and retrieved Gwaine's, then knelt down beside him.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked quietly.

Gwaine blinked slowly, uncurling from his guarded position. "Leave it to you to be my knight in shining armor, eh?" He winced at the pain from his throbbing head. There were still blurry spots in his field of view.

Percival rolled his eyes. "Someone's gotta be, an' I don't see many volunteers. Can you stand?"

Gwaine nodded silently, putting a hand on the other knight's shoulder. Percival was always there for him, by some miracle or other. "How is it you always know I'm in trouble?" he asked as Percival helped him to his feet, steadying him with an arm around his chest.

"Dunno, but you're damn lucky I do."

"I'm damn lucky no matter what, with you around," Gwaine said, somehow managing a cheeky grin despite everything that had just happened.

"You just had your head knocked against a wall," Percival said, slowly walking with Gwaine out of the alley, "an' you're flirting with me?"

After a pause to process the question, Gwaine nodded, carefully. "Yep."

"I think your brain's been addled."

"My brain's always addled." After a pause, he added, "'Cause you're really strong... and nice..."

Percival shook his head. "You're hopeless."

"My head is killing me."

"Yeah, I wonder why that is, Gwaine?" He sighed. "An' you chose the best time to go get bashed up, because Gaius is busy with a load o' sick kids, and Merlin's off with Arthur."

Gwaine looked up at him. "Merlin's off with Arthur? Merlin's off with Arthur?"

"Not like that," Percival frowned at him. "Diplomatic envoy."

"Oh, yeah..." Gwaine vaguely remembered some mention of that trip. "Still... I'd believe the other one. So who's patching me up?"

"Guess I'll have to.

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

They arrived at Gwaine's room a bit later, after receiving more than a few quizzical glances from people passing in the halls. Percival tried to assure them with a friendly smile and a wave, but who knows what that did. Gwaine sat down at the small table in front of his bed with a groan.

"Wait here, I'll be back in a bit," Percival told him.

"Not like I'm going anywhere with this headache," Gwaine replied. Of course, the one night he hadn't left the tavern drunk, he ended up with a headache anyway. Figures. He was cold, too, which only added to his discomfort. Although moving generally hurt, he set about taking off his bracers and belt so he could remove his mail. The metal was all frigid. Luckily he remembered to keep his gloves on this time. He laid his armor out on the table then retrieved his red cloak from where he had tossed it on his bed earlier that evening and wrapped it around himself. That was better.

Gwaine must have dozed off, because next he knew, Percival was shaking him gently awake. "What?" he mumbled. He opened his eyes, but found only one did: the other was too swollen. "Ow."

"Yeah, you'll have on helluva black eye for the next week or so," Percival said. He had pulled up the other chair to face Gwaine.

"'m going back to sleep."

He heard Percival chuckle. "No, you can't, I'm about to say your four favorite words."

Gwaine picked up his head. "Drinks are on me?" he guessed.

Percival raised an eyebrow. "No. Take your shirt off."

After a second of processing, Gwaine nodded and started untying the front of his gambeson. "I do like those words, especially coming out of your mouth."

"Hopeless," Percival muttered, grabbing a bundle of cloth from the table. Gwaine noticed the collection of items that had mysteriously appeared on his table. Clean cloth, a pitcher of water, and some small bottles.

"Where'd all this come from?"

"Oh." Percival almost looked guilty about it. "I... borrowed some things from Gaius's chambers." When he caught Gwaine looking at him, he added, "I left a note."

A crooked smile formed on Gwaine's face. "I'm sure you 'borrowed' it with as much nobility as you could muster." He winced as he slid his shirt over his shoulders. His ribs ached all over.

Percival put the bundle of cloth in his hands. It was cold to the touch. "Hold that on your eye, it'll keep the swelling down."

"Is this snow?" he asked. Then, "Ow! Watch it, Percy," when the other knight's hands found a particularly tender spot on his side.

"Stop whining and be grateful your ribs aren't broken. And be grateful I'm checking."

Gwaine smirked. "I'm grateful for a lotta things right about now," he remarked, knowing it would annoy Percival. It did. Too bad for him, because an annoyed Percival happened to be a very attractive one as well.

Percival changed the subject, leaning back from Gwaine and picking up some cloth and a bottle from the table. "Who were those guys, anyway?"

Gwaine had been expecting this conversation. He sighed, adjusting the pack of snow against his eye. "Oh, just some blokes I ran into before Camelot. Probably been looking for me for years, for whatever reason."

"Don't remember them much?" Percival asked, getting up and walking behind Gwaine's chair.

"Barely at all," he replied. He gave another yelp of surprise and lurched forward, twisting around to glare at Percival. "Hey! What the hell are you doing back there? That hurt."

"Sorry," Percival said, "but in case you didn't notice the blood on the wall when I rescued you, your head's bleeding."

Gwaine huffed a sigh and sat back in place. "Fine, but be careful, will you? Maybe a warning next time, too, huh?" As an afterthought, he added, "And you didn't 'rescue' me."

"Yeah, sure," Percival scoffed.

Normally, Gwaine hated it when anyone messed with his hair, although with Percival, he made some exceptions. But now, he sat still and let him mess with it while he inspected the wound there.

"This is gonna sting," he warned. Gwaine felt him press the piece of cloth to his head, and it did sting, and he gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, but didn't complain. For several moments, there was silence as Percival worked, but eventually, he reappeared from behind Gwaine, setting down on the table the small bottle he had taken and several pieces of cloth, now with blood staining them. "The bleeding's stopped," he said. "Gaius should look at it tomorrow, though."

"Thanks."

Percival sighed as he reorganized the items on the table. "No problem, Gwaine."

Gwaine tilted his head, reading his face. "You've got your worried face on again."

Percival threw his hands up and placed them on the back of his chair. "Yeah, well, how am I not supposed to have my worried face on with you like this?"

"I'm alright now."

"Because I found you," he pointed out. "They would've killed you if I hadn't, and you know it." He bowed his head, his fingers tightening on the back of the chair until the knuckles blanched. "I don't want to lose you."

Gwaine was notably silent as Percival gathered up the things on the table to return to Gaius's chambers. Frankly, he was a little surprised by Percival's declaration. Until now, their relationship had existed on a nonverbal agreement--one that most of the other knights and everyone had picked up on, but still. Hearing it out loud like that was new. After Percival left, Gwaine took the bundle of melting snow off his eye. Most of the snow had melted by now, but it was still cold, and it had helped his eye feel better. Then he reached around and gingerly felt the back of his head, wincing when he struck a nerve. But there was no blood on his fingertips when he withdrew them, so that was good. He put his shirt back on, wrapped his cloak around himself, and sat there to wait for Percival to return.

