#ill add more details to the house in other replies

[creativesplat]

Alfred for the Character Opinion bingo? (I love your Alfred art btw!! You are so correct about him I think we should be friends)

OH MY WORD THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!! JFJSKYWK I WOULD LOVE TO BE FRIENDS! (I am very bad at replying to messages tho so… yeah…) anyway! For the bingo: 

They are so cool looking:

His design sort of mirroring dimitiri's and having such beautiful floral vibes and flouncy clothes is just so good. I love the fact he's quite a slender character because it gives an odd sort of dis-congruence with his gym-bro vibe, and that adds a layer of mystery that we don't see uncovered until Celine's A support with him. It's such subtle story telling in the design but it's so brilliant. You wouldn't see it unless you knew the spoiler, but once you know it it's so obvious and such a good bit of character design.

His somniel outfit is also a banger. Orange roses signify enthusiasm, encouragement, desire, and energy, which is just so perfect for Alfred. And he also has flower crown hoops on his belt - SO perfect, someone's sad? gift them a flower crown. You're bored? make a flower crown. You need to fiddle to make yourself concentrate? flower crown! its such a small detail but I love it so so much.

No real reason to put this in other than the fact I love it, and the yellow and peaches and blues and greens really shouldn't work but they really do. It is fab.

Another detail I love is that in his upgraded outfit in avenir he gets a crown very similar to his mother's (with the tiara shape in the middle) and with white windflowers on them. The gift Lumera used to give him for his birthday (Alfred and Vander supports) and symbolising protection against illness and recovery. White windflowers are subtly hinting at his character arc and what he deals with in his story (illness, death, protection all being meanings), and pair that with his class name Avenir (French, meaning future or time to come) it's just a really good reflection of his anxieties around chronic and probably terminal illness, but also of his hope for the future and his role as a protector for Alear ("I will be your sword and your shield divine one, and a flower, what could bring more comfort than that?")

If they were real I would marry them:

I mean, kind, loyal, adorable, sweet, loving, not to mention handsome. Honestly there are very few characters I adore that I could say: 'yeah, why not?' to that question, but Alfred is one of them. His good vibes and uncomplicated golden retriever joy just scream husband material. Plus he's religious in game - one of the most religious out of all the characters, which I didn't realise until I looked at his preferred gifts - and as a Christian, having a religious partner is like one of the most important things on the list of requirements for a good match for me.

In all seriousness tho, if he were real, he would be good husband material, but not really my type, so I'm just going on hypothetical how many of the boxes does he tick. lol

they're like a blorbo to me:

I mean... if it wasn't already obvious with the long list of details I gave about his clothing, and all the drawing I do of him... he is very blorbo. Honestly I love him so much. He is a perfect little guy.

not as deep as they seem (1/2):

I shaded this in half, because next to other fire emblem characters he's not really that complex or deep (cough cough dimitri and three houses in general cough cough) and he's very uncomplicated in terms of emotion. He's normally joyful and happy. He's normally protective, and trusting. Honestly uncomplicated puppy vibes.

But at the same time, he does also have that element of deepness (hence the 1/2 box). He isn't always honest about his feelings, because he wants to put others above himself and make sure they see him as a happy guy they can lean on (the Celine A support has quite a lot of this, but so do others). He is a golden retriever boi, but he also hides his illness from his friends and pretends that everything's fine - even to his sister and mother - until he openly has an attack in front of Celine.

He's not as deep as other characters are, and with the exception of feeling guilt and shame over his chronic illness, is a fairly happy and uncomplicated guy.

Why do they look like that:

Purely because I would have loved to see him have a Celine's green colour scheme, I'm putting this there. Also because his feh art does him a bit dirty...

they've never done anything wrong in their live <33

this is a fact. he is the best. he is too good to pure. Honestly I think this bit is self explanatory. He's one of the sweetest little guys who is an honest to goodness sweetheart.

[tinyhousepanther]

Todays I-am-very-high-and-have-recently-rejoined-tumblr-because-I’ve-realized-I-need-more-social-interaction-but-tumblr-is-all-I’ve-got-the-energy-for thought is

… drum roll….

the most personal, soul exposing thing I think I could ever do, would be to let some one go through my ao3 bookmarks, even the private ones…. Like the amount of #asexual ♠️ 🐉🌌who kinda likes monsterfucking vibes but is also a depressed millennial who was into Harry Potter and anime and tumblr of yore. Yeesh, how cringe and vulnerable that would be.

Because I like to write when very high and used to write poetry as a moody teen. A good old internet rant into the void. This will get long and old school text formatting like the book House of Leaves is a thing I really love so weird punctuation and spacing ahead.

Also the recursive footnotes in the bartimaeus series

Also, also recently returned to tumblr… lured like a siren into this hell scape of super niche fandoms…. I blame @strange-aeons for making me nostalgic for this place.

On that note. I am actually editing this but mostly because my brain wanted to add things as I read this over for typos because cringe.

Nostalgia leads to reminiscing. I think it was @blackkatmagic who said in a note, that like some niche pairing of fandom like a ship no one asked for but one person dreamed of and a handful of other people liked, is like being in a little boat with them.

(And I had to go find that post so here it is)

And I really like that idea and I like writing stream of consciousness rants when high and also graphs, like data visualization, because I’m an engineer. So a nerd for Venn diagrams that are cool. Like can I make a web diagram bubble graph combo with bubble size for intensity of interest and lines to show how one community spawned an interest in another community? Maybe throw in a color scale for vibes? Like who are the landmarks I use to remember my internet past. Is this what mark zuckerburg is aiming to make for all of us? Can someone build this digital map of my psyche?

Let’s start listing citations to make this glorious journal paper of a post. Giving @strange-aeons or @danielhowell vibes but also @somemorenews and also @scishow and @fishingboatprocceeds energy.

This is like just feeling the need to give a good old trying to describe a very specific mood rant that live journal used to be for.….

Those vibes somehow. Also of course I listen to a lot of podcasts. Like @tanispodcast or @welcometonightvaletranscripts

Who is in this very niche intersection? How narrow of an audience am I?

Or ,

am I yearning for early days Facebook where you just liked a bunch of shitty pages that were just topics. Like quizilla was a window of my internet childhood/preteen (that’s a lie Neopets was first…….)

Which reminds me to also include @dilfosaur and @drawfee. Why do I love the sonic butthole saga so? Is Todd from Mario made manifest into the universe like a tulpa? Am I getting to last podcast on the left now? Do we need to get a net for me??? 🗑️ trap me under a wastebasket like a cat?

God I feel like I’m trying to write a phd thesis on my personality as described via citations of tumblr blogs and other early internet social media. Can I put footnotes in a tumblr post? No. Does my probably autistic ass want them so I can make a hyper detailed thing fully describes a hyper focus moment? Yes. Can I make a whole power point of just internet citations? Yes. Do I have the energy? No.

Should

Be narrating this? I wish, would be interesting if someone I’m citing replies or interacts with this.

Not to brag, but hey I actually did write a phd thesis and some one said it was good enough to give me a fancy piece of paper. I am doctor. Why am I still sad then? Oh, that’s mental illness right. Another citation for a mood elyse meyers

Is this stream of consciousness prose that I am writing while very high and curled in a blanket on my couch while having been overcome by emotion from a fanfic I was reading about a super random cross over of two media from my childhood? Then yes this is me. I am a garbage gremlin of a person who is shockingly successful in life despite my very fun depression and health issues who has way too many parasocial relationships in proportion to real world actual humans I see and interact with on a daily basis.

Is it not the human experience to try and communicate who we are to the world? The innate desire to be seen and known?

Or is that way to high brow for me just wanting to list a bunch of things I like so when I’m having a bad day I can come to this post and just be like…. Oh yeah I did like that one thing.

Like that one video by Drew/Danny/Kurtis that somehow always makes me laugh. Like that friend I had who I could also make laugh by playing the look at this graph vine? 📊. Yes like that. So this my reminder that hey stuff is good and joyful and cringe sometimes, so on the bad days go look at this stuff. I feel @danielhowell has thoughts on this.

That’s it. I should go to sleep. It’s midnight and I have work tomorrow and my cat is glaring at me because we are not snuggling yet.

P.S.

Tumblr really is just MySpace but somehow worse? Yet it’s what we have.

And really the porn had never left. What were they thinking they could do/are doing about it? Like hello tumblrlive makes this app so nsfw to scroll at work when I’ve got time to kill. But also sometimes I want to look at art someone has posted and I’ve got a notification.

[animesmutfest]

Satoru x Kakashi x reader

Firstly i just want to thank you all for your support, I genuinely had no idea this would blow up and was just posting the stories to post them but i am so grateful to have you guys as an audience. This smut was harder to make but with some inspiration from my husband and some manga, i think it'll turn out pretty spicy. So without anymore delays welcome to my 100k smut special. Hope you all enjoy but be nice lol it's the first threesome I've written about

You stared at the calendar longer than needed, you knew your eyes were correct. Today was a very special day for more than one reason and you could barely contain your happiness. Not only is it your birthday but it's the day that they come home. They both parted ways about two months ago for work and were able to get some time with you for a while starting today. You missed them so much it hurt, their touch, their voices, their kisses, just everything. You craved them more than anything in this world. Peeling your eyes from the calendar you head out to the store and picked up wine and ingredients for dinner. On your way home you stopped by a friends house to let them know you would not be available for a while and without pressing you for details she understood that you'd be tied up... hopefully literally. Once your home your phone rings and its Satoru. "Hey baby" you answer excited. "Hey princess~ i just wanted to let you know I'm waiting for Kakashi now and then we will be on our way. I'm thinking maybe 3 hours" he says in a very giddy voice. "Okay love i cant wait to see you two, get here safely" you reply. "yes maaam~" he says before hanging up.

You spent the time doing your hair, makeup and making dinner just how the likes it. They should be home within the hour and you have never been more ready to throw yourself on someone so badly. Meanwhile in the car with your loves. "You think she'd like these or these?" Kakashi asks Satoru holding up two bouquets of roses, one red and the other pink. "I'd say red considering the occasion" he reply's smirking. "Buuuuut lets just get both to be safe" he adds. "Good thinking" they go to check out and talk on the way to the house to catch up on lost time before the needed to talk about the facts. "You know this is he first time right?" Satoru asks staring out the car window into the sky through his shades. "What do you mean?" Kakashi asks. "She's never had both of us at once" he says smirking. A light blush appears on Kakashis face under his mask as he realizes he's right. They had always had alternate schedules so they each had their time with her but this is a first. To be home at the same time after being away for so long. How exciting. "We have to be extra careful with her tonight. And the next day, and maybe the next day~" Satoru says biting his lip a bit. "Understood, I'm sure we know how to make this experience as perfect as can be for our queen" Kakashi says smiling through his mask. They spent the rest of the car ride planning out everything as best as they could.

You hear them pull into the driveway and your heart begins to race as your legs moved on their own towards the door. You swing the door open before either of them could touch it and pulled them both into a deep hug. "We missed you too baby" they say to you. Satoru leans down and kisses you tenderly before Kaakshi follows right after caressing your soft skin. "Happy birthday love" Kakashi adds and they both extend their arms giving you the roses. "Their beautiful... thank you so much" you say smelling them while they fully enter the house and lock the door. "Oooh~ something smells good" Satoru coos as he walks to the dinning room. "Oh right! I made you guys dinner. Its been a while since I've been able to cook for either of you." You say as you set the flowers in a large vase before preparing to set the table. "I definitely miss your cooking... among other things" Kakashi says as he walks to the room with his bags. You blush and quickly turn around so they cant see your face. "Go get cleaned up, ill get the table set" you say. Both smiling they do as you requested. By the time you had pour their drinks they were walking towards the table. Both wearing lose sweats and t shirts as they sit down. You couldn't help but look down as they walked and you gulped at the sight. We all know about the prints and they were no exception. The guys give each other a looked in acknowledgment of your eyes wandering and shared a chuckle. You sat at the table  and talked with them as they ate their dinner. "Anything you wanna do after we're done?" kakashi asks. "I'm just going with the flow today, i really don't have anything planned in particular" you say taking a sip of your wine. When you look up you see both of them staring at you smiling. It was so terrifying yet you found yourself pressing your legs together. "Are you down for anything?" Satoru asks leaning back in his chair. You slowly nod looking down at your glass when you hear their chairs move at the same time. Your head shoots up to see them walking towards you. "W-what's going on?" You ask nervously. "Do you trust us?" Satoru asks. "With my life" you reply. Before you could ask more questions Kakashi throws you over his should and walks to "The Room" this rooms layout consisted of a large comfy couch, projector screen and a Alaskan king size bed built into the floor. He puts you down once inside and immediately grabs your neck pulling you into a heated kiss. Satoru walking over to the closet and grabbing the black box. While you were preoccupied he takes out your blindfold and covers your eyes. "You remember your safe word right baby?" Satoru asks as he rips open your shirt and bra. "Mmph y-yes" you reply only to receive a harsh slap on your ass from Kakashi. "Yes what?" He asks in a low voice. "Y-yes daddy" you correct yourself. "Good girl" he praises before turning you around to face Satoru and kissing your neck softly. Satoru begins to slowly take off your pants, tossing them aside once completely off. Your breathing become heavy as you feels their hands roam all over your body. Satoru runs his hands up along your waist until they reach your breasts. Without hesitation he takes one into his mouth, gently sucking on it as you run your finger through his soft hair.

You felt Satoru smirk against your skin as he nips on your nipple and pinch the other. You lean your head back on Kakashis shoulder while he leaves deep and dark marks all over your neck. "Are you going to be a good girl for us tonight?" Satoru asks after popping your nipple out his mouth. "Yes daddy" you say feeling his gorgeous eyes stare into you. He lightly chuckles before getting on his knees again and throwing your leg over his shoulder. You jump a bit as you feel his fingers rub your pussy slowly. "mm your soaking wet down here love~" he says before sliding a finger inside you. You let out a soft moan as your body tenses us and Kakashis hands move to your breasts squeezing them. "Oh yeah? What has you so worked up baby girl?" Kakashi says as he licks your ear. "It's because -fuck- because you both of you a-are touching me like this" you sigh with a light moan. "You mean like this?" Kakashi coos as his right hand wraps around your neck and he presses his dick against your back. "And like this?~" Satoru adds as he slips in another finger curling them inside you perfectly. You let a loud moan and your body trembled a bit. "P-please... I need more... please." Satoru slipping out his fingers and going to the bed laying down on it. Kakashi knew what to do, he guides you there as well before placing you in a 69 position on top of satoru on your hands and knees. He places himself in front of you before pulling down his sweats and pumping himself slowly right in front of your covered eyes. As satoru locks your hips with his arms he starts with soft flicks of tongue on your sensitive clit. Your hands grab the blanket as you begin to moan and your legs shake lightly. "Open your mouth sweetheart" you hear in front of you and without a second thought you comply. Sticking out your tongue letting saliva drip from the tip of it. Kakashi takes his time as he circles his tip on the bed of your tongue before sliding it deep inside your throat. Letting out a deep grunt once he bottoms out feeling your throat squeezing him just right. As he pulls himself back he grabs a handful of your hair for better support. Satoru dug his hands into your hips as he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue just right. You moan into Kakashis dick as he fucks your face slowly but deep sending vibrations from him. "Good fucking girl... sss fuck- stick out your tongue more. Fuck yes just like that." He groans going harder with each thrust. Satoru made sure to make an absolutely mess of you as you grind softly on his face.

Satoru smirks against your skin as he quickens his pace knowing you were so close to cumming. Kakashi pulls from your throat as you gasp for air and pant from the tightening coil inside you. "Fuck I'm gunna cum~ feels so good daddy!" You whine as you grip kakashis shirt with one hand. Reaching down he plays with your curls as he watches you fall apart on satorus tongue. "Ahhuh god! Fuck! I-I'm mmmph! C-cu-" you couldn't get the rest out as you gush on his mouth twitching and trying to pull yourself from him as he cleans his plate. Once he's had his fill he releases his grip on you and licks his lips. "Delicious as always gorgeous" he says kissing your thighs. You can't see them but you hear them taking off their clothes and moving around the bed. You then feel one of them snatch your hands and put them behind your back while the other ties your hands together. You smirk a bit as you were getting more excited by the second. Feeling the bed dip down you feel satorus hands help you on top of him. And then you feel Kakashi right behind you holding your bound arms. You feel something wet and cold rubbing against your ass before it slowly sunk into you. You whimper at the unfamiliar feeling but just as you were getting use to the feeling of being teased from behind you feel a strong vibration against your clit. Hanging your head down you felt the vibrator going in circles on your pussy and what you come to realize a thick plug being pumped in and out of your ass. "Feeling good princess?" Kakashi asks with a chuckle as he admires your voice as it echos in the room. You were drunk on the pleasure and they haven't enough done much just yet. You called for them over and over again and before you knew it you were cumming again. "That's it baby. We just wanna make you feel good" satoru says as he slow down the circles before turning off the vibrator and slowly sinking you down on his thick dick. You cry out from the stretch but immediately felt so fucking full. Full of him and the pleasure he brought to you. As he bucks his hips into your clenching pussy Kakashi removes the plug and rubs his dick on your ass. "We need you to cum again princess. Can you do that for us?" Kakashi asks as he grips your arms and bites on your shoulder a bit. Satoru slowed his thrusting to let you answer but all you did was nod frantically. He looks down at satoru and with a smirk he begins circling the vibrator over your clit again with satoru still giving you deep and slow thrusts. "Close already? That was fast~" he mocks you as you clench around him. Kakashi pulls your body back and turns your head to him as he kisses you again. Your moans muffled with his mouth but your body jerks forward as you cum again. Tears stream down your face,  you couldn't speak just react. satoru stop thrusting and pulls you into a heated kiss sliding his tongue in your mouth and making sure you knew who was in charge right now. Your breathing was still all over the place but you didn't have time to get it together when you felt Kakashis dick press into your tight ass. Your nails dig into your palms as he pushes himself half way in. Satoru grunting from the pressure and you wilding moaning between them. Both of them rubbing your body as they comfort you through the stretch. "Your taking us so well baby. Just a little more and I promise it'll feel good" Kakashi says. "I-I already f-feel good..~ haaa fuck" you cry out. Not men blushing hard before Kakashi slams the rest inside you cause you to scream out. "I'm sorry love but I can't hold back anymore" he moans as he slowly begins fucking your ass. Squelching sounds and moans filling the room you all slowly lose your minds with one another. Satoru no longer being able to sit still begins thrusting upward into you again much harder than before. One one entered you the other would pull back a bit. "Ahaaah shit!! Fuck fuck! T-too much!" You breathlessly moan. Kakashi removes your blindfold and hands. You kindly reach behind you pushing him back a bit as he speeds up while your other hand rests on Satorus chest.

So many hands digging into your flesh that you don't know who is grabbing where anymore. And in a split second you blink and real size they have stood up sandwiching you between them with their arms holding you perfectly still. You wrap one of your arms around Satorus neck and then reaching over your shoulder you grab Kakashis. Their groan and labored breathing pushing you closer to your release yet again. You were begging them to make a mess of your insides, to break you or breed you. Whatever came first you wanted it and you wanted it so badly. "Mph gunna cum gunna cum again! Ugh right there! Please don't stop!~" their faces closed in on you as they fucked you in sync with one another. "Come on then birthday girl" one of them coos. "Make as much of a mess as you want" the other chimes in. Your grip on them tightens on both of them. Soon there you were again, but this time you couldn't hold back. Your body refused to hide the fact that you were receiving the ultimate amount of pleasure and as you yell into the air and come undone you find yourself squirting and violently shaking. "God your so sexy" Satoru says as he slams into you as hard as he can cumming deep within you, your nails scratching him harshly and Kakashi following right behind him. "Fuck I'm cumming baby!" He grunts as he too fills you up a strained whimper escapes you. Your eyes glazed with lust as you stare up at the ceiling feeling their cum drip from your aching holes. Best birthday ever.

[jadelynlace]

NSFW Prompts / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

full series is here

request by: @quantumlocked310 

author’s note: you can find the complete NSFW prompt list here, and you can find the request by the love of my life, I mean @quantumlocked310 here. also, see if you can spot my new favorite HC for this series!

content warnings: we’re taking another trip (no, not in our favorite rocket ship), back to before these two dumb asses were out to everyone. even though, everyone basically knew it. this is mostly just sweet fluff, like you’ll need an insulin shot.

prompt: “to skinny dip with my muse”

synopsis: a weekend retreat proves to you how much Ivar is already devoted.

~

“Ivar went up to the lake house for the weekend, he said ‘for inspiration’ but I’m sure it to fuck,” Ubbe said. 

“Oh, I bet Y/N went up there too!” Hvitserk laughed. “I’ll have to text her, see what her excuse is.”

“I wonder how much longer they’re going to hide it from us, they’re practically a couple anyways.” Ubbe groaned, tossing the popcorn through the air to land on his tongue.