Like earlier, he fell asleep waiting. Like earlier, he was awoken by Percival's hand on his shoulder. "How's your eye?" he asked, seeing the wet bundle of cloth that had held snow resting on the table.

"Better, a little," Gwaine answered. He noticed Percival had also taken off his armor and cloak, leaving what Gwaine knew were the clothes he slept in. "You sleeping over?" It was a fairly common occurrence, considering their rooms were right next door.

"Like I'm letting you outta my sight after what happened," he replied. He noticed Gwaine wrapped in his cloak. "Are you cold?"

Gwaine slowly got to his feet, squinting a little when a shock of pain struck his head. He walked over to Percival and put his arms around his chest, pressing the less damaged side of his face against him. As expected, Percival wrapped his arms around his shoulders, trying to be careful of any bruises he hadn't found. "Would you look at that," Gwaine mumbled. "I'm not cold anymore."

"Would you look at that," Percival repeated softly. Gwaine smiled as his voice rumbled in his chest.

"Hey, you wanna know something?"

"What?"

"When I heard your voice--tonight, when I knew it was you--you wanna know what the first thing in my head was?"

"What was it?"

Gwaine enjoyed the fact that he could hear Percival's heartbeat accelerate just slightly. "First thing in my head," he said, hugging Percival a little tighter, "was, 'God, I love Percival.'"

He heard Percival's heart speed up again and smiled to himself. "Really?"

"Really, it was the first thing." Percival's arms loosened, and Gwaine leaned back to look up at him. "And I really do love you," he added, watching Percival's ears slowly turn a shade of bright pink. "You're blushing."

"Shove off," Percival said, putting a hand on Gwaine's forehead and pushing him away.

He laughed, of course, then winced and clutched his side. "Ow, dammit."

Percival laughed at that. "Can you not laugh without hurting yourself?"

"Oh shut up! I'm in pain!"

Percival grinned. "Suddenly, this is a little entertaining as well as originally horrible."

Gwaine groaned. "Y'know, I was gonna kiss you, but now I'm rethinking it."

"Just go to bed and sleep," Percival told him.

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest. "No. Make me."

In hindsight, that was a stupid thing to say, but in Gwaine's defense, he had just hit his head very hard. Percival said, "Fine by me," and scooped Gwaine up in his arms to carry him to bed.

After initial protests, Gwaine surrendered and allowed Percival to put him down on the bed. He lay his head on his pillow, then immediately sat up from the pain in the back of his head. "Ow."

"You gonna be alright?" Percival asked, sitting down to take his boots off.

"I feel like my head is gonna split open at any moment." He tugged his own boots off, then climbed under the covers, lying on his front because it hurt less, and he could turn his face away from his black eye.

"You'll be fine." Percival blew out the three candles on the table before joining him. Almost as soon as he lay down, Gwaine pushed himself up on his elbows and kissed his cheek. Percival blinked. "I saved you from getting beat to death, and I patch you up, and that's all I get out of it?"

"You're awfully demanding for someone who didn't get bashed up tonight," Gwaine replied. He caught a glimpse of Percival's smug grin before their mouths met, then it seemed like the world had fallen away into blissful nothingness. Even the throbbing pain in his head faded to background noise. "I hope that was good enough for you," he said in a low voice afterwards, "because it's not getting any better until I can breathe without pain."

Percival smiled. "I'll survive." As Gwaine lay back down, he remarked, "I wonder if anyone's gonna believe you didn't start the fight?"

"The blockheads who did are in the dungeons as we speak, I think I'll be fine."

"That eye is gonna look awful."

Gwaine sighed deeply. "Just what I need."

Percival chuckled. "Sweet dreams."

"Mm. Love you."

[pulveremcomedesligulas]

Part of the Team

Requested by @walkinginland

Third option from this prompt post

* * *

His everything hurt when he finally came to. Or, sort of came to. Things were still very blurry and he had no memory of what had actually happened or why he had been unconscious in the first place.

The last thing he remembered was… someone had been injured on a mission. A mission he was on. A mission he hadn’t really even planned to be on. Hadn’t known why he had gone on it.

(It wasn’t like they needed him).

But his reasons for being there didn’t matter at that point when he had healed the injured person.

And promptly had passed the fuck out because there had been a lot of pain that had been transfered to him in the healing process.

(Maegyn always yelled at him when he used his healing abilities. Because he was an empath and while healing sometimes was part of an empath’s powers, the way his powers specifically worked…

Maegyn had good reason to be upset.)

But, his still-addled brain faintly was able to note, his younger sister wasn’t here. He was with the Queens Team from Edil Military Base.

They didn’t care enough about him to yell about him using his powers.

Zig was forcefully pulled from his thoughts to the touch of a cool cloth on his forehead.

“Huh?” he barely managed to say. He blinked his eyes open, but the world was still blurry. All he could see was the silhouette of someone with… it seemed like they had a lot of hair, but he couldn’t really tell.

“Are you awake?” a soft voice came from the silhouette. Vaguely, Zig knew he was supposed to recognize that voice, but he was still too out of it to identify who it was.

“Please wake up,” the voice continued. “We’re all really worried about you.”

Worried? But no one worried about him other than Maegyn, and she wasn’t here.

She also didn’t have dark skin or that much hair either, Zig thought, as the person slowly came more into view. He tried blinking his eyes a few times, only to find that once he closed them, he didn’t have enough energy to open them.

“Please, please get better,” the voice said, right as Zig faded back to darkness.

* * *

The next time he woke up, he was able to focus his eyes a little better. He didn’t hurt as much, and his brain was definitely working better too.

He still didn’t have a lot of energy to do much, but he didn’t expect that anyway.

“Good to see you’re awake,” someone said from the doorway. Zig looked up to see Layne walking in. She had her wings out, which confused Zig. Layne hadn’t had her wings out around him since they had first met years ago - when she had crash landed in the field close to his mother’s house. He knew it was a sign of trust - a sign of a significant bond between her and whoever she chose to let see her wings. He knew that the other members of her team saw her with them frequently. But Zig wasn’t really part of their team, didn’t belong with their team.

It didn’t make sense for Layne to have her wings out.

She came over to the side of his bed, setting a glass of water on the table beside him.

“You’ve been out for over a day and a half,” she said. “Some fevered mutterings here and there, but none of us noticed you actually wake up yet. Kassandra mentioned you seemed to stir some earlier, but she wasn’t sure you’d actually been fully coherent.”

She reached to help him sit up. Zig normally would have pushed away the offer, but right now he was too weak to move on his own, and that water Layne had brought it was a painful reminder to how dry his throat was.

After she had him sitting, Layne helped him drink the whole glass, carefully monitoring that he didn’t drink too fast. They didn’t speak - Zig didn’t think he could, and Layne was never one for small talk in the first place, and by the time Zig finished the glass he was already exhausted and near the point of passing out again.

Layne took notice and helped him settle back down to a comfortable position.

“You can rest, Zig,” she said. “We’ll be around if you need us, but you don’t need to worry. We’re going to take care of you.”

Zig wasn’t really sure what she meant, his mind already slipping into the realm of unconsciousness again, but he felt that maybe it was supposed to be comforting.

* * *

The next time he wakes up is to silent cursing coming from beside his bed.

He finds this time that he has just enough energy to push himself up on his elbows and look for the source of the noise.

Dai, the newest member of the Queens Team, was sitting on the floor beside Zig’s bed, scraps of various mechanical items spread around him.

Noticing Zig was awake, Dai immediately dropped whatever he was working on and jumped to his feet.

“Zig! You’re awake! Sorry if I woke you, I’m just trying to get this prototype to work.”

“Why?” Zig asked. His voice was rough from disuse, and it took a lot of effort just to get that one word out.

Dai cocked his head to the side. “Why? Well, I mean its a new thing I’ve been working on…”

Zig shook his head minutely, fearing anything more would cause a headache. Fortunately it was enough to stop Dai’s ramble.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh!” Dai said. “Well, it was my shift to look after you. The others would like to be here, especially since the two of us don’t know each other very well, but they all had different assignments to get to. They should be back later though.”

Zig frowned. The others wanted to be here? What did that mean.

(Surely they were just putting Dai on bedside duty because he was still a rookie to the team).

“Are you hungry?” Dai asked. “I can get some food brought up here.”

Zig nodded.

“Alright! It’ll be a bit, but one of us will bring you food when its ready!”

With that, Dai ran out of the room.

Zig settled back down into his pillow. Dai seemed like an okay person, but his energy seemed to zap what little Zig had to spare. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to sleep just a bit longer.

* * *

Zig woke up to the smell of warm chicken soup.

“I was wondering if you’d wake up in time to eat.”

Zig turned his head to see Corrin sitting at the foot of his bed. There was a tray holding a bowl of soup and a glass of water on the bedside table. Corrin was holding his own bowl, but didn’t look like he had eaten any.

“It smells good,” Zig said quietly, carefully pushing himself up to lean against the pillows.

Corrin hummed and moved to set the tray up over Zig’s lap.

“Are you okay to eat or do you need help?” he asked.

Zig waved him off. The smell of the soup was amazing, and even the idea of food filled him with energy.

“So, was it finally your turn to get stuck babysitting me?” he asked as he slowly spooned soup into his mouth.

Corrin gave him an odd look.

“Why do you say it that way?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Zig said. “That’s what you all are doing, isn’t it?”

“Well it is,” Corrin said. “But the way you say it makes it sound like this is something we’re doing because we have to. Like it’s a chore for us to do this.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, of course it’s not,” Corrin said. “Why would you think it was?”

Zig shrugged, focusing back on his soup. If Corrin really didn’t understand, then there was no point in spelling it out. He didn’t have the kind of energy for that anyway.

“Zig, will you look at me for a second,” Corrin said softly.

He really didn’t want to, but… his powers were slowly starting to come back to him, and he could sense the worry that Corrin was feeling at that moment. So, Zig reluctantly looked up.

“Zig, you know that we care about you, right?” Corrin asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer, please.”

Zig pushed a breath from his mouth before sitting his bowl down.

“Surely you noticed that I don’t exactly ‘fit in’ with you and your team, right? You guys have all this history with going through the academy together and being on a team and living together… I don’t have any of that with you. So me being thrown in on that last mission with you…”

He frowned down at his hands.

“I’m not part of your team,” he finished.

Before he realized it, Corrin was moving the tray from his lap and taking his hands in his.

“Zig, you don’t have to be an official member of our team to be a part of it. When… when I got injured out there, you didn’t even hesitate to heal me, even with Layne and Kass protesting because they care about you and didn’t want you to get hurt. Did you not think of that?”

Zig found he couldn’t answer, just stared at his and Corrin’s hands.

“You cared enough about me to risk all the empathic pain transfer to heal me, and we care so much about you that we had to arrange a schedule of shifts on who would sit with you while you were out because we couldn’t afford for everyone to sit here all day long.”

Corrin took a breath and squeezed Zig’s hands.

“I know you feel separated from us because we attended the academy when you couldn’t, but please don’t use that as a reason to pull away. Our military team is just that. It was put together by the military because they thought we could do their bidding well together. But the relationships we’ve created with each other - created with you - that has nothing to do with the military. We have those because we’re a family.”

One more squeeze of his hands and Zig couldn’t help but raise his head to meet Corrin’s gaze.

“You’re our family Zig. And we’ll stick by you for as long as it takes to accept that.”

[adoseofyukiya]

Since Then (Constant)

Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke

Relationships: MidoKise friendship, MidoTaka, hinted AoKise

Summary: Midorima Shintarou has long forgotten the last time when he actually didn’t celebrate his own birthday, all thanks to one Kise Ryouta whom he had the misfortune to call as best friend. He believed that this year would be like any other but it seemed like Fate has other plans.

A/N: This is me experimenting how to write Midorimacchi so please be gentle in rebuking me on how much I murdered his character here. Or maybe harsh, I’ll try to brace myself. I’m actually very stressed right now and it’s odd but I’ve began to turn into writing in order to cope. (I’m normally weird but a stressed me is even more so.) This whole fic spiraled out of my control to be honest. Simply because I got too engrossed in building the friendship for the two.  (シ_ _)シ

Of course the idea initially revolved around Midorimacchi’s birthday but the MidoKise was my innate desire and @nina3491‘s idea. So this is for her. I really do salute you for your efforts.

This is supposed to be a two-shot but I’ve only written like three words on the next part so it might take a while but I sure hope this won’t be the case.

Someone's at the door. Midorima Shintarou's sleep addled brain registered the words. The echoing sound of the doorbell evidently indicated it. And he has a good idea on who the culprit was. There was only one person who could possibly annoy him by simply ringing his doorbell.