“Do you know how hard it is not to turn to her in the ambulance and just go “so how big is my little brother’s dick, Y/N’?” Hvitserk said. “I just want to see the look on her face before she kills me.”

“Probably the same as yours,” Ubbe started. “You two are fraternal twins after all.”

“Thanks, Ubbe, not a thought I wanted to think.” Hvitserk groaned.

The drive isn’t very long, low hum to the playlist in the mustang, your reflection in the glass as you tell Ivar about the week’s worth of calls, detail by ever loving disgusting detail. And not once does he stop you, not once does he grimace or groan, he tells you to keep going and he asks you questions about such as you blabber to him. The sun had just set as the gravel road takes to the tires, crunching as the engine slowed, rolling around the bend of the driveway and parking next to the cabin. You’re silent as you gaze at the view, pure water with the rays of diminishing sun and the breeze blows an immediate calmness through your whole body. 

Dotting the sky with a speckle of tiny lights, when night finally crept over, you two had taken to the blanket on the small patch of grass that lead to the dock. Cobble stone path in between you and the shore line as you rested your head across Ivar’s chest. Steady beating of his heart in your ears while his hands never stopped their small strokes over your shoulders, tracing your spine, but going no lower, no dirtier than he was known for. Almost as if he was trying to gauge your time together with something other than the tangles of sheets and the moans, and you gladly accepted this side of Ivar. The peaceful, relaxed side.

“Those three dots are—”

“The summer triangle,” Ivar answers. “And those, make up Sagittarius,” He adds, pulling you closer to him as the summer air laps at bare skin. 

“What about that one?” You ask, pointing your finger back at the sky. 

“That’s Libra—kinda like you,” Ivar answers through a breath of clouds as he chuckles before pulling your hand back down as he places a peck over you knuckles. 

“I’m not a Libra, actually, I’m a—”

“I meant the air sign part,” Ivar snorts. “You have strong intellect and a good mind,” He adds, taking his finger down the bridge of your nose. Your face wrinkles into a smile as your own eyes sparkle in the moon light, rivaling the great sky before you two. 

“I didn’t know you knew about constellations,” You whisper. 

“My mother used to bring me outside at night when I couldn’t sleep and she would show me the stars, and tell me the tales about each one. Sometimes I made myself stay awake just to hear her talk,” Ivar hums, turn of his lips against your forehead.

“You think I have a good mind?” You whisper, curling back up against him, inhaling the scent of his cologne from his neck line and he only hums as you nuzzle closer. “Not a dirty one?”

“I never said good can’t mean dirty,” Ivar laughs, bringing and arm out to his side to crack his elbow, popping it with a snap before curling it back around you. “Did you tell Hvitserk what you were doing this weekend?”

“No, I don’t always have to talk to him, goof ball. And he doesn’t always need to know what I’m doing, even if it’s you.” And Ivar only snorts.

“I didn’t just bring you out here for sex,”

“Oh, you’re going to kill me? Great, thank you.”

“I can’t spend time with you, without my dick being inside of you?” Ivar asks and there was a tone in his question that warranted a serious answer, like he was baring his soul and opening it before you in the night sky.

“You can, Ivar. I really like it actually,” You answer, pushing yourself up and pecking the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed as you do so, and he fears if he opens them you’re not going to be there—it’ll all have been a dream and he’s asleep in his bed in his flat, cold and alone and sad. But they finally peel apart and catch the moon light, glimmering and lightening and you lean down to kiss his mouth, only to pull back up so you can look at him. “Your eyes are really blue…” You hum.

“I let my Dad know that you said that,” Ivar teases, cheeky smirk and you only giggle, lean back down to peck his mouth a final time but his hand stops you. Holding your head near his as his mouth takes on a war against yours, a low vibration through Ivar’s chest as he kisses you, and you can feel it from where your hand is stationed. You’re moved slowly, pushed back along the blanket and Ivar is over you, holding his weight on his forearms as his lips move with yours. It’s a slow dance they take to, a waltz that’s not hurried like most of his kisses have been. He’s savoring you now, enjoying the hours with just you and no worry for the moment you two might be caught by someone. And Ivar realizes this is what he likes more—most of all so far, between the two of you, the hidden times alone where he can enjoy you, savor you and worship you like the Goddess you are.

Your nails rake against his neck as he settles between your bent knees, nose squishing against yours and you moan as one of his hands takes on a journey down your curves. Supple touches and soft strokes from his fingerprints gracing you, touching you like a prized relic he wants to admire. Ivar’s mouth finally pulls back enough as he rests his forehead against yours, and when you open your eyes to peek up, his are still closed and there’s a soft smile on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to go swimming?” He asks suddenly.

“Yes, I love the thought of whatever is lurking in those waters having a chance to touch me.” You say back.

“I’ll hold you,” Ivar starts, moving away. “It’ll be fine trust me,” And he’s pulling you up to sit, peeling his own shirt off and then taking yours with you and you can’t help but laugh as he moves. Fingers unhooking your bra and his lips trace your shoulder blades as he works.

“Ivar—no—not fucking naked!” You squeak as he lifts you up.

“I can throw you in?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” You hiss as he wraps you in his arms. “I will give you blue balls for the next six months,”

“Noted,” Ivar chuckles, bare feet slipping into the shore line and you shriek quietly as the water graces the backs of your thighs, chilling the heated skin and your arms are wrapped around Ivar for dear life.

“We’re not having sex in the lake,” You mumble against him and he nods, lets out a fake whine and you laugh as you feel his hands swarm your back. “And you’re going to cut your feet on the rocks,”

“Would you stop worrying for thirty seconds?” Ivar asks you, his hands dipping into the lake before he lets the water trickle down your back.

“My record is twenty, but I can try,” You answer, lips on his neck as the same wet hands start against the ends of your hair, easing you into the lake as you shiver against him slightly. “Feels nice,” You whisper and he hums as you take your own hand and drip water over his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming up with me,” Ivar says to you suddenly and you move your head away to look at him when he talks.

“Of course, Ivar,” You smile back and he can still see it, even in the darkness of the evening as you push your mouth against his gently. His hands skim your thighs, around the swell of your ass and take to your hips. You hum against him as his hands roam, sending butterflies through you. “We’re still not having sex in the lake,”

“I’ll be quick,” Ivar tries.

“As suppose to what?” You tease and Ivar scoffs. His noise makes you laugh and there’s water splashed in your face a second later; small waves you’re eager to give back before laughter rings between the two of you. “I’m only teasing, you know that I like it.” You giggle and you sag against him as he relaxes beneath the water. 

“I like it too,” Is all Ivar replies as you two stay still, relishing in each others company as the lake moves around your bodies. You know Ivar’s caught feelings, it’s so evident in how he’s holding you, how he’s being around you, and you keep you mouth closed under tight lock and key, and simply enjoy the moment. Because you know that you’ve caught them too.

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley  @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing  @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[midautumnnightdream]

Family

For Cosette Appreciation Week

*

Cosette doesn’t remember much of the day her father died.

She has no idea how long she spent kneeling on the bare floor, her cheek pressed against the rough fabric, her hands clasping a larger one, that only recently had been stroking her head. She vaguely recalls Marius speaking to the portress. The doctor had been called back, though for what purpose, she couldn’t say. When Marius helped her to her feet, she could hardly stand without support.

Upon re-entering No. 6 Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, she had gone straight to her chambers, leaving Marius to explain matters to his aunt and grandfather. He had followed her soon, in a state of great agitation: Cosette had watched him marching back and forth, filling the air with rambling, disjointed explanations that she barely listened to, and understood even less. The flood of broken self-recriminations surrounded her like an ocean, and she knew that she should care, but her papa was gone, and she felt cold and helpless and so very alone.

At some point, Marius had turned to her, and whatever he had seen in her face had stopped him short. There was something indescribable in his expression, an odd mix of realisation and dismay. He had reached out his hand, as if to touch her, and glanced at the door, as if to flee. In the end he had done neither, instead perching on the edge of the bed, several feet away from her. They sat together in silence for a long time.

Grandfather Gillenormand had been full of effusive sympathy and condolences. He had offered to take care of the funeral arrangements, but Marius had corralled him with great care, and had cited the wishes of the deceased, that a minimal fuss should be made. In the end, the funeral party had consisted only of the four members of the household, joined by Toussaint, whom Marius had invited on Cosette's behalf. It had also been Marius, who encouraged the rest of their party to say their farewells after the church service, leaving the young couple in their privacy at the graveside; and it was Marius, who had penned the odd little verse on the otherwise unmarked gravestone. Cosette had stood silent and numb, all the words she wished she could say threatened to choke her. Only tears flowed.

The morning after the funeral, Marius had finally explained it all; slow and hesitant in a way that carried nothing of his earlier agitation. In brief words he had explained the nature of her papa’s best kept secret, the confession he had made and the facts he had left out. Without sparing a single detail, he had described Jean Valjean's actions in saving his life, and his own actions in driving him away. At times, the familiar tone of self-recrimination would seep into his voice again, but then he would break off mid-sentence, seeming more ashamed of that bitter flood of guilt than the actions themselves. Cosette couldn’t say she wasn’t relieved: she was quite sure she didn’t have it in her to reassure him.

She should be angry, she knew. At Marius, certainly, probably even at papa. Marius certainly seemed to expect it from her, but she didn’t have it in her to conform to his expectations either. Perhaps she was angry, but her heart was heavy with exhaustion and grief, and she desperately didn’t want to be alone. When Marius placed a tentative hand on her wrist, she turned, wrapped her arms around him and wept.

Marius walks on eggshells around her after that day. Where before he would declaim expansively on any and all topics with an air of authority, he now seems to hesitate on every word, his eyes searching hers for approval. He’s attentive to her every mood, fidgeting around her like a great dark guardian, and yet disappearing instantly when she gives the slightest indication of wanting to be alone. She has no idea where he goes when he leaves her. He seems lost. It is both a relief and a concern.

Right at this moment, he’s doing a poor job of pretending to read a newspaper, his gaze flickering over to Cosette in her window seat and to the long forgotten needlework in her lap. Cosette can feel the weight of his eyes on her, distracting her from her reverie.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks eventually, his voice painfully hesitant. Cosette sighs and tears her gaze away from the window.

“My mother,” she answers honestly.

“Oh?” Cautious, encouraging.

“Papa used to talk to me about her when I was little. Then he stopped. I suppose he thought once I was older, I might start asking questions he couldn’t answer.”

“Do you remember her at all?” Marius asks.

Cosette shakes her head. “I don’t remember much of my childhood. I think I remember being held and I know it must have been my mother, who sang to me and rocked me to sleep. After...” She hesitates. “I was fostered, I think, or maybe just left behind. I was terribly unhappy there. Then  papa came and took me away.” It was so strange and dark and confusing, that part of her life, filled with bizarre recollections, many of which must have surely been just nightmares of her childish mind. She had never liked thinking about it and papa hadn’t liked talking about it. Now, she supposes she will never know.

“I don’t remember my mother either,” Marius says suddenly. “At least not well. I remember what she looked like, but that might be just her picture on grandfather’s mantelpiece.” He’s lost in thought for several moments, before continuing. “I remember her illness, and being taken to her bedchamber to say goodbye. We were staying with grandfather then; my father was away in the war. Afterwards, grandfather wouldn’t let him see me, and told me he had abandoned me. And then he died. My father died alone, because my grandfather lied to me and kept me away. I hated him for this. I walked out of his house, left him behind and hated him for many years. And now I’ve done the same –” His jaw snaps shut. “But this isn’t about me.”

Cosette would like nothing more than to close the subject, to turn away and let their wounds heal in peace, until such time would come when she is ready to soothe them away. She had done the same with her papa, countless times – and look how that had turned out. Every instinct tells her they are on the cusp of something that may yet define the rest of their life together. She suppresses her fear.

“Marius. What are you saying?”

The look in Marius’ eyes is full of anguish and uncertainty. “This isn’t about me,” he repeats, his voice holding a cadence of a mantra. “Your grief for your father, the relationship the two of you shared, the memories you still hold dear – none of this has anything to do with me at all, does it? My guilt and my fervent regret for how things turned out are superfluous to the issue at hand.” He hesitates, as if trying to explain some great revelation he doesn’t quite have the words for. “Your grief matters more than my experience of it. I’ve been in your place, but now I’m not. What matters is how you feel.”

Cosette doesn’t reply, unsure of what to say. She’s never heard Marius speak like that, isn’t quite sure she understands all that he’s trying to communicate.

He does that sometimes, thinking and brooding about an issue for so long that when he resurfaces, he’s bringing with him conclusions that are so profoundly simple as to be self-evident at the first glance, despite the layers of meaning visible only to him. Yet his usual ruminations tend towards the greater social questions and his own views on them. This? This feels different.

Something of her thoughts must have reflected on her face, for Marius expression grows rueful. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that I've never been very good at listening, at paying attention. I see what I expect to see, hear what I expect to hear and discard the rest. But bemoaning my foibles doesn’t help – the important thing is to do better. I will do better, for you.”

Cosette takes a deep breath. “Do you promise not to lie to me any more?”

“I promise!” Marius answers instantly, then hesitates. “I gave him my word to keep his secret before I even knew what it was.”

“You also promised he could visit,” Cosette replies quietly. “Why keep one promise and not the other?”

Marius has no reply to that.

“I swear I will not lie to you again,” is all he says.

“And you will not keep from me anything that has to do with me?”

“I swear,” Marius says. After a moment he adds. “I know it is a paltry excuse, but hurting you was the last thing that either of us wished to do. We were trying to protect you from suffering, and in doing that, we made the wrong choices. I made the wrong choices, because I failed to keep your feelings in mind, and that is something I can never make up for.”

For a long moment, the young couple sits in silence.

“Perhaps,” Cosette says eventually. “There was no good choice you could have made, because the choice wasn’t yours to make in the first place.”

“I’m your husband,” Marius says, grieved. “If I cannot do right by you, what’s the use of me?”

“Marius,” says Cosette. “Do we not, in this house, live in a republic?”

Marius huffs out a laugh. “I believe Monsieur Louis-Philippe would have something to say about that.”

“Do we not agree that it is no good, one person making all the decisions?” Cosette continues, unperturbed. “Your grandfather has made some terrible choices, both for you and for your aunt. My papa chose badly, in leaving me. I do not wish for any children of ours to live like we did, alone in their grief and helpless in their ignorance.”

“Never,” Marius assures vehemently. Cosette doesn’t meet his gaze, but she can see his expression growing horrified. “You do not believe me.”

“Marius,” Cosette answers, equal parts fond and exasperated, and perhaps just a bit resentful. “I think I need you to know, that before anything else, you are my family. The only family I have left. Do you know what that means to me, an orphan several times over, registered in my marriage documents under the surname given to me through kindness of strangers? I love you.”

“You say that you love me and I believe you,” Marius replies quietly. “But you won’t say that you trust me.”

“Marius,” Cosette says. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Marius replies instantly, the grows quiet under the weight of the promise.

Cosette takes his hand in hers. “Then, as long as you keep trusting me, I endeavour to trust you. How does that sound?”

Marius remains quiet and pensive for a long minute. Then, for the first time in weeks, he smiles.

“That, I believe, is what my friend Bahorel would have called a treaty.”

[blitzturtles]

Title: Fever (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba, AbbaBru, (Platonic) Bucci Gang

Summary: “Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own.

Notes: For Day 1 of Sicktember, "Fever", because I never do anything on time. @sicktember

The morning goes like any other. One by one, the Don’s closest filter into the kitchen to get their first cup of coffee and whatever they feel like scrounging up for breakfast. There’s mundane conversation between the more wakeful lot; they aren’t allowed to talk about work until everyone’s finished their meals, which means the conversation doesn’t get much more interesting than whatever they’ve managed to get up to since the night before. It’s an odd sort of rule, but it helps to ensure that they can maintain some boundaries between their professional and personal lives, which further guarantees that they get more time together as a family, rather than as a team.

“Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own. It’s empty with no sign that the man has made it downstairs, despite their designated breakfast time ticking by.

Narancia elbows Abbacchio to get his attention when he doesn’t seem to pick up on the same thing the rest of them have. He makes a motion for Abbacchio to take off his headphones and repeats the question.

“How should I know?” Abbacchio deflects with practiced ease, but there’s an edge to his tone. Sharper than even his usual morning demeanor calls for, and it’s clear--from the way his eyes fixate on Bucciarati’s spot--that he’s as concerned as the rest of them.

“You sleep in the same room,” Fugo points out, matter-of-fact and oblivious to the daggers that Abbacchio shoots in his direction.

“Yeah, well--” Abbacchio falters. He doesn’t actually have a reply for that.

“Maybe we should go check on him?” Trish asks, ever the most reasonable of the bunch, aside from perhaps Giorno.

“You don’t need to go… crowding him,” Abbacchio trails off as Mista and Narancia race out of their seats, already making a beeline for the stairs. He sighs and gets up to follow them.

What he doesn’t tell the group won’t hurt them. They don’t need to know that Bruno had been complaining of a headache the night before, or that he crashed unusually early. Or that he had been less than compliant about waking up with Abbacchio.

“So much for ‘just a headache’,” Abbacchio mutters under his own breath as he follows the kids up the steps. He can hear the rest behind him, each as eager as the first two to check in on their once-leader. “Hey, knock it off,” he calls when he finds Mista and Narancia outside the door to their bedroom, banging on it obnoxiously.

“But he’s not answering!” Narancia whines, dramatic and loud.

“And you think this will help?” Abbacchio raises his eyebrows, but he moves to unlock the door. The moment he opens it, he can see what his tired eyes failed to notice earlier. Bruno’s face, as little of it that is visible, is bright pink. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and it’s obvious he’s been tossing and turning since Abbacchio left, which means he likely spiked a fever sometime recently.

Abbacchio ignores the kids in favor of making his way to the bed. He frowns at the dry, parted lips and the labored breathing that greet him. Bruno’s eyes haven’t so much as cracked open a hair, despite the sheer volume of Mista and Narancia. The rest of the gang catching up doesn’t seem to phase him either, even though none of them seems to be capable of shutting up.

Without thinking, Abbacchio undoes the clips that must have been left in from the night before. It speaks volumes to how poorly Bruno felt at the time. He always takes his hair down before bed, and Abbacchio isn’t sure how he missed that not-so-little detail.

“What’cha doing?” Narancia asks, startling Abbacchio out of his thoughts.

“He doesn’t like it when his hair gets sweaty,” Abbacchio explains without thinking. He splits Bruno’s bangs down the middle to pin them on either side of his face. It isn’t the most fashionable look, but it should hold.

“Guess you would know, huh?” Mista asks with a raised eyebrow.

Abbacchio feels his cheeks burn red at the suggestion, and he turns around to give the kid his best death glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mista throws his hands up quickly, “I was joking.”

“Don’t,” Abbacchio answers gruffly. He turns back to Bruno, trying to work out the best way to take out his top braid without disturbing him too much. He settles for loosening it instead, careful to avoid tugging it in a way that might pull. The point is to reduce the pressure, not add to his discomfort.

“He wears his hair down when he goes fishing,” Giorno speaks with such sincerity that it’s all Abbacchio can do not to snap at him, too. Plus, it would probably disappoint Bruno. If he were awake.

“Yeah, I pointed that out too. It’s weird.” Abbacchio shrugs. He would think that having your hair stuck to your skin with salt water would be worse than sweat, but he guesses that Bruno finds some nostalgia in it. He’s long given up on understanding certain things about his partner.

“I think it’s safe to say he’s sick,” Fugo points out, breaking the silence that follows. “We should probably get his fever down.”

“Right, yeah!” Narancia nods enthusiastically, then stops for a moment and looks dumbfounded, “How’d we do that?”

Fugo smacks him on the back of the head, “With medication and cold towels, obviously.”

“Hey!” Narancia spins on his heels, so he’s facing the other teen. He crowds in on Fugo until their chests are pressed together and Fugo’s reaching for something in one of his pockets.

“Cut it out!” Abbacchio snaps at both of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders why he ever let the whole group up here in the first place. He’s more than capable of taking care of Bruno on his own, even if he had missed the earlier signs.

“I can go get medicine,” Trish says, a bit meek compared to her usual self, and she’s gone before anyone can say otherwise.

“I’ll go get towels?” Giorno looks uncertain. He’s never had to deal with anyone else’s illness before. Not like this, and he’s always taken care of himself while sick. Usually by pushing through until his body sorted itself out.

“I’ll go with you,” Fugo offers with a half-smile. It’s meant to be reassuring, and Giorno seems to take it as such.

Abbacchio’s just relieved to have less people around. Mista and Narancia linger, but he elects to ignore both of them in favor of tucking the blankets in around Bruno. The best thing for a fever is to sweat it out, after all.

By the time the other three get back, Narancia and Mista have made themselves busy by going in search of a thermometer. It’s really more like a competition between the two, but Abbacchio doesn’t care as long as it keeps them distracted.