Still a little groggy, Midorima forced himself to stumble out of his bed while fumbling for his glasses. He had to stop his idiotic friend from disturbing his neighbors. Not that it'd be the first time the idiot did it but of course with little charm and he'd get away with it.

Midorima dragged his feet towards the door annoyed and exasperated. He yanked the door open, eyes blazing ready to give the person on the other side an earful. His momentum was lost though as he saw the familiar sunny smile and heard the cheerful greeting.

“Happy birthday, Midorimacchi!” Standing outside his door at freaking four AM in the morning was Kise Ryouta, looking like he just stepped out of a photo shoot but in this case, Midorima was pretty sure that the blond was on the way towards one. 

The blond was carrying a cake with a lit candle on top smiling proudly and obviously feeling accomplished. Midorima only gave him an unimpressed look and crossed his arms all sleepiness and ire gone.

“Before you go into grumpy mode on me, you better blow the candle first. And don't forget to make a wish.”

Midorima internally sighed. He personally didn't believe in birthday wishes but indulging his best friend on their yearly tradition was well –tradition. He closed his eyes for a moment silently thinking for his wish. It’s a hit or miss, anyways. And it’s not the first time I’ve taken the shot. Opening his eyes, Midorima blew the candle out.

“I would give you a hug if I could but this -” The blond gestured towards the cake. “Just come in.” Midorima took the cake and allowed the blond to come in first. “Happy birthday again, Midorimacchi. I'm really sorry. I'd really love to stay and celebrate with you but,” Kise paused for a moment gave him an apologetic look before taking off his coat and hanged it on the rack. “I really can't skip this one out.  This shoot's a favor for a friend and I can't really refuse. So I thought that I'd at least wish you a happy birthday before I fly out. I must've woken you up.”

“I mean I know that Midorimacchi's an early riser but you must admit that four AM in the morning on a Saturday is too early even for you,” Kise chattered as he took out plates from Midorima's cupboard knowing exactly where they were placed at. Familiarity was obvious in the way the blond moved around his apartment. Given that they were childhood friends, Kise was practically entitled to know his way around his place. The number of times the blond had come to deliver his mom's cooking whenever he went back home while Midorima  was on his unending school works alone was countless.

“Where are you off to, again?” Midorima asked placing the cake at his table. Kise stayed silent and simply looked at him unimpressed, a pout on his face. Midorima sighed again, this time, loudly. He stood up and came around to the blond.

Kise placed the plates on the table and opened his arms for him. Midorima came closer and enveloped his childhood friend in a hug. The blond hugged him back placing his head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Kise's chuckle was muffled at his neck. “What?” asked Midorima in confusion. “Why are you so allergic to feelings, Shincchi? At this rate you definitely won't find the courage to talk with that cute –“

“Shut up, Ryouta. And I told you not to call me that,” snapped Midorima letting go of the blond and turned his back away silently hoping his best friend won't notice his burning face. The familiar use of the other’s name signaled his ire towards his so-called best friend.

“Shincchi~” teased Kise, finally taking his seat at the table.

“Seriously Ryouta, stop it.” Kise, the childish brat that he is simply winked at him. “Should I call you Rou-chan just like the old times, then? Shintarou was a little too mouthful for a two year old back then. We’ve been together for so long, huh?”

Midorima chose to remain silent and simply began slicing the cake, making sure that the blond’s portion was half the size of his own. The number of times the blond whined to him about his diet was innumerable. Though, Midorima did notice that this type of whining was practically saved for him. And maybe to Aomine. Most likely this counted as one of the privileges of a childhood friend. Lucky him. It has indeed been so long, they’ve practically been friends their whole life beginning that rainy day when the Kise family moved in the house across theirs when they were still both snotty two year olds and now they’re both almost on their way to fulfill their dreams.

“Just don’t call me anything. We both know your naming sense is non-existent.”

“Excuse you. My naming sense is excellent. Just ask Aominecchi,” sassily replied the blond before finally taking a bite off his cake. “This is great! Murasakibaracchi’s really well on his way to becoming a professional.”

Midorima also took a bite off his own slice silently agreeing to the blond’s remark about the cake. “He’s going out with you. So pardon me if I don’t trust his judgment when it comes to you. Besides Aomine isn’t really known for his intelligence anyway.”

“I beg to disagree, Rou-chan. The fact that he’s going out with me is a statement of his intelligence, don’t you think?” proudly replied the blond. Midorima would normally count this as one of his childhood friend’s insufferable bragging, yet another privilege reserved for him, but he knew that the blissful look the blond was sporting now was one that was only reserved for a certain basketball idiot. And Midorima, despite being exposed to the couple’s undeniable connection from the beginning, can’t help but be amazed on how the two of them made everything work. He internally shook his head. The exposure to the sap that was his best friend and the lack of sleep was definitely making him maudlin.

“Whatever, Kise. Won’t you be late for your flight?”

The blond looked at his wristwatch before replying, “I’m still good but I do need to get going soon.” Kise reached out for his pockets and placed two small rectangular boxes at the table and shoved them towards Midorima. One box had a green ribbon tied neatly around it while the other one had none.

“Happy birthday, Shin. Let’s celebrate the next one together, okay?” The happiness that can be seen in the blond’s eyes can almost make anyone think that he was the one celebrating a birthday instead. But Midorima knew that every celebration of his birthday meant a lot to his best friend.

“Thanks. And of course, my next year belongs to you. Again.” Midorima sighed dramatically before pushing up his glasses. Kise, understanding Midorima’s rare jab at humor, let out a hearty chuckle.

The promise to celebrate their birthday for the next year was one of their traditions. One that they haven’t broken ever since the near fatal accident Midorima had back on his seventh birthday.

The two of them had planned to have their own celebration that day on their ‘secret base’ but the blond was unable to come because he caught a cold. Midorima still went to their base that day to get ‘Mr. Fox’, the stuff toy that he knew his best friend favored. He hoped it’d help his friend get better faster. He was on his way back to their neighborhood when he saw a collision between a truck and a car. And it was then that the out of control vehicle sent him flying off. Midorima was in a coma for two days before regaining consciousness, thankfully without any lasting damage. And when he was declared to finally be well enough to receive visitors outside his family, he got himself an armful of blond mess. Kise was wailing out loud and kept on saying, ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. It took him hours to calm his friend down and to make him understand that the accident wasn’t his fault. Despite Midorima’s best efforts though, the blond won’t budge on his accountability about his accident so in exchange to stop his friend’s irrational behavior a promise was made that they would always celebrate each other’s birthday together.

From then on, Kise became a permanent fixture on Midorima’s birthday and vice versa. They kept this promise until it became a tradition for the two of them. Throughout the years, their methods of celebrating ranged from full blown surprise parties to quick drop off of gifts to one another but there was one tradition that the blond never failed to keep, the blowing of candles for his birthday wish. As a result, his birthday cake also ranged from order made ones with elaborate decorations, disastrous handmade ones to store brought cupcakes.

The tradition used to annoy Midorima to no end but when he realized that the simple act of him making a wish meant more for his friend. To Kise, Midorima making his birthday wish meant happiness and hope. Happiness because he got his best friend for yet another year and hope that he could look forward for the next one. This mentality used to worry Midorima but he gradually realized that his friend was slowly overcoming his dependency to their friendship and the trauma from almost losing his best friend as both their horizons widened. In the recent years, their celebrations has simply become a tradition, one they both have no intention of breaking. Not that Midorima would ever admit this fact to his best friend.

Back to the present, Midorima first reached out for the plain box. Inside it, was a simple black fountain pen. At a closer inspection though, Midorima saw that the pen had something engraved around it. Dr. Shin.

Midorima looked up to the blond who was now grinning ear to ear at him. “It’s your lucky item for today. I checked Oha Asa in advance. I hope that the engraving won’t mess up any of its ‘luck’. It only said a fountain pen but then I realized how something like that could be used more than as a ‘lucky item’ for a day so I had the engraving made. You must admit it was creative of me, right?”

“I’m not a doctor, yet,” absentmindedly replied Midorima as he continued to trace the elegant letters of the engraving almost in fascination. Shin. Kise was the only person who called him that, refusing to use his full name because it was too old fashioned according to him to which Midorima strongly disagrees. The blond used it at times when he actually felt like cooperating to Midorima’s request of not adding any of messed up honorifics and when he was being serious or when he was reprimanding him (a rare occurrence ‘cause it is usually the other way around for them).

“You’re such a party pooper, Shincchi,” pouted the blond. “We both know it’s only a matter of time for you to finally have that title. Make sure you use it once you’re a practitioner, okay? Now get to your actual birthday present.”

Midorima slowly unwrapped the box, untangling the ribbon and laid it down the table. A bronze rectangular pin was nestled in a pristine white cushion. It was another engraved item. A caduceus was engraved on its extreme right while words that almost awed Midorima was centered on the remaining spaces.

 Dr. Midorima Shintarou

Medical Resident

 It was a simple gift, one that didn’t compare to the blond’s usual elaborate ones, but it was probably the one that meant the most to Midorima right now. His residency wasn’t confirmed yet but seeing his very own pin at his own hands made his goal more attainable and concrete. He had no idea how the blond knew about his inhibitions but Midorima recognized that in his own very Kise-like manner, his best friend was showing him his support and his confidence that he’d achieve his goal.

I really can’t win against this idiot. Midorima internally shook his head. His fixation towards the item must’ve took longer than expected because the blond broke the silence that enveloped the two of them.

“Did you like it? I made sure to ask your professor for the specifications and he sent me to the place where students usually have them made.”

Midorima continued to stay silent still looking pensive at the pin which unsettled the blond.

“I knew it! I was being presumptuous, aren’t I? Sorry. I’ll take it back and find something else,” panicked remarked the blond. He stood up and was on the motion of grabbing the pin from Midorima when the bandaged fingers closed around it cradling it almost delicately.

“No. I like it,” resolutely replied Midorima looking straight to his best friend. “Damn it, Ryouta. I love it.” Midorima swallowed thickly to control his emotions. Then he stood up and circled around the table towards his best friend.

Kise was too stunned to do anything when Midorima enveloped him in a hug for the second time. “Thank you. I didn’t even know that I needed this but I do. Quite badly in fact. You’re a handful most of the time but you’re not so bad to have as a best friend after all,” whispered Midorima his voice full of gratitude and appreciation.

“I’m a great best friend, Shin. And we both know it,” replied the blond before returning the hug. The two of them stayed silent for a few moments soaking in each other’s warmth. Midorima wanted to say more to his friend on how much he appreciated him and how Kise was not the only one thankful that they get to celebrate another year with one another alive and well but he was never good with words so he only hugged his best friend harder hoping to convey his feelings with it. He knew that Kise being Kise understood him even without the words.

“Are you crying in happiness, Shincchi?” started the blond when he deemed the silence long enough for the unspoken words to be relayed.

“No, I’m not, idiot Kise.” To Midorima’s embarrassment, his voice came out gruffer than intended as a result of his overwhelming emotions.

Kise only chuckled before replying, “As much as I like receiving this rare hug since you initiated this, I really need to get going, Shin.”

Midorima gave him one last squeeze before letting go of his friend. Kise took one last bite of his own cake and downed the glass of water. Midorima was thankful that the blond didn’t tease him about the moment they shared but he should’ve known after all, Kise always understood him, words or no words.

“Gotta go. Kyoto is waiting.” Kise went straight to the door with Midorima trailing behind.

Midorima watched Kise take his coat off the hook and wore it back on in a swift motion. “Don’t stay cooped up here, okay? Oha Asa said something about how the one thing you’ve wanted for a while can be found outside the house or something like that. And Cancer’s in second place and you already have your lucky item so don’t even think about making up any excuses,” admonished Kise perfectly knowing how Midorima planned to spend the rest of his day now that he was left on his own devices. And he knows he can’t refute the blond because he knew he won’t lie about his fortune ever, not after that one time when he tricked Midorima about a fake one as a prank and faced the consequences.

“Fine. Maybe I’ll check out the library or the bookstore for a new reference book,” reluctantly agreed Midorima knowing the blond would definitely check up on him.

Kise cringed at his reply. “You’re so boring, Midorimacchi. Maybe I should call Kurokocchi or Aominecchi? You might want to shoot a few hoops with them,” suggested the blond.

“No need. I’d rather deal with one idiot even just for today.” Midorima crossed his arms on his chest.

“Mean, Midorimacchi. Even though you’re so happy with my gift you actually cried.”

“I –I didn’t cry, idiot Kise! Just get going already,” protested Midorima almost red faced in embarrassment.

“Fine, fine. Happy birthday again, Shin.” The blond was grinning before he turned around finally opening the door out.

“Thanks. And be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can’t have you miss me too much.” Kise gave him another wink before walking out to the hallway. The outside was still cold, dark and evidently silent as an evidence that their rendezvous was way too early for normal people to be up and about. Midorima shivered at the sudden drop in temperature and rubbed the sides of his arms for a bit of warmth.