“I brought some water, too,” Trish says as she extends her bounty to Abbacchio. In one hand is a bottle of water; in the other is the medication she must have scavenged her own medicine cabinet for. That or the Team first aid kit. There’s actually a few of those throughout the house, but Bruno’s the only one that bothers stocking them, and that’s only when he knows to. For the most part, they run out of supplies because someone uses them without remembering to say anything later.

“We got hand towels in a bowl of ice water. It should keep him going for a while,” Fugo explains as he nods to the bowl that Giorno’s carrying and deposits his collection of towels on one of the bedside tables. He takes one and unfolds it enough to make a thin strip out of it. He dunks it into the water and squeegees out the excess before handing it to Abbacchio.

“Thank you,” Abbacchio says, taking the towel and placing it gently on Bruno’s forehead. It’s worrisome that he hasn’t stirred in the slightest. That despite all the ruckus, he’s remained sound asleep. Part of Abbacchio wants to leave him that way, but he knows getting the fever reducer in him will help him faster than the towels will. He gently shakes his partner’s shoulder and calls his name until familiar blue finally peaks open.

Bruno’s eyes are red around the edges, and there’s no focus to them. He blinks at Abbacchio a few times. Slow and owlish.

“You’re sick,” Abbacchio explains with little to-do. “You just gotta take these, and you can go back to sleep.”

A quiet hum is all he gets in response, and it’s damn near enough to convince Abbacchio to take Bruno to the nearest hospital. He’s never known Bruno to be cooperative a day in his life. Not when it comes to being sick or injured, but he forces himself to be reasonable. To think logically. Bruno isn’t indestructible. He’s allowed to feel like shit, and that means he’s allowed to want nothing more than to be left alone to sleep off the worst of whatever bug he’s managed to catch.

“I know,” Abbacchio murmurs, more to himself than Bruno. He helps Bruno sit up enough to take the pills and helps him back to lying down after that. He fixes the blankets and puts the wet towel back on Bruno’s forehead. Once he’s all settled, it takes only seconds for Bruno to pass back out.

“It’s weird seeing him like this,” Fugo admits, quietly.

“I don’t like it,” Trish’s voice is somehow softer, but there’s more to it. Her tone holds something else, and Abbacchio curses himself for not picking up on it sooner.

“He’ll be fine,” he says, doing his best to be reassuring. The problem is that he generally isn’t. “It’s been awhile, but Bruno does get sick.”

“Yeah,” Fugo says quickly, eyes following Abbacchio’s. “He’ll be fine, probably by tomorrow. Besides, Giorno can help if he needs to, right?”

Giorno looks a little startled to be pulled into the conversation, but he’s quick to nod, “If there’s any kind of damage, I can replace it.”

“See? All good. You all should get to work. It’s late already,” Abbacchio points out. Never mind the fact that he doesn’t plan on leaving Bucciarati’s side, which means they’re down, not one, but two men for the day. “And, if you see Narancia or Mista, tell them to forget about the thermometer.” The best thing they can do for Bruno at this point is leave him alone and let him rest.

“Right, yeah, let’s--let’s do that,” Trish says, stumbling over her words as much as her feet. She’s quick to reach for the door, obviously relieved to be dismissed without having to do so herself. Abbacchio can’t blame her. He doesn’t like seeing Bruno like this either, but he doesn’t have a recently deceased-from-illness parent at the forefront of his brain. He knows how much that still eats at Bruno. He can only imagine what it does to a teenager whose memories of the event are fresh.

Fugo follows her with a simple nod of his head at Abbacchio. A small sign of his appreciation that someone is taking care of the man that he sees as his savior, even now. Abbacchio mimics the gesture in acknowledgement and almost turns his attention back to Bruno before he notices Giorno, lingering by the door.

“What?”

“It’s--” Giorno swallows, “It’s nothing. Take your time. We can work out whatever we need to until he’s feeling better.”

“I will,” Abbacchio says with a tone that’s almost dismissive. Truthfully, he’s grateful for the permission. To hear it aloud rather than to think it to himself, but he won’t admit that. Least of all to Giorno. “Don’t forget to take the other two with you.”

“I will,” Giorno echoes with the slightest curve of his lips.

Cheeky little shit, Abbacchio thinks, but he watches Giorno with a near fondness reflecting in his gaze. It’s odd how much the little bastard has grown on him. Not, he supposes, unlike the rest of them. Maybe it’s all the time they spend together, given Abbacchio’s position in Investigations. Or maybe it’s the mutual concern for Bruno’s wellbeing. Whatever it is, Abbacchio’s glad the kid sees things his way. Just this once.

[esmerayistaken]

DUSKWOOD EP 9 SPOILERS!

If you haven't played the EP yet just continue scrolling this will contain lots of spoilers. Like heavily detailed spoiler since in this I'd be sharing a theory

Ok so. I have a theory well more of a hunch. For some reason, I just keep on suspecting Dan. I don't have any motive yet as to why he's the MWF, but I'll just state my reasons. I'm not sure if everything will make sense but I'm glad to have a discussion.

1. Everyone else's picture on the MWF's wall was taken by the MWF himself except for Dan's which was taken from his social media. Yeah, I get that 'but they'll recognize him if he took the photos'. But as said a couple times in the game, the culprit might have been hidden well that they wouldn't be able to spot him easily.

2. The pictures he sent the group when Cleo picked him up from the hospital. If I remember correctly he insisted that they go to the marked area in the MWF's wall (I'm not sure I wasn't able to take a screenshot of that part of the convo). And as we have established, the marked area was most likely to be where the accident happened. If it was indeed the place of the accident, then it seems like he is showing it to remind us of what happened (The accident) This I'm not so sure since Idk yet how to link Jennifer to Dan

3. The message from the MWF saying that he's coming. Sounds timely just before Dan informs us that he has been discharged and that he asked to be picked up.

4. His wheelchair. During our conversation with Cle, she mentioned Dan saying that it was 'just the cherry on top'. I don' know if it's just me being the overthinker that I am, or it could be a metaphor. It is quite possible that when he said it was the cherry on top, it was the final touch for his trap, the best cover. And with him being in the wheelchair it might be easier for him to manipulate them into thinking that he's helpless so it couldn't be him.

5. Just before Cleo called everyone in, during our conversation with Dan, when we said that the house is safe (i chose you can't find it on a map after, I'm not sure if it's the same for other choices) he replied with 'We'll see how right you are about that' maybe I'm just overthinking it or maybe there is another meaning behind it. Also when he sent the picture of Lilly, Thomas, Cleo, and Jessy, it may have been a genuine 'look at them' or it is possible that he's taunting us that he got them all in one place and unsuspecting.

6. In the last scene before the episode ended, we see everyone rush to the room, except for Dan, this could be connected to the wheelchair reason. Yes, he might have moved slower because he's in a wheelchair but that could be of advantage to him at this point. And since we could not see him in the frame of the camera we could just assume that; a. he's just out of the frame and behind Lilly; b. he went to do MWF things.

SO That was all the reason I have now, idk if I left something out but Ill update this if I did. Also bear in mind that he was in the hospital, and that could've also been the perfect excuse for him to operate successfully without anyone suspecting him since we all 'know' that he's supposed to be in the hospital. So it can be linked back to the possibility that he faked his own accident.

But yes, although I have these reasons to suspect him a lot of things still don't add up. Case 1, what connection does he have with Jennifer?; Case 2, how is he able to call Hana's phone while he was in the same room as the others, does he have an accomplice? Did he use pre-recorded audio and used some kind of software to automatically call us?; Case 3, not to mention, there is still no news on Richy we don't really know if he's actually dead or not. Is it possible that they are accomplices and could have been working together? Or is it just really Richy's doing?

That is all that I have for now, if you have any other theories or if you have thoughts on something else that doesn't make sense, feel free to leave them down! I'd be more than willing to discuss it with other people!

[kinnoth]

Thor knows the end, but he has always known the end. Ragnarok has never been a mystery to him, to any of them. Every story ever told of Asgard ends in fire and in the darkness of nothing if one lets it go on for long enough. The Aesir have always been a doomed people: blood-loving, battle-loving, ever scratching for one more piece of glory to hold onto before the lights go out.

In truth, Thor had never expected to make it so far, and, perhaps, looking back on the trajectory of his life, he had never deserved to make it so far. The story of his life, as it has been charted, was ever one in which he would burn for a little while, then blaze for a while more, and then fall in a streak of fire, celebrated by his armies and ill-remembered by those he had conquered.

He was meant to have burned with his kingdom. His father would have burned with his kingdom. It is what is said of him in every attestation, that Odin Allfather loved his people and his kingdom until the end of both: because it was rightful, it was honourable, because it was foretold. Because Odin Allfather understood the sacrifice of kingship and the beauty of things that end.

Only greedy Thor, arrogant Thor, could have denied these people their rightful, honourable deaths. Only Thor could have snatched up these people from the glory of their own fates, and for what?

Space is cold after the fires of Asgard, cold and empty. The spiralling arms of the world tree cannot house a houseless people. All the sparkling stars that hang like fruits from its branches cannot feed them.

Thor leads his people to their doom, but he can find within himself no remorse for it. He has his brother back, standing tall and proud again beside him. Thor is not a stupid man, for all his great faults. He knows that his brother is dangerous and that he is disloyal. He has proven himself to be cruel and selfish and vain.

And yet, Loki moves beside him like his shadow as he circles through their huddled masses. Loki is good with them in a way that Thor isn't, in the way that their mother was good in the times after calamity. He touches their blackened hands and he talks to them lowly, with soothing words and gentle manner. He spins amusing tales for the children and listens, soft-eyed, to the lamentations of their mothers and fathers. They are Asgard's potters and weavers, merchantmen and clerks. They carry with them nothing but the clothes on their backs and the children in their arms. Had they been warriors, Thor might have led them and paid their way across the worlds with their swords, but as they are, they have nothing and want for everything.

He passes what assurances he can on to them. He tells them that they will be safe, that their children will not go hungry. He tells them tales of Midgard, of its glass cities and its gleaming black roads. He tells them of the rich, green hills of the Norsemen that Odin Once-King had declared would be their new home.

He feels Loki watching him. Somehow, he had forgotten how that had felt -- Loki, moving his head and his hands in subtle enquiry when emotion catches his voice; Loki, rephrasing his soldier's brusqueness into something easy and smooth; Loki remembering the details to his stories where he had forgotten. They had had a thousand years of companionship between them before these past ten in conflict and yet somehow, Thor had forgotten how it had felt to hold the weight of Loki's attention, familiar and following, as steadying as any hand.

Thor watches him as well, and, in the liminal moments in between, he drags them away from their duties and cloisters his brother away from the others. In private, Loki wears his quiet differently: his rounded shoulders find their angles and his tired eyes grow sharp and ready. Thor has him read for him the obscurities in their astronomical maps that Thor does not know enough to understand. They discuss the merits of various courses through the terrain, how to balance the preservation of their fuel next to the dangers of the shipping lanes. Loki is as studious and serious now as he is in Thor's memory. As he listens to Thor and thinks on his answers, his hand drifts absently up to his chin in a gesture he has not lost from childhood, and Thor feels again the stirring fondness he has only ever felt for his careful brother, lost in thought.

But Loki has not yet fully returned to him. It is clear in the way he stops in his sentences before they disagree and cuts away his gaze, the way he avoids Thor's hands in moments when he would not have before noticed Thor's touch. Perhaps he never will return, not wholly, and be as he was once, but Thor makes himself glad for what company he can have of him. Certain things have changed between them now in ways that he cannot hope to recover, and so Loki, though never a stranger, is perhaps more courteous than he has earned the right to be, blunter with his rebuke and shallower with his smile than Thor remembers. It is the measure of distance that Loki holds that serves to remind him always that, while Thor may again have a brother, he does not have a friend.

Perhaps that is for the best. Perhaps that is enough. Perhaps they can work together and they can lead their people, and Thor can put aside his ache for a better world and content himself with what he has. Because for all that he would like to do it, Thor does not trust his brother, even as he knows that he would not want to endure this long life without him. And perhaps he, too, is vain, but -- for this fragile truce between them, this makeshift peace -- he would have damned them all a thousand times without a second thought. Loki is here, and Thor believes again, as he did when he was young: that with his brother at his side, there is no quandary in the universe that the two of them cannot conquer.

Still, he startles when he feels a hand lay across his back. He is half-asleep, hunched over their star maps and logbooks again, looking for ways through disaster as though, if he looked long enough, he could divine new meaning into the numbers. He looks up to see Loki drawing his white hand back into the shadow of his cloak, a plaintive expression clearing quickly from his face.

"You are tired," Loki says. His voice is soft and unreadable. "You should rest."

"Yes," Thor replies. He had been dreaming, but of what, he doesn't remember now that he is awake. Impressions of fire and shadow splinter under the weight of waking until all that remains is the metal taste of urgency and guilt in his mouth. He sets his palm over his eyes and scrubs until all he sees again are stars. They are twenty-two jumps points outside of Asgard and he doesn't know how they are going to make it to twenty-three.

When next he looks up, Loki regards him with a look nearing sympathy. "Come with me," he says, and it is a testament to how truly tired Thor is that he follows without question. Loki leads him through a warren of utilitarian back rooms, storage spaces and servants quarters stripped bare of the Grandmaster's glitter and sculpted luxury. There is a narrow wire staircase twisting up past the rafters, and then Loki brings him into a room.

Something about the arrangement of it strikes Thor as immediately familiar, though he cannot place how. There is a low bed pushed against the wall and shelves built above it. From the ceiling hang bundles of scented dried things wrapped in scrap cloth, and on the far wall is a wide window, looking out into the void. Pale flame flickers to life in the brazier by the door and this is Loki's room, from back home, Thor realises, his private royal chamber scaled down to fit this space the size of a pauper's cell.

Thor touches the brutally bare wall. They are so close to the engines here that he can feel them humming beneath his hand. He steps after Loki into the room and passes his fingers over the fire as he walks. There is no warmth and so he reaches into the centre of it and picks up a glowing ember. It pulses like a living thing, faintly green around the edges. Foxfire, he recognises, Loki’s magic used for the crude banality of lighting a room. "Is this where you've been sleeping?" he asks, unable to keep the reproach from his voice.

Loki has opened a hidden compartment and is unpinning the cloak from his shoulders. He looks strange and unguarded for a moment, and Thor is sorry to have spoken without thought. Loki looks away. "You did not wonder?"

Thor shrugs with deliberate disaffectedness. "I didn't think it was any of my business," he says. He peers around the corners of the doorway. There is a bath beyond a half-closed door and, next to it, a meagre kitchen. It is odd to think of Loki, imperious and supercilious, cooking meals for himself off of one small hob. It is odd to think of his brother living sparsely, when their mother’s one enduring criticism of him was how he spent too freely. How much more of his life has Loki concealed from him? How else has he lived that Thor does not know?

Loki emerges from his closet, much the same but with all his dignity drawn about him once again. He plucks the coal from Thor’s hand and uses it to light the other lamps around the room. “This used to be my room when the Grandmaster took me out on his excursions," he explains. "I didn’t think anyone would mind it if I took it up again. Of course, I didn’t spend much time here,” he adds as he gives Thor back his ember. “The rooms downstairs, housing Asgard's people, those were for his guests. They are much more comfortable.”

Thor takes the glowing coal, holds it in his palm again for a moment before tossing it back into the brazier with the others. “And what were you then?” he asks suspiciously. A species of confusion mated to a kind of rage creeps up into his chest, but he pushes down on it with the ease of long practice, until naught but a faint abhorrence emerges into his conscious thought.

Loki smiles. ”Household.”

"Here,” he says before Thor can unravel his unease. A dark, ornate bottle appears between his fingertips and uncorks itself with a pop. He presses it into Thor’s hand. “Have a drink with me."

Thor twists his mouth. “Are we out of clean glasses again?” A fragrance at once sweet and sharply medicinal wafts up from the open neck. The liquid itself is nearly black.

Loki gestures as he folds himself onto the ledge by the window. He pulls a knee up to his chest and leans his cheek up against it. “Would you accept a glass from me?” he asks demurely.

Thor snorts. ”You are right, I would not.” He hesitates a moment longer before crossing the room and going to stand next to his brother. The universe spins out, endless, outside of their ark, colours of a bruise casting ghostly lights against Loki’s back and the side of his turned face. “It used to be one of your favourite tricks for your guests to find some nasty surprise at the bottom of their cups.” He offers his brother a wry look as he hands the bottle back.

Loki’s smile is small but not fully unhappy. “That was childish of me,” he agrees.

”You put snakes in my cup at my coronation.” Thor points out. “We were not children then.”

”Weren't we?" Loki asks lightly, and Thor's hackles rise, the prickle on the back of his neck like static before a storm. Loki is in some sort of mood tonight, not wholly hostile, but unsettled somehow, and Thor has ever known him to be changeable. He lifts the bottle in a sardonic salute and, smirking, tilts back his long throat and drinks deep. The glass slowly drains to clear as Loki finishes, gasping with satisfaction. He holds up the bottle, still three quarters full. "There, brother, you see?" he says, as he wipes the corners of his mouth. "Nothing to fear."

Something about the dark stain of Loki's mouth perturbs Thor in a way that strikes him wary and short of breath, but he takes the bottle back. His voice pitched low, he asks, with a cheer he does not truly feel, ”So what poison do you intend for the both of us then?”

Loki shakes his head and laughs. “No, not even poison.” His eyes are wet and a little unfocused. "Will you not drink?"

Thor hesitates a moment more but then, he too smiles shallowly and drinks. The liquor is hot on the tongue but surprisingly light, fruited like wine but without wine's cloying sweetness. He swallows. ”That is very fine," he says approvingly. The drink’s warm fingers spread down his throat and into his chest where they begin to pick at the knots tied up there. "I did not know we had anything near so fine on this ship. Is there more of it?" He tilts the bottle to read the label.

Loki scoffs. "Not enough to water your entire kingdom, if that's what you mean."

“A pity then.” Thor takes another generous swallow and the warmth spreads. These Sakaarian spirits are stronger than Asgardian mead, and Thor is beginning to think that he prefers it. “The kingdom could use a good watering after what it's just been through.” He raises the bottle. “A salutation then, to -- what are we drinking for?”

“A victory?” Loki shrugs. He moves to make room as Thor gingerly lowers himself down onto the seat next to him, careful to keep his distance. “Anything you like.”

Thor laughs hollowly. “That was a poor victory then, if that's what you'd call it.”

In the flickering light, Loki’s pale eyes shutter and he grins his brief and bitterly mirthless grin. He looks away and drinks, then leans again on his folded knee. “Do you grieve?” he asks perfectly without inflection.

Thor stops. He sees Loki’s fingers flexing white at the knuckles around each other even as his face remains impassive. His shoulders are set in perfect right angles to his spine. “You know,” Thor says contemplatively, “if you would have asked me that ten years ago, around the time you were still putting snakes in my cups, I would have said yes. I would have drank for our golden halls and our gleaming city and all of our sun-loved fields. But now." He sighs. Loki glances at him, the only indication that he is even listening. His eyes are wide and waiting. Around the room, the pale fires sputter in their wicks and spin. He has stopped his breathing. Thor reaches for him and lays the backs of his fingers lightly along his arm. Loki winces, takes a breath, but does not pull away.

Thor feels his own misgivings be gentled, and says softly, "I suppose that's what a loss as great as this shows you. When you have no choice but to choose, you pick out what's really important from the rest and you are happy that you get to keep it. We have lost so much, but it could have been more." His hand slowly flattens to curl around the lean muscle of Loki’s arm. Thor can feel the heat and the solid weight of him, welcome and familiar in a way that little else has been in these recent years.

"Brother," he begins softly. "Will you not grieve--"

"But what of all your worshippers?” Loki's expression when he turns is hard and terrible, red-rimmed eyes above a hooked sneer, and held in such rictus as if he were an animal trapped under thick ice. “Your great armies? Your Warriors Three?” he intones, as he yanks himself away from Thor’s touch, drawing back into himself once more. "Your Lady Sif?"

Thor draws his hands back into his own lap, stricken. What feats these hands have wrought, what power they hold, and yet he cannot claw back into them an ounce of his brother’s confidence. Has he not tried? Has he not let Loki draw near, examine every part of him and find him wary and uncertain, but sincere? He remembers the tentative proximity they had devised in the first night aboard the ship. Loki had asked and Thor had allowed him to draw him down, to examine his disfigured eye and to cleanse it and close what he could, to touch his fingertips through his shorn hair as he did it. What had that been but Thor's hopes laid bare? What had that been but Thor's soul beckoning: look at me; see me; recognise me; if we cannot be alone together then we will truly be alone.

Thor breathes deep and says, lowly, with a line of resignation understriking the words, “Have you brought me here to start a fight then, Loki?”

Loki's face, ruddy and savage with emotion, flinches violently. He blinks and then, as if swept by a great wind, his expression clears. “No, forgive me,” he says, his voice cool and easy. "I am." He shrugs, and, after a moment, waves his hand. The spinning lights right themselves. Another bottle appears between his fingers. He hands it to Thor and then he returns to himself, perfectly neat and self-contained.

Thor hates, suddenly, all of this, every measure of it: his brother’s carefully constructed dispassion and the way he will not fully meet Thor’s eyes; the choking fist of his own fear that this is how it has to be now, this is how they are going to be to one another from now on. Loki sits curled in on himself like a loose fist protecting a bruise and Thor is no more permitted to unfurl him to test his injury any more than he is to go back and undo Ragnarok. This he mourns, more than all else: that he used to know his brother, and he was known by him, trusted and was trusted. It used to be that when they were together, Thor had believed in immortality.

He is gripped by the sudden urge to touch Loki, as if that would make any difference, as if that would make anything better. It used to. He thinks it used to. Thor remembers how easy it had used to be to know where he was and how to make his way back because Loki would find his hand and guide him. He wants to take Loki by the shoulders and shake him, or to reach underneath the curtain of his hair and put his hand to skin.

But instead he is here, in this insatiable present that takes and takes and lets him have nothing back. Loki holds himself placidly as if nothing at all has been said or transpired, and Thor's despair turns to cold fury.

"Odin was right, you are devious and disdainful and difficult to love," Thor says icily. Loki looks at him, properly, finally. His eyes are open with surprise and confusion. Good. If Loki wants a fight then Thor is more than happy to give him one; he is hungry for Loki's pain, if he can have nothing else. Thor spurs on, heat rising up his neck and behind the sockets of his eyes, "You've found reason to hate everyone and everything that ever had the misfortune of crossing your path. Nothing is ever good enough for Loki; no one is ever good enough for Loki. There would always be something, some way you could distort an honest word into something evil, turn even the truest praise into injustice. You are so twisted we could use you as a corkscrew."

Loki recoils as if physically struck and Thor feels a rush of cruel satisfaction to see him hurt. Loki should hurt. If Thor must hurt than Loki can hurt. It is their basest of axioms: whatever Thor has, then Loki must have too.

"Little wonder why you were no good king," he spits, unsheathed now, seeking blood. He wants to see Loki break. "You look for shadows and schemes because your heart is filled with nothing but shadows and schemes. Little wonder, too, why you could not content yourself with the vast privileges of your station. You were Asgard’s prince and my brother and Odin's son, but still you found a way to be claim misuse. It is like you run from happiness. You are incapable of being grateful." He shoves the bottle back toward Loki with such force that it topples off its broad base. The fine spirits pours out of it in fat gluts.

His brother regards the drink soaking into his floor and splashing over his shoes. His pale face is awash with an awful flush. With a jerking gesture, he rights the bottle and the black liquid funnels itself back into it. He drinks for a long moment and then sets it down. His stillness has taken a different quality, wound and waiting, like a pendulum before the downswing. "I was not your brother, don’t you remember?" he says lowly. "Not your father's son, not your people's prince. I was nothing. That is what I ran from, being nothing."

Thor feels tension string through his muscles. Fighting he knows; fighting he can do; fighting comes naturally to him even if his heart is breaking. "You were one of us," he retorts through his teeth. "You were loved."

Loki lets out a great bark of a laugh and wheels to his feet. "I was not," he says poisonously. "Great Thor, mighty Thor, golden Thor, loved by all. Easy to love." He is pacing, his long strides eating up the little distance of the floor so that he has to turn every fourth step. His movement is disjointed, unhinged. Thor is reminded again of his brother, wild and caged, wreacking ruin upon himself when given nothing else to destroy. "Of course you wouldn’t see it," Loki scathes. "It is so difficult for the beloved to see that not all share in their condition, after all."

Thor draws back, raises his chin. His pulse is in his ears. He should never have come in the first place. He could have lived with what peace they had between them, and now he won't even have that. "Mother loved you," he challenges, his voice rising. "I loved you."

His brother flips his hand dismissively. "You loved everyone, what’s one more."

"I loved you best!"

Thor is on his feet as static gathers in the air. Loki stops, holds his gaze steadily, breathing hard. "I was happy," he says after a moment. "Perhaps it was never to any great effect, but I was happy once. But then, I was not who I thought I was." He drags in a breath and wrings together his trembling hands. "And I did not know what I know now." He stands in the middle of his sparse, dark little room and looks, suddenly, unspeakably small and lost. Thor steps toward him, but his brother looks up and fixes him with a glittering stare and he stops.

"So I have been selfish and self-serving, but who else but I served Loki-prince?" he says bitterly. "I was faithful to Asgard for over a thousand years and saw nothing but ashes for it. So if I took the things that Asgard would not give me in the end, ought I to be sorry?”

Thor huffs and breaks his gaze to hide his discomfort. "You were prince of the Nine Realms," he replies darkly. "What could you have possibly wanted for that could not be furnished to you?"

Loki snarls, "I have never had what I truly wanted, have you?" The room flares bright white for a moment and Thor startles, whirling about. Loki's foxfire pulses threateningly in its brazier.

Thor crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. He will not be cowed by a display of theatrics. "I had everything," he lies even though he knows it is not what Loki means.

Loki goes stiff and then, all at once, the venomous rage empties from his sharp face. He asks with a sudden, pleading sorrow, “Then do you not want?”

Greedy Thor, arrogant Thor does not respond, but his brother meets his burning gaze and seems to see through him. Thor’s heart is caught beneath his chin. He doesn’t know what Loki sees, but he prays that it is not everything.

Loki searches him a moment longer but then looks away. Thor feels a cavernous feeling as if he has been assessed somehow and found lacking. But Thor has won: his brother is crying and doing a poor job in hiding it. He waits for the satisfaction to come and to chase away the guilt.

But then Loki turns. "You're not the first I've disappointed with my unworthiness, brother," he says, quiet again, still again, distant. "You are hardly the first to cast me out because I did not suit. Hate me if you want, then," he says, a fissure opening beneath his smooth voice, "but I never hated them, your friends, your family, or Asgard. I only ever hated how they hated me, and yet you still loved them for it." He spreads his palm and light gathers between his fingertips. Thor knows what that is.

Thor lunges for him, his pulse in his ears, crossing the room in three quick strides. He seizes his brother by the wrist and Loki's pocket dimension snaps shut; whatever implement he was retrieving dissolves back into the darkness. Loki jerks away instinctively but Thor holds him tight. "I am not casting you out!" he cries. He crowds into him with his body, Loki stepping back for his every step forward until the wall stops them both. Thor pins his brother's arm. Loki looks jolted a moment, confusion opening his face as Thor leans his weight against him. They are both breathing hard. "I am not," he repeats.

Loki shoves at him with his free arm, his hand balling and gripping him menacingly by the open collar of his chest plate. "No?" he asks, acid hissing through his voice once more. "Odd, then, how that was what it sounded like."

"I was only angry," Thor says, his mouth dry, bracing, expecting the violence of his brother's anger. "I didn’t mean what I said." But Loki isn't fighting him. Thor knows how his brother fights, has been stung by those deadly hands often enough; he knows that his brother is not a man easily mastered. But Loki gasps, as though Thor has hurt him, and beneath Thor's agony and his racing pulse, a black thrill runs him through. He changes his grip on Loki's wrist, and pushes his shoulder back until his arm bends up above his head. Loki lets him, watching. Thor's mind races; his terror mounts. He feels powerful. "Brother, I didn't mean it," he rasps. "Don't go." He is trembling.

Loki's eyes grow narrow. "Oh, Thor," he breathes, "are you frightened?"

"Yes," Thor says readily. "Is that so surprising to you?" He needs to let him go, but instead his grip tightens on Loki's arm. He feels Loki's throat working, the subtle movements of his head and neck, and he feels, again, the stirring, ugly cruelty that has lived inside him all his life. Its pulse fills his mouth, like a separate thing from his own. Thor's blood and body ignite for one indomitable moment before the guilt overruns him, his own self-disgust. He puts his face into his brother's shoulder so that he might avoid his incising gaze. "Yes, I am frightened," he says hollowly. "I did not want this."

Thor is lowly and vulgar and undeserving of being called a man. He is the very basest creature, captive to his vagaries, caring for nothing but his own comfort and gratification. He will destroy this cobweb peace between them for an upper hand, drive his brother away in a fit of pique, and for what?

He feels Loki stiffen as Thor's misery makes him dull and heavy. "Want what, be specific," his brother hisses. He shoves at Thor again, curses crackling in his fist this time, no mere punctuation.

"Any of this. All of it," Thor mutters thickly. His feels his own breath hot on his face as the leather shoulders of Loki's shirt repel it back to him. The trap in his throat cannot contain his every secret, and what spills out does so like a cut vein. "Odin’s kingdom, the crown, the fate of Asgard." He squeezes his eyes shut and grieves that he cannot even be with Loki, cannot ask of him to share a drink without Loki's bad faith and his own bad impulses coming between them.

They truly are ruined, he thinks, as he counts his brother's quick heartbeats through his palm, and Thor can be neither the man he wants to be nor the man he needs to be anymore. "I did not want for them to take me," he says. "I did not want to become that which I hated, what you hated, what had killed you and our mother and made our father a stranger to us. I thought I would rather die, but now it is here anyway, and there is nowhere left for me to run."

There is a pause and then Loki says, his voice soft and careful. "It is kingship, brother. It is what we were born to do."

Thor lets out a breath like a sob. "It is a rotten job, Loki. It is rotten to its core." He lifts his head and searches his brother's face. "It consumes you, it becomes your world until your heart may hold nothing but it, and your soul may love nothing but it, and you would rather see your queen die for it and your sons disgraced for it rather than lose even a fraction of it."

Loki is not crying anymore. He looks upon Thor with such bewilderment and concern that Thor wishes, once more, to hide his despair, but that his brother deserves to be looked in the eye. "Would that I were only a man," he continues. "Would that this were only an occupation of a father being passed to a son, but it is not. It is a wolf at my door, brother, and I must let it in, but I cannot do it without you beside me."

Loki's brows are pinched, his iridescent eyes wide with honest heartache. He lifts his hand from the wall and Thor lets him go. He feels a touch alight on his temple, between the chevroned scars on his scalp. "I did not think it would hurt you so," his brother says in wonderment. He touches fingertips to the corners of Thor's eye where his sorrow has gathered but not fallen, and Thor only wishes that his brother could let himself be held.

"You are better made for it than I," Thor tells him as Loki tugs on him and Thor's head falls back down against his brother's throat. Loki hums and lays his cool hand lightly along the back of his skull, stroking contemplatively. Thor allows himself to be pacified, and the shameful, screaming something in his heart quietens for the moment, as it only ever does beneath his brother's hands. He sighs. "I need your strength and your wisdom and your friendship, Loki." He fists his fingers into the flanks of Loki's shirt and pulls meaningfully. "You asked me if I did not want, and that is it. I want you here with me. I want us to be friends again."

"We cannot be friends."

Thor looks up. His brother's eyes are wet but he smiles beatifically. "We cannot be friends," he repeats. "I will serve Asgard, I will be your brother, and I will serve you, but even I, poor fool that I am, must keep something for myself. Don't you see?" he says, his voice cracking with a building fervour. "I am as you say that I am: unworthy and ungrateful and the keeper of my own misery. I used to wish that I wasn't, but I am. And I must keep something, or else I shall have nothing at all." His fingers flex unconsciously on the edge of Thor's plate armour and, with a crunching snap, the metal rends beneath them. Loki hisses.

Thor stops him. "Loki, brother," he says, picking up his narrow hand and enfolding it between the both of his. Loki quakes, on the verge of something, and Thor sympathises even as he doesn't know what it is. He keeps his eyes cast low as he presses their hands together. "It's all right, I understand," he says, even though he does not. "Enough, hm? We are both fools." He shakes him lightly. "That's enough."

Loki's bruised hand spasms and he almost jerks it back into himself by instinct, but that Thor grasps him gently by the wrist and does not let him go. Wild-eyed, his brother stares at him, uncomprehending, first, and then recognition comes back into him. "Yes," Loki gasps. "I'm sorry. I." His fingers curl within Thor's rough palm, and warmth drifts through the pulses of Thor's blood to have his brother holding his hand again. "I am sorry." He drops his chin and looks away.

Thor shakes his head. "I have my own wrongs that I have done, and it has only been these recent years that I have had occasion to think back on them. You are right, you know," he says, smoothing his thumb over the back of his brother's knuckles for emphasis. "I have, in the past, regarded myself too highly, and I saw it as my natural right to trample over those who were less fortunate that I."

Loki huffs a little breath. "It is not difficult to do when you are the best." He wipes at his face with his sleeve and offers to Thor a smile, small and self-deprecating, but sincere -- a delicate branch, newly budded, tentatively extended but an offer of peace nonetheless.

Thor returns his smile. "No, I suppose it isn't, but I am sure that doesn't excuse it. Loki," he says, and it is as if he is finally undoing a weight that has always hung around his neck, "I am sorry."

His brother's expression remains deceptively pleasant. "For what? Be specific," he says again, a flat whisper, either soft or deadly but which refuses to reveal itself to be either.

Thor knows; he has known for a while now. His errors were ever small slights, little wrongs, but together they built a wall between them as high as the sky. But now, his brother knocks on the other side, and his humility is a small price to pay to see it torn down. He is ready to be done with it now, here, at the end of the world. "For what I said, just now" he says. "For speaking over you, in years past. For behaving as if you owed me your obedience," he says. "For taking it for granted that you were my brother and," he sighs expansively.

"For never seeing you for yourself, I suppose," he muses. He puts his hand to his brother's shoulder and stands back enough to look Loki in the eye. "You are your own man. Your path is your own to take, and though we may walk together, we do not belong to the same fate."

"You do not belong to me," he says, watching Loki watch him and knowing that, this time, he has been heard. "You are my brother, but you don't belong to me."

Thor holds his gaze with all the plain equanimity he can summon and releases his brother's hand. He waits for him to draw it back, but Loki only closes his eyes, for one slow moment. When he opens them, they are the color of sunlight passing through a calm ocean and for once, no drowned secrets lie beneath. "You have grown wise," his brother muses. He laughs, and it is a bell-clear sound, beautiful and weightless. He bows his head regally. "Worthy Thor, I am honoured."

Thor laughs, his throat thick with relief as Loki steps into him once more. He leans his cheek against Thor's shoulder and allows him to take his weight. Thor settles his arm around the back of Loki's body, and holds himself so still that he almost stops breathing. "Do you still hate me then?"

Loki settles into this new posture, his hand still resting lightly in Thor's palm. "I could never hate you," he says easily, as if this were ever plainly evident to anyone who has wished to learn it. "I was angry with you, but I never hated you."

Thor lifts his eyebrows and laughs aloud, surprised. "You have turned over a new leaf. That's more honesty than I've heard from you in aeons, brother."

Loki shrugs. "There's no harm in it now," he says. He turns Thor's hand over and idly traces his fingertip along the tendon between each knuckle. Thor's heart clenches. It was only ever his brother who would touch him like this and Thor cannot remember the last time Loki had touched him. "There are none now amongst the living who would laugh at me." A pause. "I am sorry about your friends."

Thor hums gravely. "So am I." He drops his chin gingerly atop his brother's dark hair and breathes deep of the scent of him. It is familiar and as warming as drink. He sways them together, lightly. "But they each died a warriors' deaths, and when the turning of the world comes and death comes for all of us, I shall see them again in Valhalla and be happy for it."

"Then let us drink to that." Loki ducks beneath his arm and goes to retrieve the bottle. Thor feels the loss but he follows him gladly, still holding his hand. Loki holds the liquor aloft. "To the turning of the world. To Valhalla," he announces. He drinks and, so close, Thor can see his throat working as he swallows.

When his brother presses the bottle into his hand, Thor looks at him. He says wryly, before he drinks, "Loki, we are not going to die for a very long time yet."

Loki snorts. "That is optimistic." He draws Thor back down onto the widow ledge, and Thor goes with him. Thor decides he can accept the substitute when Loki sits close and pushes them together, shoulder to hip.

"You don't believe that," Thor needles him, knocking him with his elbow. "You haven't changed so much that you would maroon yourself on a doomed ship, if you truly thought it hopeless."

Loki re-balances himself and rolls his eyes. "Well I still might leave if it suits me. You said it yourself." He flaps a hand blithely, but the cut of his words is prickly, "I am my own man, after all."

Thor's lips tighten over his teeth. "Will you?" Something hard and challenging flattens his voice, some sudden thunder, like the sort that breaks upon a fine spring day. "Are you going?"

Loki looks at him levelly but then he sighs. "No," he says peevishly, ducking away, "but I don't see why you can't just play along with it."

Thor moves the bottle away when Loki reaches for it. Loki frowns at him, annoyed, but Thor holds his gaze, unblinking, until Loki flushes beneath his pallor and looks away again. Thor doesn't let him. He catches his brother's face with his palm and turns him, his thumb holding firm upon the hard angle of Loki's jaw. Loki lets himself be turned. His face is hot. "I'm finished with playing that game with you, brother," Thor says, all humour gone. It is as if he is doomed to have this same conversation forever. He thinks back to all the times before that he has begged for his brother's constancy, and, like a mirror reflected back on itself, it is as if he looks endlessly into one image. "I will not grieve you a third time," he says. "Stay or don't, only choose one and do it."

Loki blinks rapidly. "Do you want me to stay?" He sounds choked and breathless.

Thor releases him. "Of course I want you to stay, I always want you to stay." Exasperated, his hand drifts up toward his crown to sweep in past his hair, only to remember, once it is there, that he has no hair to push back from his face. He has forgotten where and when he is. "If it were up to me, you would have never left me in the first place, but I am not your tyrant."

"No," Loki says softly, his hands twisting together in his lap. "No, you are only my brother."

Thor shakes his head and drains the rest of the drink in one swallow. "You know, historically, every time we try to talk about this, you cause a great big fuss, we fight, I beat you, and then you leave anyway." He scrapes irritably at his beard. "So do forgive me if I tire of retreading this path again."

"That was before," his brother says. He pulls his knee back to his chest and leans against it, away from Thor. His hair spills like ink over his shoulder and he looks at once exhausted and boyish, self-conscious and ancient. "And I will not apologise for it."

Thor rounds on him. "Who's asking you to?" he snaps. Loki does not respond. Thor scoffs. "So, what? Is that it? One last drink for old times’ sake?"

"That's not it."

"Then what is it, Loki?"

"Here," Loki says, producing a new bottle, amber in colour and heavier than the last. "Drink."

Thor takes it. He rips up the cork and drains the bottle with spiteful obedience. It burns. "If you're trying to get me drunk so it hurts less in the morning, it's not going to work."

"Did it hurt before?"

"Of course it bloody hurt, you blistering idiot," Thor spits. He feels fragile, cracking along his edges. "I thought you dead, twice. I drank Asgard dry the first time and I simply left after the second."

"I know." Loki slips his hand back into Thor's. It is as much comfort as it is concession, but Thor takes it anyway, pressing tight.

"I know you know." They were the worst times of his life, his world collapsed in upon him with him still trapped inside. He can hardly remember them at all, only in bursts, only in non-specifics, but of course, Loki had not intervened -- indifferent, always, as if Thor and the way his world was ending were specimen in a jar. Thor scrubs his face and holds his palm there over his aching eyes. "Thrice damned, since when are you so solicitous after my feelings." He would pull himself away from his brother's touch, if only he were not a coward.

Loki leans into him, puts his head again on Thor's shoulder. His touch and voice are faint. "I always care about your feelings, brother. Sometimes I wish I didn't, but I --" He trails off, stops.

Thor waits a beat, and then a scowl forms heavily over his brow. "Is this some new habit of yours, starting sentences and then... " He gestures. When Loki does not look away this time, he urges impatiently, "Well? You what?"

"I cannot seem to disregard your dislike for me."

Thor rolls his eyes. "I've always admired you, Loki, you know that."

"Do I?"

Thor throws up his hands and leans back against the windowglass. "Cleverest man in Asgard!" he exclaims. "Cleverer than our father -- my father," he corrects irritably, "yes, all right." He looks at his brother, whose cautious eyes regard him as a that of cornered beast's regarding the hunter. Thor looks at him directly, unyielding. "You're strong Loki, and you're brilliant, and you might have been wiser than Odin one day. We all thought it; mother said so all the time. She always said that if I were ever to rule, that there was no better man than you to have at my side, and I thought it to. You have the head for rule, and the heart--"

Loki shakes his head violently, compulsively. "Not the heart, no. I've never--" He is vibrating, his eyes screwed shut, and he does not seem able anymore to choose his own words. "You, you, you're beautiful, you're perfect--"

"Brother."

"No, you see, I could never see past it, I tried." The set of Loki's face wavers, his pale eyes trapped between two incompatible realities, both truths. He looks angry and hopeful, terrified and desperately sad -- snared between belief and doubt. Thor knows that feeling. It is the same feeling caught within his own breast. "I couldn't envy you for it, so I tried to hate you, but I couldn't. Even when we were apart, even when I thought you lost from me for good, down in that cell." He covers his face with his palms as if to stopper his own voice, but all he says next it is only muffled instead, "And I could never be happy. All I could ever do was want for things that I couldn't name and couldn't get."