Despite the cold, he continued to watch Kise on the hallway until the blond reached the elevator. The blond waved at him excitedly until the elevator door finally closed obscuring his view.

The smile that Midorima wore as he went back inside his apartment was a content one. The content feeling stayed with him until he finally went back to catch a few hours of sleep before he could fulfil his promise to his idiotic but definitely endearing best friend.

Oha Asa was right again. Today really is a lucky day. These were the last thoughts that drifted in Midorima’s head before he let himself succumb to the embrace of sleep.

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Beg Thy Lord the Stars Have Not Defied the Laws of Nature

Summary: ‘’Now we’ve established I’m Tsukuyomi, can I have my tracksuit back?’’

Disclaimer: I don’t own Noragami.

FF.net | AO3

You can find my fic master list here.

Note: My eternal thanks to the Meet Me in the Pit crew! Especially to my darling co-plotter @i-w-p-chan for getting me through this, and @selrose for bringing Noragami up! 

I cannot scream and rage like my brother, I cannot burn those who walk past my gaze, I cannot warm them, for I am cold, and only the stars breathe life into me.

Moonlight falls through the window of the grand suite, trailing over the floor, pooling in front of Yato’s bed. Silver light softly caressing his feet where his kimono parts. Glowing blue eyes glint in the dark, irises round as the full moon.

Once upon a time, Yato had a dream. To be a great god, to be revered. To have shinki kiss his feet, asking to be his. To have people flock to his many, many shrines from far and wide. To have duties, requests to do, all day long.

He is Tsukuyomi, and he has all of this.

He has done his duties for months now, day after day, Yukine at his side. Facing the crowds, the people. Granting wishes, everywhere! Rising up, above the masses. A single flick of his finger causes them to run to his side.

Just like this room, it was large, grand and empty.

Their allegiance is worth nothing. They are nameless faces, telling him nothing but what he wants to hear. They didn’t want him when he was Yato- and Yato was always Tsukuyomi, even if the Tsukuyomi of before was not Yato. A name means nothing. A name means everything.

He misses the warmth of Yukine sleeping next to him. He misses the cosiness of close quarters. He missing being only Hiyori’s god of fortune, her belief, her worship burning inside of him like a flame, lighting him up.  

He hasn’t seen Hiyori in two weeks. He longs for the brightness of the sun, the darkness of the night to dance and fight in. This palace, these expectations- they are suffocating him, drowning him in the waves of worship.

Because Yato isn’t just used to being forgotten, he’s also used to being free. The longing for the great blue sky is so utterly natural- not to have that freedom is killing him.

…Why? Why hasn’t he gone to see Hiyori? Why has he let this dream chain him down? Why hasn’t he put that arm around Yukine’s shoulder? When did he stop living for others?

He had gotten his dream, he had done his job. But just as he always knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, his dream was childish, the reality of it cold and chilling.

He has responsibilities, requests to fulfil, duties to do, but Yato is no saint. He’s a sinner with a heart of gold that’s large enough for everyone in the whole wide world- as long as they let him go.

So he runs.

Scrambling off the bed, diving into the light of the moon, he shucks off his stuffy kimono. Layer upon layer restricting his movement glides off his skin. He plucks fluffy fluff scarf from between the folds of the kimono- there was no way he was going anywhere without it. He tramples over the luxurious fabric as he runs naked through his room, feet skidding upon the marble tiles, searching for his tracksuit.

There it is, in the other corner of the room shadowed- but it shan’t remain in the shadows a second more. Silver spilling off the angles of his body like water as he puts the tracksuit on, he smiles at the moon. His realm is one of light- it is time for him to chase it again.

Cheshire grin spreading, he sneaks through the hallways, flitting from pool of light to pool of light, unable to contain the rush.

The door creaks as he slips into Yukine’s room. Jumping onto the bed, he grabs him. Yukine wakes up, red eyes widening, but Yato muffles whatever comes out of his mouth with his hand, throws him over his shoulder and drags him straight out of Takamagahara.

The bridge is for gods- but Yato has enough of ascending, all he wants is to go down like the moon sinking behind the horizon.

He throws them over the edges of the clouds, falling, falling, falling down until they’re floating and free. He crows, beaming at Yukine as they fly. Beneath them, Tokyo sprawls out, thousand glowing lights in the darkness.

The way to the house they seek is as familiar to them as the back of their hands. They slip through Hiyori’s window and jump onto her bed.

She groans, blinking up at them. ‘’What are you-‘’

“Run away with me,’‘ Yato whispers while she rubs her eyes, still half-asleep, ‘’Run away with us.’’

I’m so far removed from the earth, and while my sister takes up the sky, illuminating the dawn, I share the night with the stars. I can’t bear to be alone, you see. A cloud-covered moon is so easily forgotten.

When Hiyori was fifteen, just a few months before she met Yato, she looked at her mother and saw a stranger.

They were watching TV, just the two of them, eating dango.

There’s a talent show on and Hiyori is ready to bolt, her cheeks on fire, when a metal pole is set up in the middle of the stage for next act.

But her mother lowers her dango stick, eyes glued to the TV, and Hiyori stays. Dango is her mother’s favourite, and it’s the only sweet she indulges in. She never puts the stick down before she’s done.

The music starts and two women begin to dance- swinging between the two poles, powerful calves and arms working, sweat dripping from their brow. Her mother watches, mesmerized. Her eyes light up when they do a lift, her breath hitches as the music rises, the women seemingly exempted from gravity.

She’s so caught up in it she doesn’t even notice Hiyori’s staring at her.

The commercial break begins, and the light leaves her mother’s eyes. Hiyori wants it back. Who is this woman with wonder in her eyes? She’s never seen her mother look like that before. She bites her lip, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt.

“Did you… Did you like it?”

Her mother looks up, absentmindedly. “A wonderful performance, wasn’t it? Reminded me of my own lessons.”

Hiyori’s jaw drops. “You? Pole dancing lessons?”

Her mother tweaks her nose. “I was good at it too, you know,” she shakes her head, “but that was before your father.”

Something twists in Hiyori’s chest. This is the woman she hides her love of boxing from, afraid of her disapproval. She would freak if she knew her daughter was doing something so unladylike. Or would she?

Hiyori isn’t sure anymore, so she observes.

Her mother, who took the care of her deceased cousin’s child upon her, and fell in love with said cousin’s widower. Her mother, only 35, who had her at twenty years old. Her mother, half long, luscious brown hair and a skin smooth and young, soft as a peach.