Thor sighs. "I know. Brother, I know." He remembers the devastation that had wrecked him when he thought Loki dead, the way his insides had grown to ice and splintered as Loki had gone cold between his arms. He remembers how Jane's little, lukewarm hands had brought him up from his knees and he had looked at her as a stranger, comprehending at last that he was in a world of strangers now. His brother was dead and he would never know happiness again.

Loki's eyes search his. Thor doesn't know if he can put to speech what it is his brother is looking for, but he prays that he will find it. He chafes Loki's hand in both of his and, lost for words, presses his lips to the back of his own palm. Loki's breath shivers. He whispers, "It is not fair when I've never had room in my heart for anything but you."

When Loki kisses him, it does not feel like a surprise.

Thor responds swiftly, sweeping Loki into his lap and holding him there as Loki's vicious mouth yields beneath his. His hands seek skin, and it is given to him freely, gladly; Loki bends to meet him and his clothes part beneath Thor's hands like butter. Loki tastes of quicksilver and of the sun through new leaves, of midwinter firelight and the air after a storm. Thor remembers, now, every touch that has brought them to this, every brotherly assurance, every passing glance, every bruise -- and behind it, always, this bare and incomprehensible yearning.

Loki moans, intimate and open, and the unnameable becomes named, the shame given absolution. The whole of his life snaps suddenly into complete and perfect focus. This has been his monster all along, this clawing want, this unspeakable hunger so constant that it burned at the bottom of his every breath. Unaddressed, unacknowledged its whole long life, it had deformed him.

As Loki's mouth smears over his cheek, as his light fingers find the seams of their crude, hewn bodies and rend, it feels like standing up after a lifetime spent in a bend; it feels like the first full breath after only ever having sipped on air. Thor knows freedom for the first time he can remember, and the gnawing teeth behind all of his fear and worry and strangling precautions draw back into their ugly heads. The great inviolable question of his soul finds its answer at last: it was Loki. It was only ever Loki.

When he seizes the back of Loki's head and returns him to his mouth, his brother sighs. Thor can feel something stubborn inside of himself give way beneath the hot silk of Loki's skin and the cold marble underneath, and then, all at once Thor can feel Loki pouring through him, subtle as smoke, sharp as electricity, and when Thor pushes back, Loki opens his soul to him in welcome.

It is elemental, organic, as the way fire consumes or how the heavens turn. It is like every colour bound together into one, like sunlight. Thor can see himself through Loki's eyes, the familiar geography of his features mapped and given beautiful names: the cheekbone by which Loki has measured all other faces; the precise warmth and weight of his hands between which Loki finds his solace and his comfort; his stubborn mouth which Loki has learned for its every curve, its every salacious expression.

Thor smashes open the long-kept reservoir of his own stolen inspections, his persistent fascinations, and a flood rises within him of Loki's every aspect which he has held in covetous admiration: the fine and twining musculature of his neck and arms; the sharp, watchful intelligence behind his eyes; the deft, sinuous migration of his fingers as he weaves his spells.

Loki holds Thor within himself and Thor knows, all at once, a love so personal as a love of self, glorious as a love of empire, so desperate as a love of air or water or sustenance. Loki lives within all of him and Thor knows now that he lives within Loki as well. They have been half of each other's lives, the whole of the other's hearts, and now with the crude boundaries of their bodies and minds dissolved, Thor knows who he is. He is Loki's. Loki is his. This is truth.

Loki gasps through his open mouth, sparks igniting in his vision through Thor's eyes. Thor matches him and the both of them tremble beneath the glittering weight that has settled, diaphanous and encompassing over their shoulders. Loki buckles and Thor hides his face into his pulse.

When he catches Loki into his arms, it feels like coming home

Thor comes into himself again in pieces. When he opens his eyes, it is difficult to remember how to see again through just his own one eye, how to feel with just his skin. Loki clings to him, draped over his lap, his clothes in ruin, his limbs shivering and soft. They breathe together, as one lung, and Thor cannot stop himself from seeking the white skin of Loki's neck. His brother moves against him and captures his mouth with his own gasping mouth. His hands spread over Thor's shining arms, caressing, while Thor threads his fingers into Loki's dark, soft hair.

When Loki breaks them apart, it is so gentle that it feels like a promise rather than punishment. Thor moans. "Again." The music is his voice is lost beneath the crush of his desire.

But Loki holds him fast, his panting mouth mere breathes away, only when Thor moves, Loki does not rise to meet him. He shakes his head. "I only wanted to see," he says, as if through a dream. He touches Thor's cheek. His eyes are still shut, and he moves so slowly and clumsily that Thor steals another kiss from him before he can do anything about it.

Thor chuckles. He draws Loki's thumb into his mouth and works the knuckle with his teeth and tongue. Beneath the flickering, golden light, his brother's eyes are nearly black when they open and Thor can hear his naked want calling to his own. Thor grins. "What can I show you, brother?" He shifts a subtle measure and, for a moment, Loki's weight comes off his knees and seats fully into his lap.

Loki's breath catches. He draws his finger from between Thor's teeth and wets his curving lip. He presses his brow to Thor's, shuddering. His voice crackles as he whispers, "How it might feel to be whole."

"What do you mean?" Thor hums. His eye drifts open and then shut, and every time he closes it, he can feel the afterimages of Loki's every thought. He reaches out, touches a stray, cold curl of his brother’s building anxiety, and feels it disintegrate into light. Thor tugs on Loki's hands, kisses the hinge of his jaw and a hard coiling knot of it begin to dissolve. Loki protests faintly but he begins to struggle. Thor clamps an arm around his waist. "No, there, sit there a while," Thor insists, putting his bearded cheek against his brother's beating chest and feeling it scratch though Loki's skin. Loki grasps at his forearm. "Stay," Thor says petulantly. "You said you would stay."

"This is absurd," Loki complains. He shifts on his knees, poorly balanced on the narrow seat. "I am too tall for this."

"I don't care." He touches the back of Loki's hand on his arm and Loki lifts it readily. Thor lines their fingertips together and Loki slips his in between. He wants to put Loki onto his back and learn the taste of his heartbeat through his skin. He wants to touch his hidden thoughts and secret melancholies and learn their every shape and texture. He wants to spread his brother out into pieces, evenly, meticulously, until he is naught but motes of shimmering dust and Thor is the same.

"I do not think I could bear it if you tried for decorum right now." Thor lifts his head, smiling, his throat fully bared, and Loki touches it in wonderment, his protests forgotten.

"I would know..." Thor hears his brother murmur, so low that Thor thinks he might have imagined it. But then Loki smiles. "Take me to bed then." He kisses Thor softly. "I am cold."

Thor lifts him easily, and Loki lets him -- he lets him, god, the things Thor can do now that Loki will let him, now that he is permitted. He sets Loki atop the bedclothes and Loki watches him with unadorned hunger as Thor steps back and works deftly at the clasps and buckles of his chestplate.

"Come," he calls quietly when Thor is sufficiently bare, and he receives Thor into his bed as if he has been doing it all his life. Ensconced within the bedsheets, Loki arranges them so that they are half on top of one another. Thor kisses him again and Loki makes small, infuriating, amenable sounds as his hands drift aimlessly over Thor's skin.

But Thor wants more. He would bring Loki to the very brink of his own body, damp-skinned and pleading for Thor's mercy.

Loki groans and shivers as Thor manoeuvres him beneath his body. He would bend as Thor would bend him; he would unfurl however Thor would unfurl him. Thor knows this. He tastes his brother's anticipation and acquiescence like spilt wine. Already his elegant hands manacle themselves to the crossbars of his headboard at Thor's behest, his flanks and front spread and stretched deliciously for Thor's tasting mouth.

Thor cups his palm beneath the bend of Loki's knee, and lifts it smoothly back. The colours of Loki's mind ignite and darken. "I would know thee by thy body," he says, but it is Loki's oaths that come out. Loki groans. Thor blinks, returns, and slowly grins.

"And I would my body give to thee," Thor finishes. He waits a moment as the disbelief twists his brother's face and then resolves. Loki looks at him, new marvel in his eyes. He surges suddenly and kisses Thor, and then Thor is awash in his brother's soaring relief, his bottomless joy. His mind comes away lurid with the places of his body that Loki has imagined Thor's hands, his mouth. Loki shuts his eyes as Thor lays him back. He covers his face with his wrists. "Yes," he breathes. "To thee."

The great yawning pit of his want joins Thor's in the bottom of his stomach, as Thor fits them together and then fits himself inside.

Loki moves with him, pulled by the same tide, moved by the same moon. The geography of Loki's soul opens for him and Thor arrives upon it softly. Loki fills him, envelopes him, and Thor touches through his every thought and sensation as it passes through his grasp. It will never be enough, Thor despairs, though he is not certain if it is his thought or Loki's when it emerges. This was what Loki had meant; this was the danger all along. They've been given a single mouthful of kindness and now must know what it is to live without. They could each live ten thousand years and spend every minute of it in each other's arms, and it would not be enough.

But Loki shakes his head and opens his dark eyes. "It can be," he says, almost voiceless. "It has to be." He pulls his heels into the small of Thor's back and brings him closer. "I could not bear it otherwise." He winds his fingers into the damp buzz of Thor's hair and pulls him down to him. "Kiss me and let us dwell no more on it," he says, and Thor does as he is told, grateful, overcome, knowing the end but willing for forever.

Power builds within his body, ready and aching. Outside the window, a swirl of cosmic dust churns, violet explosions flashing through violet clouds. He glows beneath his skin, but Loki opens his mouth to him and catches his kiss as if he were tasting rain. He shudders as he comes, as Thor follows him, as Thor's blue lightning fills him, holds him gently, wreathes them both.

Loki allows him fold them together again afterwards, allows Thor to arrange them so that they can see each other as they lay together breathing. Thor's pulse is quiet within him even as his heart hums with one harmonious note. The great storm of his life, the one he had never even known he was weathering, has ended. Thor is clean, new, and the long, long past recedes easily beneath the placid waves. He looks into his brother's smooth, flushed face and he sees his future.

Thor puts his lips to his brother's brow and smiles against his skin. "I adore you," Loki says in a small voice. His fingers tighten at Thor's waist and Thor lifts his chin so that Loki may tuck himself beneath it.

Thor laughs drowsily. "I know that," he says. "You don't know how glad it makes me." Loki's dark hair has fallen from its part and it drags in cool coils across Thor's arm. Thor puts his hand through it, sweeping it back and his brother looks up at him, his eyes sober.

"I do," Loki says. His mind, always working, momentarily quietened, moils once more. Thor frowns. "It is beyond reason, brother. It is more than anything; it is more than life." Placating, Thor touches his cheek and Loki turns into him immediately. He kisses Thor's palm. "You could skin me like a lamb and my last thought would be how I love you," he says fiercely.

Thor turns his face. "I would not," he says, horrified. "I would never." Loki's brows gain a troubled furrow but he looks away, assenting. Thor strokes the furl with his thumb until Loki relinquishes it. He takes Thor's hand and kisses it once more, then lets it slide back into his hair. Thor strokes him and says more softly, "And what does it matter if it is beyond reason, if I am the same?"

"No, but can't you see?" Loki drops his head into Thor's shoulder again. "This --" he gestures miserably. "This is unnatural."

"How do you mean?" Thor lets him hide. If it makes it easier for him, Thor will hide him from himself. "So we are lovers now," he says and feels Loki's breath hitch. "So what? We share no blood, and even if we did, who would challenge it?" He strokes the line of his back until Loki breathes again, however raggedly. "We are kings of Asgard, brother, what authority reigns higher?" A laugh escapes him on a wet, choked breath and Thor rocks him, lightly, forming himself around the warm, solid, precise weight of him.

"Don't cry," he says. "Don't make yourself miserable. We've found each other now. I love you, and I have wanted you all my life." He kisses his brother's damp cheek. "I was blind not to see it before but I do see it now."

Loki pulls back and looks at him. His smile is wistful and pained. "You may say to me every beautiful word that I have ever wished to hear, and it would still be true." He unwinds himself from Thor's limbs and rises up to his elbows. Thor touches his arm, deploring the loss, as Loki wipes at his face with the backs of his wrists. "It is not the quality of love but the quantity of it," he says bitterly. He pulls at Thor's grip. "Let go," he says, quieter. "When you touch me, I can feel you inside my head."

"Yes," Thor accedes cautiously, but he does it anyway because his brother asks, "and you're inside mine." Loki sits up from the bed in one determined movement and slides off the side. Thor sits up as well, alarmed. "What's the matter?"

His brother is at his closet, and Thor watches as, one at a time, pieces dissolve from their hangers and resolve themselves on Loki's skin.

"Loki." Thor crosses the room to where Loki is standing and catches him by the elbow. A wall of dread goes up in his brother's mind, but Thor pushes past it, back into the centre of him. Loki turns to him, expressions of fear and fury, gratefulness and regret warring in the tiny movements of his brow and lips. Thor kisses him, and as before, Loki returns it without hesitation. Thor steeps into it every measure of affection he can muster, every tender feeling and assurance. His brother falters, but he steps into him. His hands waver as he slips them around the back of Thor's neck.

"Tell me what is the matter," Thor says again as he pulls his brother back into his arms.

Loki shakes his head. "You don't understand, I never." His hands fist against Thor's shoulders as Thor absently tucks a strand of his dark hair back behind his ear, and he nearly sobs. Loki takes a breath. "You know nothing; you deserve to know," he bites out. "This is not you or me. We are cursed. Odin cursed us."

Thor flinches at the sound of his father's name before he can stop himself. "What?" he demands. "How?"

His brother laughs wetly. "You know, I hoped you'd be drunker for this. You're always so much more tractable when you're drunk. You don't ask nearly so many questions." He jerks, but Thor's arms have been turned to stone. "Unhand me," he says unhappily.

"No." He can feel his brother's self-recrimination and doubt, his panic like an acid bubbling beneath the an indelible anger. He can feel his need for flight. It hits him like a fist and brings up to the surface all of Thor's own dread, his own terror.

Loki struggles again, but Thor is unmovable. "At least let me finish dressing," he scolds.

"No," Thor intones. "Explain it or don't, it matters very little to me." He looks at his brother, his eyes hard. "What do I care for curses, Odin's or no? Sod him, he was an old man with an old man's schemes. What did he know? My god, Loki, Loki." He holds his brother to him as if that were all that would make the difference, and cups his hand to Loki's face with all the murderous adoration of a cheated supplicant. "If you leave me again after this, I will never forgive you, I swear it."

Loki shakes his head. "It was he who made us like this!" he cries. One more time, he shoves at Thor, and this time Thor lets him go. Loki rounds the room, his hands flying, frantic as loosed birds. "That's why he took me," he says. His eyes are wide, landing on nothing and everything. At last he sits himself again on the edge of the bed. "I was never meant to be your brother." His head sinks into his hands, muffles his voice. "But only that I turned out," he gestures, "as I am."

Ice runs down through Thor's veins. "What do you mean?"

Loki looks up at him from above his fingertips. "Did he never tell you how he lost his eye?"

"Yes," Thor replies, crossing his arms, "he told all of us; it was never a secret. He traded it to the Norns for the wisdom to rule his kingdom."

"Yes," Loki agrees, "to rule, to ensure his line evermore." He breathes deep and sits back, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "Without slander, what do you know about the Jotnar?"

Thor sighs. He is reminded of when they were young, when his brother would try to teach him philosophy by irritating him with questions until he found the answers. "They are giants," he answers dutifully. "They are fierce warriors, they are... Blue?" Loki looks at him expectantly. Thor shrugs belligerently. "I do not know what you wish me to say."

"How do they fight?"

"With their ice magic--"

"Yes." Loki holds up one long finger. "Magic."

Thor rolls his eyes. He remembers this too, when Loki used to lead him to answers and make him feel like an idiot for not grasping their significance. "I do not understand," he concedes.

But Loki keeps going. "Your grandmother, your father's mother, who was she?"

Thor frowns. "I never met her, but she was a great lady of--"

"She was a Jotun," Loki pronounces. He stands back up again and begins pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back as if in recital. "She betrayed her race and coupled with an Aesir, your grandfather, who made her a new body, a white body," Loki gestures to himself, to the pale skin of his torso that Thor had marked in worship. “She, in turn, gave her magic to her many sons, of which your father slew one by one until Asgard was his alone. That is the custom, is it not?"

Thor shakes his head, his mouth dry. He feels like he's falling, like his earth is moving beneath him, and like Loki is the only still point he can conceive, but that he won't hold still. "But I was never asked to slay you."

Loki makes a dismissive gesture. "We'll get there," he says, distractedly, "but for now consider this: your father's line runs thin. He has slain his brothers for his father's kingdom and his mother's magic but neither will have him -- he is not the most worthy, only the most brutal."

Thor feels an old instinct of obligation stir within him to defend the Allfather's name, but what does he know? What has he ever known except for what his father had taught him? He had doubted, of course, but it was ever unspoken, all spoken words too close, somehow, too loud.

Loki continues without mercy, "Odin paid the Norns, and they gave him wisdom." He spits the word. "And when it was time for him to get his get, he married a Vanir witch, your mother."

"Our mother," Thor snaps.

Loki startles, but then he sees Thor's face. "Yes," he concedes, "all right," but he goes to Thor then and slides himself back into the empty spot left next to him. He kisses Thor briefly, just left of his mouth, and then takes his hands and leads him back to the bed. Thor lets Loki sit him down and then himself over his lap. He loops his hands around him at once and lets his brother feed him the warmth and calm of his body.

Loki continues more softly, "Mother gives him Hela, you see, and he crafts her into a killer. But once the killing is done, she outlives her usefulness to him. And so now he needs another child. Someone who will rule after him."

"Me."

"Yes," Loki says, and he lays his long hand against Thor's face. "You, my brother." He says it with a sudden tenderness, as if he were sorry.

Thor swallows his agony so that Loki might see nothing but stone in his face. "Tell me the rest then."

Loki leans his head against his anyway. "Vanir magic is learned, so cannot be given, and it is not true seith," he says. "And Odin will not give up what he killed so many to take. So you are to have no magic of your own, no magic to give to your heirs, no magic for the whole of Odin's line because he cannot let go of anything." He nods in resignation. "So he goes to the source."

"Jotunheim," Thor finishes for him. How the old rage he had felt towards Odin those years back pales now in the light of this clarion fury. He who had cast them as worthy and unworthy, as noble and ignoble, who cast himself as justice and judge -- he who was himself a murderer and a thief. Thor had faced his father's many faults, counted and mourned them and had privately abjured him as a king but loved him still as a father. How can he love him now? "He takes you."

"Yes." Loki sighs, and Thor would keep him here forever if he could, as though he could be shielded from the rest of the world's misery by Thor's body. "I was Laufey's only child, you see. I had the purest blood to share."

"And then?"

Loki begins a gesture with one hand but then lets it drop. "Then he binds us," he says tiredly. "It's a simple enough ritual. Even Odin Death-Bringer could do it. I did--" he says. He swallows. He closes his eyes and leans into Thor. They hold each other up. "I suspected something of the sort," he confesses. "Years ago now, I went to speak to the Norns. They laughed when I asked them to answer my questions. They're greedy, you know. They answer to no one without a price."

Thor's hands tighten along his brother's hip. His pulse is already in his mouth, but the horror comes anyway. "What did you give them?"

Loki waves him off impatiently. "Nothing of importance, nothing you'd miss."

"Tell me anyway," Thor demands.

"I have seen my death."

Terror runs the very heart of him through. "Brother," he rasps.

Loki shrugs evasively. "I don't know when," he supplies, as if that were an assurance.

"Tell me how it happens at least."

"So that you might defy the Norns?" Loki looks at him, and Thor stares back, conceding nothing, stubborn even as he knows the immutability of the fates.

"It is nothing," Loki says at last. "It's innocence, and what good have I ever had for innocence? But they showed me what I wanted, and I found it where they said I would." He holds his hand up and the light of his pocket dimension shines again.

Thor reaches out on numb instinct, alarmed. "Wait, hold on."

But what emerges is nothing he recognizes, only a piece of silver, the size and shape of an egg, striated like the rings of a tree or of a thumbprint. Thor reaches out for it, but Loki pulls it back. "Don't touch it," he says softly. "I don't know what would happen if we both touched it. Nothing good, I suspect. They'll want to go home."

"It's--" Thor begins, but some part of him already knows.

"It's our souls," his brother tells him. It glows, faintly with its own dim light that seems almost blue against Loki's skin. "I found them buried beneath the roots of Yggdrasil. They weren't doing anyone any good there, so I took them. I thought maybe I could work to separate them, but," he shrugs.

"Here," he says. "Hold out your hand." Thor does so, and Loki drops it into his hand from a height. Thor turns it over, examining. It is heavy, heavier than he expected, but the shape does not hold, smoothly amorphous in his palm. The striations, as they had appears, are not striations at all but folds of beaten metal.

"Why?" he asks. It had been warm to the touch at first, but quickly he feels his skin going numb as if of cold. He tosses it into his other hand. The vessel warms comfortably this time even as Thor flexes his fingers until the feeling returns.

Loki twists his hands together in his lap and shrugs. "Odin needed to bind me into his line somehow, and so he did it in the most obdurate manner possible." A color of deep shame crawls up his pale shoulders. "You were to be my collar and my chain and now you see now how gladly I would have worn them. How happy I would have been to let you unmake me. What a different life we might have had--" His voice pitches and cracks, Thor reaches to steady him, but he regains himself.

"But as it turned out, I could not take up the necessary utility to give you heirs, and so he was forced to made us up this farcical brotherhood. It wasn't his fault," he says sardonically, "how was he to know? What difference is a Jotun man to a Jotun woman to a Jotun dog to an Aesir. We are all monsters after all."

Thor is frozen within himself. The whole of his history, of Asgard's history, has been turned on its head, and he would say that his brother was lying; he wants to believe that his brother is lying, except that he feels Loki's misery and fear and repudiation. He feels Loki's sour heartbeat in his own chest.

"Loki," he says, but Loki is gone from him, and though he holds the weight and warmth of him, he might as well hold to him an armful of air. He has so many questions and no way to ask them, no words that he can put together that will not cut his brother deeper than the wound he has already opened himself. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "Truly I am. If I had known --"

"What?" Loki turns to him. Every line shows on his face, and his eyelids droop in exhaustion. "What could you have done? You were a child, same as me, and Odin's crimes, such as they are," he gestures dismissively, "he will never pay for them." He draws himself back and slides from Thor's lap.

Thor doesn't know where he stands again, doesn't know where to begin. Gone is the certainty they had only just discovered as Loki crosses the room again and finishes dressing himself by hand. Thor watches him. "It isn't fair," Thor says softly.

Loki scoffs. "I do not tell you this for your pity," he sneers.

Thor shakes his head. "It is not pity, brother." He looks at his brother and silently wills him to look back. "Only that I grieve for you."

Loki sighs. He glances at Thor from over his shoulder. "You're a soft-headed fool," he says more quietly, "but I thank you." He looks down at his gloveletted hands. He is silent for a long while. "I want you, but," he says finally, then stops, and he laughs bleakly. "My god, I wish that I could have come by you honestly." He picks at his own knuckle, twisting the edge of his nail around the white joint.

"I wish that I could have met you in your father's court, or on some matter of diplomacy. I wish I could have glanced you from across a battlefield and felt my breath be taken. Your great and noble heart could have been the greatest prize I ever won, and I could have--" A line of blood splits across his finger and he stops. "We could have had each other honestly."

Thor shakes his head as he watched his brother suck the blood out from his small wound. "You would have hated me," he says hollowly. "I would have been insufferable." Loki's face twists and he scoffs. Thor stands, but goes no further. "I am only am the man I am today because of my brother." Loki looks at him, his eyes red. "I am yours, Loki," he offers quietly, spreading his hands, "as surely as if you had made me.

Loki smiles. "My very own god of thunder." He is fond beneath his bitterness. He sniffs and wipes surreptitiously at his cheeks. "For all that is worth when he cannot be anyone else's."

Thor grimaces. His hands land back at his sides, "I told you," he says. "I don't care a fig for Odin's plans and I still don't. I know my own mind. I told you that I've wanted you forever, since the cradle. Not even you can make me give that up." He knows this now, what a blind man could have seen. When he was frightened, when he was uncertain, when he was in pain, it was never Odin he went to, or Frigga, once he was out of skirts. He went to his brother. He was valiant for his father; he was gentle for his mother, but it was his brother's scorn that taught him to be kind, and, in the end it was his brother's death that taught him what it meant to be king.

If Thor could bring himself to touch him, he could make him know all of this, but Thor has taken from his brother enough to last ten lifetimes. So he tells him instead, "I am yours because without you I would have never been myself. That is fate, as I understand it." Even from across the room, he sees Loki's pale features warring again against his own unkindnesses. Thor finishes as plainly as he can, "One way or another, my life would not have been my life if it did not lead me to you."

Loki takes a step toward him unthinkingly. "I know. I am the same," he says hoarsely, but then he laughs. With the air of telling a good joke, he says, "So you see then, brother, I do belong to you after all. I never had a choice. We never had a choice. But I --" he looks at Thor with an expression full of entreaty. "I have been a slave to his devices my entire life. I cannot even conceive what shape my life might have been without his hand in it, and even now that he is dead, still he has a hold over me."

"I know," Thor says. He reaches out his hand and Loki takes it almost gratefully. He puts his arms around Thor's shoulders and so that Thor is permitted to fold himself around him, to put his cheek into his hair and breathe as if he could stain his lungs with him and keep him next to his heart forever. Loki's mind floods back into his and Thor wills him to quiet where he will be quieted, tries to soothe him where he will not. He murmurs, "It's not right, beloved. It's not fair."

Loki huffs, "Beloved."

"Aye, if that is not too forward."

His brother pauses. "It is proper," he concedes, but Thor feels a floret of pleasure bloom across his heart.

Thor laughs quietly. "Then, beloved, go. You owe me nothing, and I do not bind you. It was shameful of me to have tried." Loki pulls away and looks at him, confused, but Thor only kisses the angle of his temple and says, "I cannot right the wrongs that have been done, but I will do no more."

He steps back away from Loki and takes his hand in one of his. From the other, he produces the silver vessel. Its light pulses gold and warm in his palm.

"My brother," he says solemnly, "your lot is my lot, your hurts are my hurts, and if your soul belongs to you alone no longer, then neither does mine."

Loki clenches Thor's hand and shakes it insistently. "Brother, you don't know what it is you're offering."

Thor gazes at him soberly. "You said it yourself, what good is it doing anyone buried beneath that tree. You said they wanted a home."

"Yes but," Loki shakes his head, "you will never get it back. They will go evenly between us and, Thor, someone with greater skill than I might still be able to undo this, but if we do this, that hope is lost."

"What is it that you want?"

Loki's eyes search his face wildly. "I--" he stammers. "It's you, isn't it?" He looks bewildered and awed. "You know that. It's always going to be you."

Thor offers up his hand again. "Take me with you, then," he says, "whatever you can carry. Whatever you can fit inside your pocket." Loki laughs. His eyes are wet again but perfectly clear. Thor leans their heads together. "I can imagine you walking the skies and slipping between the stars. I can imagine the world’s only you can discover -- green worlds brimming with life. Crystalline worlds that the suns never shine. And maybe one day," he says, hushed, "when you've walked your fill, you will return, and I will welcome you into my hall and then, if you would like to stay, you can stay."

His brother breathes out quick and Thor can feel the tendrils of his breath caressing his face. "You have beautiful dreams," he whispers. "I used to wish I could live inside your dreams."

"I have never heard of a Jotun wanderer. I should like to think that my brother could be the first."

Loki nods but he says, "Wouldn't I be lonely, though? Walking alone." A beat. "I have never heard of an Aesir wanderer either."

Thor hums. "No, I suppose the Aesir are a warrior people. There isn't much wandering to be had save the travel of fighting."

"Would you come with me, if I asked you to?" Loki lays his hand carefully over Thor's chest, over his heart. "Would you walk the stars with me together?"

"Ah," Thor says, even as he feels Loki spinning tales inside his mind, great adventures across the stars, grand discoveries, quiet moments when the two of them can be alone. He pushes them gently aside. "But Asgard must have her king, but more than that, her chief protector. I cannot leave her as she is, vulnerable and unguarded."

"Brother, please," Loki says, pulling back and looking Thor fiercely in the eye. "You have spent your entire life in service of Asgard. I know," he says hastily before Thor can interject, "that that is what a king is, but even now that you are king, will you not have one thing for yourself? One dream?" he asks, his smooth voice making it sound so reasonable. "One thing that can be unquestionably and only yours? You are more than what you can do for others. You are so much more than a strong back that carries. My love, please," he says as he presses his lips to the palm of Thor's hand. "You have never had a choice either."

"No," Thor accedes, touching his brother's stained cheek, "but I would see these people safe from harm"

"And if they were safe, and then?" Loki asks breathlessly. "When there are no more wars to be waged or conquests to be had? When you have done your duty to these people, what then?"

"Then." Thor frowns outwardly, but he knows. In his heart, he knows. Kingship is sacrifice; it is a duty greater than his duty to himself. These people have nothing and want for everything, except for a king. How could he take that from them as well?

But I don't see why you can't just play along, says his brother's voice, so Thor lets himself smile slowly. "Well, I don't know. Where would you want to go first?"

Loki's face breaks then, as a storm that ends, as a new day that dawns, his smile warmer and brighter than all the sunlit summers Thor has ever known. He leans into the line of Thor's body. One hand fits into Thor's as their bound souls take up, at last, their rightful thrones. Thor feels hot and the cold and then nothing new in particular. Perhaps that is what it feels like to be whole, or perhaps it is simply only something that Thor has already found.

Loki's other hand curls gently over Thor's thundering throat. He says, "Then I can be happy--"

A moment later, his world explodes.

[writtenmemxries]

Frigging Sam and his stupid talk

I tried to write something soft and fluffy and this is what came out. There may be some mistakes since English is not my first language. Hope you like it! I'd love to hear your opinions, so feel free to leave a comment! xx

1449 words

"No Cas, we don't need that stuff. Just the things on the list, okay? Good. See you soon, love ya." Dean ended the phone call, leaning his back against the kitchen counter, fidgeting absentmindedly with the phone in his hands. Sam, sitting at the table, looking at who-knows-what on his computer, looked up at him with raised eyebrows and an ill-concealed grin.

"What?" Dean asked confused, feeling his gaze on him.

"Did you just end the call with Cas saying love ya?" His brother chuckled.

"What?! No, I-"

"I didn't know you had decided to declare your love to Cas. Anyway, I'm happy for you," Sam said, looking at his brother with an amused grin.

"Sam, I-"

"When were you planning on telling me, anyway?"

"Sam, what the fuck are you talking about?!" Dean exclaimed, upset by his brother's comments.

Sam laughed quietly, looking back at the computer screen. "You never end a phone call with love ya. You're more the hurry up type. And a grunt, maybe."

Dean blushed imperceptibly. "That's not true."

"Oh, come on. You never say 'I love you' even in serious situations. Anyway, I was just kidding," Sam said with a shrug.

"I don't need to say I love you to let you know I do," Dean grumbled in response. Sam smiled, his eyes softened. "I know, Dean." After a few moments of silence, Sam eased the tension with another silly remark: "It's okay if you like Cas, though."

Dean looked at him in exasperation. "What's wrong with you, man? I don't like Cas." Tired of his brother's teasing game, he thought about going to another room, waiting for Castiel to come back with the groceries, when Sam said with another grin: "Maybe he likes you."

Dean stiffened. "Sorry, what?" he said with his back turned to his brother, trying to keep his voice calm.

"I'm just saying, the way he looks at you is very different from the way he looks at me. You've always had this sort of... special bond, or whatever you want to call it. I wouldn't be surprised if this bond turned out to be more... deep."

Dean turned slowly, approaching the kitchen table. "Cas is family," he stated simply.

Sam shook his head, giggling. "Of course he is. He's like a brother to me, you know."

"Good. Same for me," Dean said coldly.

"So you're not going to move somewhere with him when this Chuck thing will be over? A cottage in the countryside perhaps, a couple of cats..."

"I'm allergic to cats," Dean snorted.

"A couple of rabbits then. What I'm trying to say is, would it be that terrible to settle down with someone?" Sam asked with a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

"Just because you want to move in with Eileen, doesn't mean I have to, too. I like it here," Dean noted. Sam blushed at the mention of Eileen, but said nothing. "Right." Silence fell between the two, until they heard the bunker door open and Castiel's voice announced his presence.

"Your husband's home," Sam chuckled.

"For fuck's sake, shut your mouth!" Dean said exasperated, then he went to help Cas with the shopping bags, even though he knew the angel didn't really need any help.

♡

That evening, Dean was restless. He wasn't sure why, maybe Sam's words had affected him more than he cared to admit, but he couldn't get out of his mind the image of him and Cas in a little and welcoming house of their own, together with Sam and Eileen, and Jack too. A quiet place, no monsters, no apocalypses, no pissed off Gods to maneuver them like puppets. Just them. Team free will.

He walked to the library with a beer in his hand. Castiel was there, reading, sitting in an armchair.

"Hey Cas."

Castiel looked up and smiled at him. "Hello Dean."

Dean sat down on the chair next to him. "What are you reading?"

"A book about carnivorous plants."

"Carnivorous plants?" Dean looked at him amused.

"Yes, there are many things to know about plants. Gardening is relaxing," Castiel replied with a shrug, keeping his eyes on the book. Dean took a sip of his beer and gazed at his friend, hoping not to look too creepy. He imagined him taking care of their garden, somewhere in the world, in their home.

Frigging Sam and his stupid talk.

He looked away, focusing on the huge bookshelves surrounding them. Although the silence between them was not embarrassing but rather pleasant and comforting, he still decided to break it to ask the angel a question which, he realised as soon as the words left his mouth, was rather stupid. "Have you ever thought of settling down?"

Castiel frowned in confusion. "Settle where?"

Dean shrugged, looking at the beer in his hands. "I don't know, somewhere. When this is all over I mean, y'know, Chuck and everything else. What are you going to do? Are you going back to Heaven?" Dean asked, foolishly hoping that Castiel would say no, that he would tell him he wanted to stay in the bunker with them, with him.

"I don't even know if there will be a Heaven after we defeat Chuck," the angel replied bitterly.

"Right. Sorry Cas, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Dean whispered, suddenly embarrassed, ready to get up and leave.

"You never make me uncomfortable, Dean," Castiel said gently, and Dean's heart skipped a beat.

Frigging Sam and his stupid talk, he thought again.

"Okay then," Dean murmured.

"What about you, Dean? What are you going to do? Are you going to settle down?" Castiel asked.

Dean smiled. "I don't know, maybe."

Castiel smirked. "I guess you've found someone, then. A woman to settle down with."

Dean looked at him confused. "What? No, no, no woman, I- there's no one."

"Who would you like to settle down with, then?"

Dean blushed. "I don't know, maybe with you." Castiel's gaze softened. "And- and Jack of course. Sam, Eileen," Dean hastened to add, fidgeting with the beer in his hands.

The book Castiel was reading was now completely forgotten, lying on his lap. His eyes focused solely on Dean. "Like a family," he said softly.

"Yeah," Dean whispered. "Like a family."

There was silence, then Castiel spoke again: "I would like that." His deep, relaxed voice, with a hint of sweetness, caressed Dean's ears. He looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Castiel answered, locking eyes with Dean. "I like your company."

Dean's mouth was dry, his heart pounded in his chest and there was no way to calm it down. The conversation was taking a weird turn, and he didn't know if he was ready for it. He licked his lips, looking Castiel in the eye. "Yeah, me too."

Castiel smiled at him, reaching out to delicately touch his hand. Dean held his breath.

Frigging Sam, he thought again. Damn damn damn.

"Cas?" he whispered, unable to take his eyes off his damn blue eyes.

"Yes, Dean?"

"What if I like more than just your company?"

Castiel grinned. "For example?"

"Your eyes," he blurted out. "I like your eyes," he repeated more calmly.

Castiel chuckled. "Thanks Dean, that's very sweet of you. I like your eyes, too."

"Good," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "Thanks." The beer was now forgotten, squeezed between his thighs to prevent it from falling.

"Dean." Castiel was looking at him with so much adoration in his eyes that Dean felt his heart aching. He had his lips slightly parted, chapped as always, and Dean was breathless. He felt the heat rise up his neck as he analysed the details of the angel's face, so close to his. He licked his lips once again, as he breathed an almost imperceptible "Yeah?".

"Can I kiss you?" Castiel asked shyly, and Dean felt like he was about to die. His heart took an exaggeratedly accelerated rhythm, while the angel's blue eyes scanned him for some sort of signal, a nod of agreement, anything. Dean didn't move. He didn't speak, he couldn't even think.

Castiel's gaze changed rapidly, from sweet and full of love to mortified and sad. "I'm sorry Dean, I didn't- I-," he stammered, moving away.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Dean took Cas' face in his hands and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, two lips meeting for the first time, shy and insecure, eager to get to know, study and taste each other. Castiel closed his eyes, cupping Dean's cheeks with his hands.

As he broke away from that much coveted and feared kiss, placing his forehead against that of the angel, Dean had only one thought in mind: thank you, Sammy.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.9

TW Purposeful misgendering of MC, and overall skeevy first POV.

MC is agender and here I started this chapter with the POV of someone out right misgendering them.

Capital He/Him pronouns are associated with Slender.

He was angry, but then again when wasn't He. You've wasted too much time on “laying low”. And now He's getting impatient, you're starting to hear whispers about potential replacements and incompetency. First you fuck up your mission then you gave Him the subpar sacrifice of that dumb hippie. He didn't want her, He wanted her. Her being your current and original target.

The girl who moved to town in the middle of March, YN. Didn't wait for the month to end or come the first week of the new one. Such a strange time to move...almost as if she was running away from something. He had taken an interest in her immediately. You didn't see what was so special about her, just another mousy girl in a small town, very obedient from what you saw.

Maybe that's what caught His attention. A new little puppet to add to His collection...but His urgency with this task didn't really fit. You knew for a fact He wasn't human but...could He have desires of the flesh? Was this a twisted perversion of your god's? The fuzzy feeling in your head gets painful at the thought.

'Ok, you aren't after some ass.' you think trying to appease Him.

It doesn't work, your apology is almost as worthless as you are to Him in this moment. You've really been testing Him lately, understandably this is your last chance so to speak. Bring Him YN or you won't be His problem much longer.

A chill runs down your spine at the ill intent you feel through your contract.

You're working on it, really you are. But she's so stupid and air headed it will take a while to break her for Him to be able to properly mold her. Not to mention she seems to have acquired a new guard dog. One that seems to have problems staying still, yet will spend hours watching her.

You'd seen him around town a few times in the past week or two, he has two other companions who aren't as bad about keeping low profiles. Yeah, you'd seen each of them at her house at one point or another. The short one seemed to have a nasty habit of slinking into her home in the dead of night as she slept. He didn't seem to go in during her drives, only when she'd be there. The tall one would come in the early morning or middle of the day, either to retrieve his partner or to snoop around inside for a bit before leaving. Aside from his partner he never seemed to leave with anything, never went in with anything either. They weren't leaving traces so they couldn't be your replacements.

Even if they had been they didn't seem too tough, you could over take them easy. Show Him you were still good for something.

But worst of all was her fucking mutt. He'd just circle the outside of the house, inspecting it. For what you have no clue, but he kept at it like he had a keen eye and could detect the slightest change of the home. One day he started looking off into the tree line and you'd almost swear he knew where you were. And while his nearly all black eyes made you think he was your replacement, intimidating you, your god suggested otherwise.

Reminding you that they weren't breaking her down for Him. That was your job.

Not only was the twink annoyingly thorough when at her home but he seems to have followed her to work today. You hope this isn't a new habit for him, you'll need to catch YN off guard at some point and you can't do that with that stupid twitching bastard around.

He bought two books and YN had seemed surprised when he came up to chat with her after finishing the first one. She's not your normal type but you can't deny she is cute talking so excitedly, you really wish that fucking mask was off her face so you could see her plump lips move. Come to think of it, twitchy was also wearing a mask. Is that why she talks so freely with him? Was all you had to do to get close to her was wear a mask? Or did she have a little crush on this guy?

No, she's speaking the same way she would with one of the Hornets. He however has a certain look in his eye while they talk. Maybe someone does have a crush...Or maybe he's just a disgusting stalker like you are. Were, like you were that is before your god saw the potential in you. And blessed you as one of his followers.

If he is a creepy little stalker tailing her you could let him do the breaking, and then you'd swoop in for the kill. Would that take too long? Better yet would your god even be happy with the idea. He can get very touchy about plans, down to the tiniest details too. You've witnessed first hand what He does to those who leave gaps for targets to get through.

Reprogramming doesn't seem pleasant. But that'll be the least of your worries if you don't get a move on with delivering Him His choice of offering. In the years you've been of service to your god...you don't recall Him ever choosing his offering. A target yes of course plenty, but His next puppet or a special meal. No this was big, testing your worth probably, very big.

'And you're failing.' that voice isn't yours.

'How, astute.' He's chatty today. That's always a bad thing. For you anyway.

You turn your attention to the bookshop across the street, coffee shops make such great covers especially when you add a laptop and act as though you're writing a novel, no one spares you a glance. It's five and that means quitting time, maybe YN wouldn't go home right away. You could run into her and plant some seeds of paranoia in her.