Her father’s hairline is receding, the corners of his eyes crinkle and grey strands glisten in his black hair. The difference a decade makes is astounding.

“Do you regret it?”

The question comes out of nowhere, but her mother knows exactly what Hiyori’s talking about, judging by her shocked look. “Your father is the kindest, most caring man in the world, and there are no people I love more than you and your brother anywhere in this universe.”

Hiyori’s hands tremble as she watches the cold TV light illuminate her mother’s features. Grotesque shadows are thrown. “That’s not an answer.”

Her mother folds her hands around Hiyori’s. “I chose this. I chose to raise your brother, I chose your father, I chose to have you. I will never regret those choices, but sometimes I think I wanted too much too fast, was too desperate to be someone and married too young. But it’s far too late for that now and I love all of you dearly. I wouldn’t choose anything else, knowing it all leads to this. But, Hiyori, if you get the chance? Then run.”

She remembers these words when Yato slips through her window, Yukine in tow, and she wakes up from the cursing that ensues. Yato ignores it, however, leaning close (too close) to Hiyori’s face.

“Run away with me.”

She blinks twice before her sleep-addled brain registers his words.

Luminous blue eyes glow in the night- illuminating Yato’s pale, pearl skin and the ink locks falling around it. They fade into the darkness. Yukine is two pinpricks of small irises burning red-yellow behind him.

‘’Run away with us.’’

God, how Hiyori has missed them. It’s not like Yato has let his duties as Tsukuyomi get in the way of their friendship, but he did have duties now. Or at least, enough requests, prayers and wishes that he always had something to do. He couldn’t just go bother her anymore.

She had visited, and while Yato always made time for her, swept the papers off the table as Yukine ran to get her tea, they had felt the disapproval of the ones around them. She’d never felt quite welcome. And now, now he’s here again, offering to whisk her away into the night. Her and Yukine, Yato at their side, and this… This is how it’s meant to be. 

Her mother also told her not marry a gambler, and to avoid irritable teenage boys with short tempers, but Hiyori likes to think her mother thought run the most important advice. And if she didn’t- well, her brother had told her to live her own life, and Hiyori had no intentions of doing anything else.

She laughs giddily at her companions because the moon does not belong to the heavens, nor the earth. The moon belongs to the stars- and only with them, he shall dance.

If the sun doesn’t rise, the whole world will notice, but the absence of the moon?

She kisses them sometimes. Her boys, she means. It’s not really romantic, but not platonic either, but then again, labels never have done Hiyori any good.

It’s safe between them, the three of them draping limbs all over each other, pressing their lips together, sleeping in the same bed. And loving, loving each other so much Hiyori thinks she’ll combust from sheer love and happiness.

It’s not sexual- but whoever said love needed to be?

(Yato has responsibilities, and once upon a time, so did she. They left it all behind and ran. If anyone says they can’t, Hiyori will ask them to look her in the eye, and tell her she does not defy the laws of nature as she lifts boulders the size of empires above her head and crushes them to dust.

She is done pretending to be smaller than the grand expanse her being is)

…Mortal, beg thy lord the stars have not defied the laws of nature.

She leaves her bed, she leaves her house, and she dances in the moonlight (because Yato IS the moon), and they run away and never stay and get lost in the sway of the wind. (The moon, oh, the moon, he’s always so far away, though in the midst of his stars). And if it turns out that two decades have passed when she looks at the date on a paper one morning, and she hasn’t aged a day, then… Well, Hiyori has learned Gods have strange ways, and this is hardly a shock compared to some of the other things she’s encountered. 

She just watches them, the moon and his first star, and she falls in love all over again. With them, with the world, with freedom, who knows? Hiyori dances in the moonlight, kisses stars goodnight and the wind caresses her as if she’s the most precious thing it has ever seen. She’s the sky, wide and endless, and the sky loves everything.

[mafiabosstsuna]

scenario with xanxus and hibari falling in love with the person they were forced to have an arranged marriage with

XanxusYou always knew you were just going to be used as a bargaining chip, just an easy way to advance your father’s position. You weren’t from a particularly strong family, you were actually pretty tiny, and not all that great. Your father was a bit of a coward and everyone knew it, so why not just marry her off to the highest bidder? You had come to terms with that ages ago.

It was pretty unlucky, though, that your father was able to find someone like Xanxus. You certainly didn’t know the details, didn’t know what in the world he did or who he paid off, but you had been informed that it hadn’t been an easy sell. Apparently your fiancé hadn’t been too thrilled. You weren’t either, but you certainly weren’t throwing a piss fit. But damn, you weren’t happy. You’d heard the rumors about him, knew what he was like with woman. And you were mostly annoyed with the fact that he’d probably be free to fuck around after you were married and you wouldn’t. Stupid double standards, ones that you weren’t going to let happen. Cause fuck, you don’t want to do this either!

You two were married within the week. Bam, boom, done. Your father saw you off and was glad to see you gone. It was a good deal for him, after all, able to get rid of you and increase his standing in one swift shot. You wished you didn’t have to actually have the whole stupid ceremony, but it had been necessary- appearances were very important. Xanxus really didn’t speak to you practically at all that entire night. He drank a ton of wine and passed out in your bed. Of course, not before ripping off every bit of clothing he had had on.

The next few weeks were weird. Neither of you was very happy with the situation you’d been put in, and you were a little annoyed at the fact that you found you got along with your husband fairly well. You had similar interests, and though he wasn’t incredibly talkative you could hold a conversation with him pretty easily. But he annoyed you to death with the way he didn’t even try to hide the woman he was still sleeping with. It was actually getting on your nerves a lot more than it ought to.

One day you had needed to clean your guns, your pride and joy, two PP2000, so you sat down in your shared bedroom to do it. Cleaning your guns was the worst part of having them, though, it was such an involved process. You had to unscrew parts just to get inside and it was just a pain. But it needed to be done. And you loved these guns, they were good close range and they fit perfectly in your hands, so they deserved to be clean.

You didn’t even look up when the door flung open, and you had begun speaking before it had even had time to slam against the wall. “Find a different room, there are more than enough in this castle.”

“I didn’t realize this room was occupied,” the girl Xanxus had brought back said, sounding both haughty and displeased.

It was a shame, if they’d shown up five minutes later you would have been finished and done and wouldn’t have had to deal with this. “What the fuck are you even doing?” Xanxus asked, and from the genuinely confused tone to his voice it occurred to you he probably hadn’t even known you knew how to shoot a gun, much less take it apart to clean it. Unfortunately not surprising, you thought, as you were both a woman and from such a weak family.