Mess with her head, have her freak out and cause a scene in town to discredit her further in the future. Your typical MO. After all she is just the simple new girl in town, and small town residents don't trust easy.

'This should be fun.' you think as you pack up your computer and notebook.

Heading to your car you wait in the parking lot for a moment, making it look as though you were busy with your phone while you waited to see that ugly yellow car drive in one direction or another. It doesn't take long before you catch sight of the brightly colored Kia taking the road towards the general store.

Wonderful, one humiliating panic attack in public coming up. This was something you could manage perfectly on your own. Though maybe once your god was more pleased with you, you'd ask for His assistance in giving her a few more hallucinations. After all the faster she's broken down the faster He gets what He wants.

Once at the small store you park one space away from her Kia. Normally for targets you prefer if they don't notice your car but it's not like there's room to go else where in this parking lot. Just as you're about to make your way inside, you hear more murmuring.

How the hell are you supposed to do His bidding when all He seems to want to do is keep interfering? It's getting so frustrating that you're starting to question your god's intelligence.

For your insolence you are hit hard with the worst migraine you've ever gotten since taking up a contract with Him.

'You are not the only one following them.' is the biting retort.

Moving your head despite the pain, you scan the store through squinted eyelids as you stand just out of your car. And you catch sight of him, that twitching guard dog from before. He hasn't noticed you but he seems to be sharing a cart with YN.

Did she get a boyfriend? Were you just unaware of that detail this entire time? She seems too relaxed with him for that to be anything else. They look too domestic together, you'll have fun ripping them apart. She'll probably cry like the bitch she is when you do, that's a very nice picture.

'Leave.' what now?

'Leave before he catches on to you.' The twitchy twink? You could take him in a fight, kid is practically all bones, why should you leave?

Instead of an answer your migraine intensifies. For the first time in years you are racked with so much pain that you would've collapsed on the ground if your car hadn't been near to steady yourself.

A chime of a bell sounds, “Hey pal you alright there?”, it's just Leo. Luckily you've never shopped at his store so likely hood of him knowing who you are or mentioning this to anyone isn't high.

“Ah...yeah,” you say through the wincing, “real bad migraine.”

“I got some Excedrin-”

“I'll just come back later.” you cut him off and get back into your car. Movement isn't easy for you under all this pain but you can feel His presence in your mind gaining control. You'll either wake up back in your bed or on the forest floor covered in blood and ticks. You really hope it isn't the last one as you black out just as you turn onto 3rd Avenue.

Leo comes back into the store almost as soon as he ran out.

“Everything ok?” you ask. You'd seen the man run out when you turned around to ask if he had gluten free vegetable stock.

“Yea, some tourist must'a got car sick or somethin'.” you nod at his gruff reply.

“Oh, do you have any gluten free vegetable stock?”

The old man eyes you warily.

“Kid don' tell me ya got on one a those fad diets.”

“No it's for the Picnic next week. I wanted to make an all diet friendly foragers pie.” you said shaking your head, which snaps right twice. Behind you you hear a muffled clucking coming from Toby.

Toby had hung out at the shop with you today. After he read through The Son of Neptune the two of you had discussed the series for a bit before you almost let some spoiler slip through. Toby couldn't help but laugh when you pushed him into a reading nook to finish reading the series before you ruined it for him. He got two thirds of The Mark of Athena done before you clocked out for the day.

While leaving he mentioned he needed to go shopping and asked where the grocery store in town was because he hadn't seen one in the area. You offered to take him to Leo's shop because it had everything you could need and was a small local business. Like most things in Kepler but there was a Trader Joe's that opened up in town, and they don't have much to offer when you cook from scratch. So here you were shopping together.

“I think we have organic no clue if it's vegan though.”

“Gluten free.” Leo rolls his eyes in dismissal and goes off to find the organic broth for you.

“Was there anything else you needed to grab?” you asked turning to look at Toby.

He had a list with him and had been ripping small tears to cross off what he'd gotten. He nods once then twice as his eyes find items he had yet to find, until they stop near the bottom of the list. Toby's dark brown eyes roll so hard you're pretty sure they rolled to the back of his skull. He lets out a dramatic 'agh' sound at whatever was on the list. Before crumbling it and tossing it into the cart.

“Atomic Fireballs and eggs. Can you grab the candy? Some people get pissy about their eggs.” he says cutting his eyes to the cooler containing eggs. This is probably a regular argument with the group.

With a small nod and an “mmhmm” you run off to the candy isle. You smell the cinnamon candy before you even see the container on the shelf. Before running off back to Toby and the cart, you pause debating if you should grab some M&Ms or chocolate chips to make cookies for tomorrow's movie night. You had stress eaten the snacks you bought last week only having the Surge left for Kirby, like hell you would drink it yourself.

After the week you've had baking sounded really nice. The mind numbing activity would probably be therapeutic since you haven't baked in so long. You grab two of the bigger bottles of mini M&Ms they always taste better to you, plus mini cookies tend to be a bigger hit than their regular sized counter parts. On your way to the front of the store you pass an end cap for chips. Seeing the white cheddar popcorn you like you grab a bag to replace the one you ate earlier in the week.

You should be set now, as long as Leo had the broth. If he didn't gluten free broth seems like something the Trader Joe's would have.

Toby's already at the counter with Leo, who had a box of broth off to the side. Noice. You place the Atomic candy on the counter with the rest of Toby's items. Leo looks between the two of you but brushes off whatever thought or comment he had.

“This it for you kid?”Leo has already begun ringing him out.

You see the movement of Toby's mouth open while he double checks the cart, he closes it when he sees the wad of paper. He must have forgotten something. Going over your own list you double check to make sure you have everything before it's your turn.

“N-n-n-no, can I-I-I get two boxes of condoms? St-s-st-standard and Large.” Toby's popping his knuckles a little more aggressively than normal, well what you've equated to normal for Toby.

'Oh.' the add ons sort of surprise you, but his exaggerated sigh from earlier makes more sense. Why did you even think that eggs caused that sort of reaction? It was probably because he was gonna have to ask for condoms in front of you. His new friend, nearly a stranger. Toby's agitated tics and stuttering are very valid right now.

You miss the look Leo gives you but Toby doesn't and when Leo looks back at him his tics get more frequent.

Looking to Toby when his 'mrrow' tic keeps repeating, you see the tips of his ears are a soft pink. A stark contrast to their normally grayish white complexion. Wanting to help but knowing he's most likely just embarrassed you decide to say nothing and ignore the situation. Thankfully Leo doesn't make any type of comment either as he finishes ringing out Toby and hands him his receipt.

“This it kid?” He says as he starts checking out your items.

“Um...ah, what's the pizza today?” this week isn't your normal pizza week but with the Picnic being next weekend you probably won't do pizza next week. And you have to have a slice ready for Chonk, least he decides to see what human taste like.

“Spinach and mushroom, a white pizza.”

“Yea I'll take one of those then please.”

“Garlic crust?” How very dare this man. What kind of question is that.

“Of course.”

He leaves to the back of the store yet again to retrieve your pizza. There's a silence that falls over the store as he leaves, leaving only you and Toby out front. Not an awkward type of silence but you definitely aren't going to risk a glance at Toby right now.

“I threw in an extra for that stray you've been feeding.” He says as he returns. Toby having calmed down a bit scoffs at the stray comment.

“That isn't a-a-a stray it's a fucking dem-mon.”

“Ok like that's fair, but he is kinda cute.”

“I don't care what it is, just keep it away from my store.” Leo finishes ringing you up. “Bad for business to have a wild animal rooting through the garbage.” Leo doesn't care about that stuff he also fears Chonk, and all his trash panda glory.

Once you settled your tab with Leo you and Toby go out to your car. You place his items in the backseat while you take the trunk, so no one goes home with the wrong item. Stars forbid you end up with the condom bag and have to awkwardly give that to Toby or even worse Brian or Tim. You've had four interactions with the man but already you can hear Brian's teasing banter.

Getting situated in the car you hand your phone to Toby to pick the music. You'd left your entire library open this time and not just the home page, you wanted to see if he'd pick something different or just go with the last thing played. He did scroll a bit before just clicking the last played playlist. Well at least he looked, maybe you'd make a playlist and see what he liked. He could just enjoy the songs.

While you're stuck at the light waiting to turn you remember consciously that Saturday Night Dead is tomorrow. You wonder if the trio would be joining you all. Wouldn't hurt to ask.

“Hey so are you guys coming over to the Cryptonomica tomorrow night?”

“Tim and Brian are.” Toby's eyes glance at the window as he picks at the skin around his nails.

“Oh. Why aren't you coming?” you hope you don't sound too pushy.

“Hi, I'm Toby I have Tourette's.” He says in a deadpan.

“Nice to meet you, I'm YN I have Autism.” you sass back cutting your eyes to him, “and I have tics too remember.”

“You can sit beside me. The gang never mentions my ticcing or stimming during a movie and I sit in the corner to be less of a distraction.”

From the corner of your eye you can see he peeled off a bit of skin and is now bleeding. When you slow down at the light you reach over him to the glove box and pull out a box of band-aids. Tossing the box in his lap you focus back on the road. There's a cracking sound when Toby's shoulder pop from a tic but other than that you two fall into a lull in the conversation.

From the corner of your eye you see Toby put the box in the cup holders between you. This little shit, just because he doesn't feel pain doesn't mean picking his skin is a healthy fidget.

“...I..I'll think about it.” he's still picking at his skin but maybe reassurance will help him calm down.

“Well, I hope I see you tomorrow then,” you can't help the grin on your face, you're just a touch giddy at the fact you've made a friend this fast. “No pressure though.” can't be too pushy you might scare him off.

You hear a huff as he turns more of his body to look out the window. He isn't upset his energy feels calm almost excited, it's nice to meet someone who isn't so confusing with their actions. Though you'd wish he wouldn't try to hide them. Maybe you both have the same idea of not wanting to overwhelm the other right away. You get the feeling this situation...your blooming friendship with Toby, it isn't something he's use to.

Getting to the RV you help Toby carry in the groceries, despite his protests that he can do it. It was just machismo of course, because once inside the RV you noticed how clean it was for three bachelors and their huge dog living in it. Sure there were dishes in the sink but dishes are a care chore that never ended. There was very little clutter that you saw but you also weren't paying close attention since you were just helping bring in groceries and not here for a visit. It would be rude to look, you think.

Once all of the boys' bags were brought in and either on the counter or table you saw a majority of them had blood smears all on the handles. Fucking Toby, you gave him band-aids for a reason.

“Tobais you're bleeding.”

“Thanks Captain obvious.” you want to smack him.

“Do you guys have a first aid kit?”

“Nope.” he sounds so smug when he pops the 'p' sound.

“Ok, then I'll go get the band-aids out of my car and you wash your hands.”

“Don'-uwu- Don't worry about it.”

You have to bite your lip so you don't laugh but the small stream of air coming from your nose let Toby know you were laughing. Despite his mask you can see his pout clearly when he turns to you.

“I...I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't...but it's too,” your giggling is breaking down your ability to speak, “cute.”

The grumpy face sort of melts off of the boy in front of you, but you can tell by the vibes he's still touchy. You try to calm yourself but quickly realize you aren't giggling anymore because of his tic.

“C'mon it isn't even that funny.” he says gruffly, before looking off to the side.

“No...it's,” you keep shaking your head as the movement doesn't stop. The loop won't stop and you're starting to tear up from the muscles in your abdomen seizing up then relaxing in repetition.

Toby seems to realize what's happened.

“No fucking way.” is all he says as he comes closer to your still giggling form. “A giggling tic?” You can only nod, you're starting to get light headed. Toby noticing you starting to crouch down, helps ease you to sit. He stays by your side as you both wait for the tic to cease.

He even tries rubbing a hand on your back to soothe you into calming down. You'll need to tell him physical comfort doesn't really help you. It's still sweet of him to try.

Unlike a laughing fit that will have a gradual die down of the action, your laughing tic has an abrupt stop. But you feel just as tired and even more sick than someone who just got out of a laughing fit. Breath coming out hitched though you try to gasp in more air to soothe your impending headache. Your face is red and covered in tear stains, once again you are thankful for your mask. This isn't a tic you get often but you probably hate this one the most, just from how drained it leaves you.

Toby continues to rub circles into your back as your breathing starts to even. Eventually he gets up to grab you some water. You notice it's quiet in the RV, not even Connor is around Brian must have him today.

“That was probably karma.” he says as he hands you the glass. Looking up to him confused he continues, “For teasing me about my tic.”

“But I w-wa-,” you take a large gulp of water for the raspiness of your voice, “I wasn't teasing. I just thought 'uwu' was a cute vocal tic.” you say indignantly.

Really you had only thought the verbal tic was cute. Also it'd been a while since you heard 'uwu' said aloud so it caught you off guard.

“Not as cute as a giggling tic.” who's teasing who now.

“Haha, don't get used to it doesn't happen often.”

After settling down from you tic it's time to head home. You really don't want to over stay your welcome. The fatigue is also starting to set in and you want to get home before it really hits.

Toby is nothing if not a gentleman you've noticed. And he continues to be on brand as he walks you back to your car.

“So thanks for that.” vaguely motioning as if to say 'y'know' with your hands rather than your words. Toby knows, you can tell from that boyish glint in his eyes.

“Hope to see you tomorrow night.” you say getting back into your car.

“It's sounding better now.” there's a pause, “Get home safe.” he slaps the interior of your window before backing away from your car altogether.

With a final wave you back out back onto the old dirt road and drive on home. When you get home you realize you never patched up Toby's hand, now you have a small bloodstain on your door.

[sparklingchan]

Queen || Park Seonghwa(Ateez)

Pairing : Seonghwa x Reader (fem.)

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of war , cuss words , A single kiss.

Genre:Angst , fluff, Goryeo AU , Royal AU.

Description : Serving the nation was Crown Prince Seonghwa’s second most top priority. You were the first. 

A/N: This one is an old drabble too but it’s one of my best ones. I haven’t been able to write much since my college already started but I will write a new imagine/drabble asap. 

Enjoy!

The warrior of Goryeo ,the future king, the pride of his father, the most gorgeous man to ever have been born, Seonghwa was everything an ideal crown prince could be. The tales of his bravery were known by the young and the old and the stories of his loyalty were performed as poems and songs. He was the most perfect man in the entire nation and the people truly believed so with all their hearts.

But little did the people know what actually hides behind his calm demeanor and loving smile.

"What do you mean you are getting me married?" Seonghwa has a stern look on his face, trying to remain calm as his father tells him -commands him - to do the one thing he could never do. His heart crushes in his chest but he tries to maintain a composed form in front of his discipline obsessed father.

"You heard me the first time, Crown Prince . You will be getting married to the Princess of a minor kingdom soon. " he asserts his decision by looking at the prince with angry, burning eyes.

Seonghwa has a heart of gold, they say. A heart so strong and so precious, no one could ever reach that point of greatness in one lifetime. But maybe they were wrong. Maybe his heart was not gold ,but glass ; frail and easily breakable.

That night, after his father practically forces him into an alliance he didn't even desire, Crown Prince Seonghwa walks to the one place in the entire nation that makes him feel safe and at home. And no,that is not his luxurious , comfortable palace complex.

Miss y/n's house is a few minutes away from the main royal complex so it has always been easier for Seonghwa to be able to sneak out without getting caught by guards or his own family members. Out of the million times he's ever been to her small,two roomed house, he's probably only ever been close to getting caught just once.

"Y/n, its me " he knocks softly at her door, trying to hold his tears in as his father's words still remain carved in his mind.

As soon as the door opens, he practically pulls her into his arms, finding comfort in that one person more than anyone else. She puts her head on his chest and nuzzles into the embrace, finding the similar comfort that he does in her.

"What's wrong ?" She asks, not being able to ignore the tear stains on his cheeks and the tremble in his voice.

He strokes her long ,black hair ,trying to gain courage to say anything at all. How could he tell her that all those dreams of living together might never come true, that he will be sharing his bed with another woman now, that he will have to father children of a woman he didn't love.

"Father is getting me married to a princess." he wishes he could have stopped those words before they reached her ears, despite the physical impossibility of that desire, but there's nothing he could do anymore. The damage has already been done .

Y/n's  heart drops in the deepest pits of her stomach , a feeling of anger , bitterness and betrayal washes over her as she process the information just provided to her. But she forces a smile, for Seonghwa 's sake.

"It's alright, your majesty. " she places a kiss on his head, fighting away tears that were so dangerously waiting to fall from her eyes. For Seonghwa , she reminds herself.

He looks up at her with bewilderment clear in his eyes. "Are you saying I should listen to him? "

Y/n bite her lips ,trying to form proper sentences in her head. How does one tell the man they love to let everything go ? Let them go?

She didn't want to do it, of course. If she could , she would have made him run away from that horrendous royal palace and keep him with her in her small hut where they could live a peaceful life but she couldn't.

He's royal blood and she is just a commoner who washes clothes for a living. She's not a match for him, no matter how much both of them pretended it weren't true.

"He's the king. You cannot say no to a royal command. " she whispers. She takes in deep breaths to make sure that his scent is embedded in her mind for centuries to come. The way that his arms feel warm around her and the smooth texture of his voice, she wants to remember everything.

"I will give up everything and come to you, y/n. Just say the word and I'll leave everything. " he says, taking her face in his hands. His fingertips press softly against her cheeks, the pressure sending shivers through her body.

"And then what? You leave and then what? Are you ready to give up all those luxuries and privileges to live a normal life where we have to work really hard to earn some money? " she speaks in a small voice as her shaky hands remove his from her face. "Will you turn your back on the citizens of our country that love you so much ?"

Seonghwa's hands fall to his sides , as if they lost all their sense of movement and purpose. The tears flowing down his cheeks refuse to stop anytime soon .

"Go, Seonghwa . Please. The country needs you. More than me. " she says , finally letting her own tears  flow too.

"I will never be able to love her. Not as much as I love you, not nearly as much you." he sobs, his hands yet again finding their way to her waist, pulling her into his chest.

Putting a hand on his chest , y/n stops his actions, although it only feels like twisting a knife further into her own wounds.

"Go."

As he walks away that night, she watches his back from a small gap through the window, trying to remember as many details about this man as her mind could afford to store. She wants to remember him. She wants to remember the only man who loved her so unconditionally.

The grief finally crashes into her , her whole body being taken over by ugly sobs, with her eyes still on Seonghwa 's back, his black hair shining under the moonlight and his sword swinging with every movement of his body.

For Seonghwa , she reminds herself , For Seonghwa , I will never love again.

"You have to stop bringing things like this for me, your highness. It makes me feel guilty." Y/n says , running her hand over the beautiful, brand new silk blanket sitting on her lap. Mingi smiles, rolling his eyes playfully at her. "Hey, this is not from me. It's from Brother Seonghwa ."

Nodding her head with slight disappointment on her face, she tries hard not to acknowledge the name even though it as if makes her body erupt into flames. It's been months since they last saw each other and although she doesn't say it out loud , her mind is pre occupied with Seonghwa’s thoughts more often than she'd like. But then again, It's not easy forgetting the man you so dearly loved.

"How's he doing?" Those words come out even before she could process it , spilling out of her mouth like water out of a jug.

"He's doing fine .Doesn't talk much ,rarely sleeps. I don't see him that much either." Mingi says

He's as miserable as she is, she realizes and even though it is horrible , she feels a slight giddiness at that thought.

"And the crown princess? "

"Do you really want to know, y/n?" Mingi replies with a slight chuckle.

No, she didn't really want to know about how much time the good-for-nothing princess is spending with her Seonghwa but she asked it anyway , just for the sake of it.

"No." She admits.

Mingi sighs, running his hand over the soft blanket laid on her lap. "They're not married yet you know . If you say it, I'll make some arrangements so you two could run off to a faraway place. He says he doesn't want the throne anyway. He honestly doesn't want anything that isn't you anymore. "

Y/n feels her heart beat increase at his words but her face remains neutral , trying not to lose her composure in front of Seonghwa's brother.

"I would never be able to keep him as happy as the princess might, though I hate to admit it. He's grown up in those palaces with thousands of servants and expensive clothes and luxurious cuisines. If he chooses me, he'll lose all of that. He'll lose his home , he'll lose the love of his countrymen, your highness. Why can't you of all people understand that? "

"No, I do understand, y/n. But I don't like seeing my brother like that. I and second prince Hongjoong have had to see him in such a miserable condition these past few months, not knowing what to do ," He says "No medicine for this illness ,right? " He adds, pointing a finger to the left side of his chest ; his heart.

"No, there isn't " she replies, but the "I wish there was " is silent.

"Are you out of your mind, Seonghwa ? Father will chop our heads off and have them displayed at the front gate of the palace!" Hongjoong is angry but he knows he's not exaggerating. Their excuse of a father might actually end up doing that if any of his children bring dishonor to the family.

"I agree. " Mingi agrees. Seonghwa paces to and fro in his room , the groom's clothes on his bed long forgotten. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair , hissing at himself for not being able to come up with a solid decision. He has to do something and he knows for a fact that he cannot marry the princess waiting for him in the king's court.