“Come on now, husband, I’d think that such a great boss like yourself would know what the inside of a gun looked like?” you said.

You’d finally got the last screw on, and you slid the magazine back in and gave it a smack, giving a quick check that the safety was on. You rose to your feet, keeping your weapons pointed down as you stalked out of the room. As you passed the two of them you said, “I’m staying at a friend’s tonight, so have fun.”

Xanxus didn’t trust her or that stupid smile she’d given him. And he found himself too agitated to even give this dumb cunt a fuck, so with very little kindness he pushed her out of his room and slammed the door in her face. And then immediately had to open it again. He pushed past her roughly before stomping down the hallway. He needed to find out where she’d gone. His stupid wife. So he barked orders at the first people he saw to go follow her.

He didn’t know why he was so angry. It didn’t make sense. What should he care what she was doing? It’s not like he chose to marry her or anything. But the thought of her with another man made him seethe with rage. And no, he absolutely didn’t see the blatant hypocrisy since he’d literally just been about to screw some random chick right in front of her. In fact, now that he thought about it, why hadn’t she been more angry about that? She hadn’t seemed to care at all and it pissed him off.

When he was told that they’d seen her going into some guy’s apartment he was seeing red. He grabbed his guns and left. Got a little lost on the way there, that certainly didn’t improve his mood. It had now been two hours since she’d left and he didn’t hesitate to kick that door open. The sound of the wood splintering beneath his boot seemed to echo in the empty living room.

He could hear her behind the bedroom door, voice urgent as she said something he couldn’t make out to whoever it was she was there with. He had thrown the door open and shot the guy in less than a heartbeat, a clean shot through his left eye, blood splattering back against the wall, creating an almost pretty starburst of red against the plain white wallpaper.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with other men?” he spat, he was sure she could see the fire in his eyes. “You’re my fucking wife.“

She had a gun pointed at his head, a thin sheen of sweat on her naked body. The sight turned him on way more than it probably should, but he didn’t care. “If it’s okay for you to do it, it should be okay for me.”

“I didn’t do shit.” He took a step towards her and she took a step back. She wouldn’t shoot him, he knew she wasn’t stupid. So by the time he’d gotten to her she’d backed herself into the corner, and he roughly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, the gun slipping from her grasp and falling at her feet. He kicked it across the room, leaning in so close she was sure to feel his breath on her skin. “You’re supposed to be mine, and I’ll make sure you remember that.“

HibariThey had never warned you about this, and it had seemingly come from nowhere. Being married to one of the Vongola Decimo’s guardians. You were more confused by why this other person agreed. You didn’t know the details, but apparently it was a kind of punishment for him. Maybe he’d really messed up some kind of mission, or he wasn’t doing enough for the family. But your own family was fairly powerful, but mostly they had a lot of money. Marrying you had a lot of benefits, just like marrying him got her parents in good with the Vongola.

Your parents were planning on using you as a spy, that much you were clued in on. They needed information on one of the most powerful Famiglias in Europe, if not the world, and you were easy to sneak in. It was all about the timing, and it was good timing.

Your marriage was done quickly, and Hibari was surprisingly accommodating. Though he wasn’t happy about it either, and he wasn’t very talkative, he was at least not treating you as if you didn’t exist. Honestly, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it was gonna be. Plus, you didn’t know he had a pet bird, and they were just so cute! His box animal too was very adorable, and they both seemed to like you.

Honestly, their company was very much appreciated, since Hibari wasn’t around very often. He was always off working, and he hadn’t ever let you into his office. You chewed your lip as you stared at the closed door. You knew you had to get in there, there had to be a wealth of information your family could use, but you were finding the more time you spent here the less you wanted to do this.

Hibari had been nothing but kind to you. He hadn’t pressured you into anything simply because you were technically married, and he’d all around made you feel welcome here. Even if he did have security cameras hidden in all the places he thought you’d never see, he hadn’t done anything to you.

But your parents were getting… They needed that information, they said, and you should’ve had the chance to find something by now. Anything. They were pressuring you more and more into taking stupid risks, it didn’t matter, they just needed you to get what they wanted. And you were torn. You wanted to remain loyal to your family, to the parents who’d raised you and taught you everything, but you didn’t want to betray Hibari, or the Vongola.

“Is something the matter?”

You jumped at the voice, turning to find your husband behind you. And all you could think was ‘He knows, he knows, he knows!’ He’d kill you in a second, you knew that. But you’d have to make the first move. “No, I’m fine.”

He stared silently at you for a heartbeat, scrutinizing you, trying to figure out what you were planning. At least, that’s what your stress addled brain thought. “If there is, you can feel free to come to me about it. We’re married now, after all.”

He was giving you the option to come clean. That had to be what he was doing. Prove your loyalty to the Vongola and confess that your family was full of traitors plotting to take down his boss. You almost did, but you bit back the words before they could come out. “I’ll remember that, thank you.”

You didn’t see much of him that week. Your parents were becoming hard to continue lying to. No, you still hadn’t learned anything, you’d say. Again, and again, and again. You got a message that day. Your father needed to speak with you. Urgently. In person. So you snuck out of the house and went to the location you’d been given. But nobody was there. And you could feel the bile rising in your throat. Cause something wasn’t right, this didn’t make sense. You searched the warehouse, and finally found it. A note taped to one of the doors leading outside. Not the one you’d come in from. We don’t need you. We’re moving ahead with the plan without your help.

Hibari wasn’t startled when the door to his office was flung open. He’d seen her enter from the cameras, in some kind of hurry. She was breathing heavily, and her face was speckled with blood. It didn’t look to be her own. “Hibari,” she gasped, “They’ve found a way in. They’re going to do it.”

They’d known about this for months. They’d known that ______’s marriage proposal was all just a ploy to get in good with the Vongola. And they’d known that _____ was never expected to survive, a sacrificial lamb. If only she’d played her part correctly, that was.

But he was surprised to find that she’d not only refused to play her parent’s game, she’d even come back to warn them. She was lucky she’d picked the correct side. He had found that he wasn’t really that keen on killing her. He’d admit it, to himself at least, that he’d found he’d grown quite fond of her. She was strong, and loyal, and she didn’t get on his nerves.

He finally rose from his seat, walking slowly across the room to her. She looked scared, he could see she was tensing up, ready for some kind of attack that wasn’t going to come. She lowered her eyes to the floor, and the look of utter confusion on her face when he patted her gently on the head was almost funny. “Good job, herbivore.”