"I can't marry her. I will not marry her. "He keeps mumbling to himself under his breath as his brothers watch him helplessly.

The door of the room flies open without a warning and the three boys look at their father ,his majesty, the king of Goreyo entering the room with a horrified expression.

"The wench ran away." he says with a shaking breath, humiliation clear in his eyes. "The princess ran away with her lover to a far away place. I will wage a war on that kingdom! I will destroy them for this insult they've spat on our faces."

Seonghwa 's mind goes blank for a second , wondering if the words leaving his father's mouth were true or just a manifestation of his own imagination.

"Father, it's okay. I think everything happens for a reason. " Hongjoong speaks up , deciding to take one for the team. He trembles under his father's gaze but he swallows the fear. The universe knows he'd do anything for his brothers. Anything.

Mingi looks at Seonghwa ,as if signaling him to say something or do something instead of staring at the king like a statue. "Uh.. yes, yes, father. I don't think she'd have made a very good queen anyway so why waste our time fighting against such people? Let it go. Karma will get back to them."

He's speaking nonsense at this point but he doesn't care. He only wishes to see y/n as soon as possible.

"Fine, if you say so. Anyway I meant to ask you if you have a bride in mind. I can't cancel the whole wedding for a stupid girl ; you're getting married anyway, bring whoever you want, a common girl ,a noblewoman ,whatever. I just don't want my name to have a black stain on it because the crown prince's wedding got cancelled under my reign. "The king puts his hand on Seonghwa ‘s shoulder.

"Yes. Yes. I have someone in mind, father. I'll get her right away. " If you think he sprinted right out the door ,running off towards y/n's house without letting the king respond to his words, then you're absolutely right.

The knocks on her door seem oddly familiar ,too familiar to be true yet, without a second thought she opens it, although she wasn't actually expecting him to there.

" Seonghwa ! Did you run away from the wedding?" She cries, as he leans against her door and pants heavily.

"No." he gulps . " No. She ran away. Father wants me to marry whoever I want. Says he just wants to save his image."

Speechless. That is what she is as she watches him enter the small hut, his chest still heaving from the run and the sweat still fresh on his forehand. "I'm going to ask you this one last time, Y/n." he walks up to her ,trapping her by pinning her against the wall with his hands on either side of her head. "Will you marry me and become my Queen? Will you please do me this one favour? "

Y/n stares at him for a good five seconds, tears streaming down her face as she rests her hand on Seonghwa’s chest, the heartbeat from his chest matching hers.

When he raises an eyebrow demanding an answer, she doesn't reply but instead pulls his mouth down to meet hers. 

And that's all the answer he'll ever need.

[rurifangirl]

aight. here somes the ask lore thingie

tw for ppl readin: mention of mental illness, father mention

firstly, how did rui end up meetin the rest of the gang? did they all have sum sort of run in? did they just happen to meet on exident?

also is the father a villain? i remember ya mention him, and was wonderin

and do they have a specific place where they stay? like in a dormstory, a single house, do they live in a single town, or in completly different places?

do any of them suffer from mental/physical illnesses? if they do, how does it affect their life/relationships w others?

Aight, so here we go, be ready cuz shit's long.

(1st part - The Rui n the gang meeting; The Shou meeting) No Tw

Honestly, I also kinda wanted to do this for quite a long time, so I'm gonna firstly talk about how the gang (w/o really mentioning the others name's since they're gonna get introduced soon) met itself and decided to form, and then I'll individually do It in Lyva's and Shou's case, specifically Shou's since i mentioned that his meetin was somethin id have to take care of in another post, so i will rn.

First things first, w the whole gang. Now It wasn't really casually, mainly because Lyva n Rui did meet up, but It was during a special occasion still, that being a really important manifestation in one of the main regions in my oc universe. (They don't have name's yet so pls don't bash me🤡) Them being primarly the Forest, where Rui eventually lives in after all of his past shit, the near-countryside part, where Lyva was living, a pretty much city living on water, where Shou's currently living, and many more, as such the dunes with which I'll introduce Qiran (hopefully tomorrow/today),The sea itself, some High up places and as I said many, many other more. Other than this brief intro, they meet up where Lyva used to live, but mainly because of problems and out of conviniance.

Everyone had something to take back from, so they agreed to help eachother to reach that end, so it's all really planned. Now i won't really go w Lyva, cuz i explained how she met Rui the first time n how they helped her, so I don't need to ramble more on this. Now I'm gonna go w Shou's part though.

This Is more of a note i wanted y'all to know first, cuz i really like how Lyva n Rui met him the first time (cuz the second time was when the gang then all agreed to form n all that jazz.). Basically, Rui n Lyva were out, n visiting new places as such, to prepare themselves further and to try and search for more weapons, cuz they both knew that they'd eventually get in trouble, and even though they still are good, they wouldn't stand much a chance, n since Shou's Place is known for its production they decided to go. N fun fact, there's many funny shit that happends, for example Rui tries to touch a fish, but gets SLAPPED by It. They're still mad >:[. Ajkskdj anyways, some other stuff happends n they just, lose themselves. They had a map ofc but still managed to do so. But Rui was usin It so, I don't really blame em for gettin lost.

Shit happends n they find themselves pratically in front of his shrine/palace. Shou's servitors (cuz he saw everything happend from afar n gave them the okay) brought em in, but rather than makin em idk some tea n just making them recouver, Shou rather put them under some "tests" w/o tellin em, to see if they were any use.

For example he brought them some cups of tea, but before drinking them Rui noticed somethin unusual in the water, so they gave Lyva a sign to not drink It, n as Shou asked as a reason why they just replied that they weren't thirsthy, leavin Shou in a kind of defeated state. Bitch if i love this part honestly, there's so much fun to seein all of their reactions, but I'm gonna go brief rn. So other of this tests pass later n Shou eventually gets upset cuz they're all winnin n seemingly makin fun of him, lettin him in a weaket standpoint, n a fight happends. Even though it's a 2v1 situation he can still manage pretty well, so It ends in a draw. They get to talk after this and get to understand that they don't have to necesseraly be on the opposite side, though Shou Is still unsure whether to belive in that or not.

After they leave him, pratically almost alone w only a bunch of servitors helpin him. He admits defeat n won't show up until the event and yadayada. (Also it's during this weak time of his he'll meet Qiran which i already have plans w so it's all goin to be said bout their relationship in their post.)

(2nd part, the father mention.) Tw:father mention

So it's true that w Shou i did mention his father, but I'm not entirely sure bout his involvment honestly. In theory he kind of is a villain itself, even because of his devilish nature, so it's true, but im not sure whether to make him an independent villain or part of a group of them. But rather than that yes, i do want to make him some sort of villain in the end, because that's also part of Shou's agreement to be part of the group. I will make concept art for him so he'll definetly be involved. Not gonna lie, mabye that bastards also involved w Rui's cult too in a way or another but im givin in too many details holy shit I'll never get outta this fuck

(3rd part- where do they live) No Tw

They live in their own homes honestly, but It would be no surprise if they'd all decide to sleep over someone in specifical, though they have their own place. I made some concepts for Rui's intern home, which here It Is 😤 (forgive me for the bad quality but it's 2 am rn 🤡) I made this a while ago but only did Rui's, so I'll do Lyva's, Shou's n the other one's too. They live in different places, for the exception of, atm, Qiran, since I'm gonna say that they're more of a traveller n don't have a stable home.

(4th part- the mental/physical ilnesses) Tw: Self harm and Mental ilness mention

Well, this Is gonna be a ride. They all suffer from Ptsd, which Rui n Shou suffering from It the most. It still affects them all, though in different occasions, so Imma just do them in specifical. (Also because i gotta add some shit to shou that i didn't wanna add because i thought It was too much honestly)

Rui-

It affects them really much. They use crystals n gems to avoid anything going w their past or anything remotely related It, as whenever they feel awful about havin those flashbacks when they still were a child. They never want to talk about what happened, n during their moments It gets really, really bad. Both emotionally and physically, as their body sometimes cannot handle anything so it completely shuts down. They never really got any help for It as Rui's too scared to share bout their experience, both because of trauma itself that doesn't make them say anything even if they wanted to and because of the cults influence, so either way they've got to handle It by their own.

Lyva-

Other than havin to deal w mornin sickness, which Is the least for her, she has to deal w her neglectful childood and how desperate she's always been for litteraly anythin, whether it's related about love,friendship, food, toys, anything. She tried to seek for help and semi found It, but as of now she can't keep up w It and has better things to take care of. It's still really bad overall, but she's hoping for things to get better. Spoiler It really won't.

Shou-

⭕Tw for sh⭕

It's... really fucking bad. I'm gonna get outta this w saying something i didn't want to add because it's really triggerin, but im gonna do It now. So basically, I've mentioned them acting feminenly for his own mother, but i didn't say what would've happened if he displeased her. She would just stare down at him and whispering some awful shit or names. This would happen especially whenever he'd slip off that mask of his or revealed even a tiny bit of his devilish essence. Note that he's still a child here. So, best thing he could to was to "punish" himself, which basically consists of him scratching his arms too much and, i don't really want to continue this, forgive me but it's kind of triggering even for me. But...you can guess what he's doing, since he even to this day still keeps sharp nails. I'm sorry for putting this, but it's another way to show how his mother fucked him up and now suffering from this.

I'm sorry for rushin the last part but i'm not personally vibing w it.

Tags undercut

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @dopesaladlady @damnfoxx (I'm really unsure bout taggin ya in this ;-;)

If you want your tag removed, dm me cuz it's 3 am at the moment n i may have messed em up. (I'm not gonna recheck tomorrow so that's why)

[kat-hawke]

Kul Tiran Backing

A puddle broke beneath the soles of the Director's boots as she journeyed through the rain across the city of Boralus. Eyes swept across open streets from beneath the hood of the long coat, drops of water cascading off to the sides. The amount of rainfall here stirred up memories of her Gilnean childhood for only a minute before she shifted focus to the upcoming meeting.

"I don't think I've ever seen you nervous," Alyssa chimed across the telepathic link. "Anxious, sure. But nervous—"

"Are you making a point here, or?" Kat interrupted.

"No. Just curious. Why does she make you nervous and not anyone else?"

"It's not her. It's the topic at hand. Doing this puts an unnecessary risk on other financial ventures and our relation, should she decline. Yet, I'm left with little other options to seek funding." Kat admitted as the office came into view across the plaza.

"There's also the matter of what I plan to do. Pad her funding line with my own coin to avoid potential investigations into my financials. She won't like it, I know. To keep that behind her back creates more risk while revealing the matter could turn her away."

"Well, if she doesn't need to know, then why risk it? What she doesn't know won't hurt her." The dagger-bound woman practically shrugged in her tone.

"It could hurt us both. I'll consider your point," Kat sneered.

Drowning out the warlocks reply, she swung the office door open, the bell above the frame emitting the soft chime throughout the space, announcing Kat's arrival to the noblewoman seated at the desk. Pulling back the soaked hood with a smile, the pair commenced with the standard pleasantries. An informal greeting, inquiring on one another's state of wellbeing, and a brief catch-up of the recent Scourge invasion.

"My family is all well and safe, and Stormhollow did not suffer the Scourge. I would consider things well and good." Lady Stalsworth answered as she eased back into the seat, following their courteous handshake.

"Glad t'hear," Kat nodded, swinging one knee over the other as she dropped into the adjacent chair. "Gransonee was spared from the dead risin' again as well. So, no effect on our current arrangements as it stands." She paused for a moment. "Unless, of course, ya' wish fer changes?"

"Unless there are reasons why I should wish for changes, I see no need. Do you?"

The Director shook her head slowly. "None wot-so-eva. Th' profit flows, th' people are happy, and the hamlet has been able t'repair and expand some infrastructure. Most importantly, it keeps Jasper out of m'ear."

Elaianna chuckled in a breath, a faint smile touching the corner of her lips. "You did not write to me about our current business affairs, but rather, a new one if I am to understand your letter correctly?"

The pleasantries were dismissed. Both women preferred to discuss business over the former at every meeting.

"That is correct, yes. While this proposal is of another nature, it bears no effect on the current trade agreemen'." Kat cleared her throat, ignoring a comment from Alyssa as she pulled a ledger from the coat. "I'm sure yer aware of th' current state of the Kingdom, yes?"

"Presuming you mean things such as the King's absence and an ill-chosen replacement on the throne in the meantime? Yes. I cannot say things are any better here, as the Lord Admiral has also gone missing."

"I was referin' more t'the current economic situations." The Director clarified, collecting her hands upon the leather cover of the ledger.

"Aye," the Lady dipped her head in a shallow nod. "Such things come with recent events."

"More-so when on th' tailwinds of a long and costly war," Kat added. "Stormwind is, well t'be blunt, fractured. Th' military cutbacks, coffers empty...surely ya' know wot follows there. Taxes and overexertion. Th' nobles houses are all in a tiff, vyin' fer favors and agreements in exchange fer gold. Sharks, th' lot of 'em."

"I am an affluent woman, but I cannot cease an entire kingdom from going into taxation," Elaianna remarked, weaving her fingers together and studying the Director. "So what favor and agreement are you looking for?"

Kat quickly wet her lips, knowing her discomfort in this proposal was visible to a small degree, and while the dagger-bound woman was silent, Kat knew she was listening. Without further delay, she promptly opened the ledger to her Unit's budget and slid it across to Elaianna.

"I do no' have th' time or patience t'lobby the houses while they are in congress fer fundin', nor would I likely care for th' things they ask in exchange. My Unit is internal affairs, we are no' combat facin', but many believe wot we do is of little value."

"What -do- you do? Especially in times post-war?" Lady Stalsworth inquired, glancing over the ledger.

"Th' same as we would durin' war. We handle issues that extend beyond th' capabilities of the guards; serial killin's, drug cartels, slave rings, th' occasional cults." Kat picked at her nails in her lap, out of the other's view.

"Our latest project has no' been well received by m'peers, and I narrowly dodged havin' the Unit axed with my proposal. With the right resources and time, we could document and categorize these dangerous people's thought processes and mental states. Study them, if you will, and create a possible method t'detect these behaviors before they manifest into somethin' larger. However, with no fundin' or resources, I canno' produce the results needed to keep my Unit from disbandment."

"And you're looking for..." Elaianna asked as she found no estimated total within the ledger.

"Wot eva yer willin' t'give." Kat answered plainly. "I hate t'even ask at all, given our current professional relationship. And I certainly do no' expect charity either."

The Lady nodded again, motioning toward the Director. "Would monthly increments be of use, or were you hoping for a singular lump sum?

"Monthly would be ideal, luv'. A lump sum may create too much of a surplus that others may try to pillage."

"I can commit to supporting your Unit on a monthly basis." Elaianna pushed the ledger back across the desk with her answer.

Inquisitively, Kat stared and collected the ledger, returning the book to her coat as she hesitantly asked, "And in return?"

With a simple shrug, the Lady answered, "I would ask what I would hope you would already do. If you happen upon any knowledge of a threat to Stormhollow or my family, you will let me know so that we might protect our people and ourselves."

A soft hum rattled with Kat's throat. This was something she would have done already, yes. But while Elaianna had never given her a reason to be mistrusted, Kat struggled to believe one would ask only this in return for funding. A thought that Alyssa did little to dismiss.

"That I would already do, yes. Though I will add that if ya' have an issue within Stormhollow that falls within wot m' Unit handles, I would be more than happy t'direct focus there until the matter is resolved."

"Thank you."

Kat lifted her hand, "it is I who owes ya' thanks, twice over."

"Then let us call it a deal." Elaianna smiled, extending her hand over the desk to cement the agreement.

Now at the crossroad of revealing or secreting her intend, Kat's conflicting thoughts churned again as she eyed the offered hand. Forcing her way through, she began to reach but recoiled at the last second.

"Don't do it," Alyssa argued to no avail.

"There is one more thing," Kat muttered, clearing her throat.

"I will pull funds from my personal accounts, those undocumented linked to Gransonee. Doin' so on m'own would draw attention and force m'hand into revealin' th' island and hamlet publicly, which would then force a pledge to the Alliance or vassalage t' a noble house. Against the wishes of its people. I will hide th' funds I sent in the same ledger line as yer own." The Director admitted, letting out a heavy breath as if a weight had been lifted.

"I wanted ya' t'know, rather than keep it hidden from ya' and risk an auditory blowback."

Immediately, Elaianna's lips pursed, and a low hum vibrated behind the displeased expression as the offered hand was withdrawn. The silence which followed lingered uncomfortably between them for a solid minute as Kat held her breath and avoided the Lady's gaze.

"I suspect such will not pose a problem," Elaianna finally spoke, "as it is assisting the Kingdom."

Kat's shoulders dropped as she relaxed and let out her breath.

"I wanted t'be honest and transparent in m'intentions than lead ya' blind and risk everythin'."

"I appreciate that," The Lady smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Th' consequences will be mine, and only mine t'bear should anythin' happen." Kat offered her hand to complete the transaction with a nod, relieved when Elaianna nodded and took the hand in a firm shake.

"Let us hope such things do not come to be."

Standing to exit, Kat fixed the position of her coat, which had shifted slightly while seated. The hood remained down, as the sound of rainfall beyond the door had ceased during their exchange.

"Light and Shadow keep ya' and yer family, Lady Stalsworth."

"Tides guide you and yours, Lady Hawke."

Resisting the urge to correct and discourage using such a title, Kat resigned to dipping her head and turning towards the door. Quickly leaving the office and taking in the scent of the city after the rain. She knew Alyssa overheard every word and would likely inquire on details but cut the inquisitive warlock off before she had a chance.

"Another time," Kat implored, "I promise. Just give me time."

[ @elaianna, @alyssa-ward​ ]

[ Relevant: @tristanasneak, @jocelyn-wellson, @myzariel, @nikkithorpe, @lovelydeadlysocialite, @quinn-varden ]

[meat-husband]

This is my main blog! If you’re wondering why some weirdo followed you, it’s probably for my anime side blog @widdlepeets

Requests Closed!

Not actively writing, but I’ve kept all the requests from my inbox and if I ever wander back over to this fandom I’ll start on them again.

Completed requests are posted every Friday or every other Friday. You can find what I’ve already written in my masterlist or read on AO3.

I am 18+ and so is most of the writing on this blog

If you are not 18+, please don’t request anything NSFW or interact with me regarding anything similar. SFW requests are perfectly fine and I’m not going to police who follows me, but please realize that I am an adult who does not want to interact with minors about NSFW topics.

Who I Write For:

Michael Myers - any of the movies + DBD

Bubba Sawyer - first, second and 3D movies + DBD

Thomas Hewitt - both the first and prequel

Brahms Heelshire - in this house we ignore the sequel

Jason Vorhees - human, zombie or remake

Vincent Sinclair

What You Can Request:

Headcanons or short fics usually around 1500-2000 words. Requests may end up shorter or longer than that, but I aim to get at least that many words into a request. I may add on to things and make short, multichapter fics with other requests.

Request multiple characters for one ask if you like. If you don’t mention names, I’ll choose the ones I write it for. Please mention if you would like a SFW / NSFW reply, otherwise I’ll do whatever comes to mind.

What I Write:

SFW - things like fluff, angst, platonic/friendship, romance, domestic/family life, etc. Keep in mind that canon-typical violence, blood or gore may still show up in these requests unless you specifically ask otherwise.

NSFW - dom/sub, somnophilia, choking, pregnancy/breeding, slasher/so/slasher - really all the most common, mainstream kinks.

Trans and gender neutral S/Os are welcome! If it isn’t mentioned in the request I will usually write for a gender neutral S/O. For NSFW fics, I default to a female reader unless specified.

I will write the same request more than once, if it is a simple/vague one I can do differently (ex. short SO, cuddling hc). Feel free to give me as many details/ideas as you’d like.

What I Won’t Write:

SFW - fantasy S/O (angel, magical powers, etc.), anything too out of character, anything about self-harm, AUs, slasher/slasher pairs, S/O with specific mental illnesses, your OC, matchups

NSFW - underage characters in romantic/sexual settings, bathroom kinks, incest (real or roleplay, this does include Michael/Laurie despite the new canon), fisting, foot fetish, pretty much all or most of the normal no-nos you see

Feel free to ask about something if you’re not sure and I’ll add it to the yes or no list!

[eryiss]

Chapter One - The House

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. It ended up becoming a multi-chapter, and I thought the first chapter should go up today, as a holloween gift. The next one will be published on thursday, and will continue on weekly.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter One – The House

Freed hadn't expected his mother's death to be so tedious.

He should probably feel more emotional about it. He and his mother had no ill-will towards one another – there was no tragic secret nor history of arguing or abuse between them – but he found himself oddly unbothered by hearing of her death. Not a numbness of any kind either, he felt very much the same as if a colleague had told him their mother had passed. It was just an event that had happened, and something that affected his life, but not his emotions.

His apathy probably came from the fact he and his mother hadn't spoken for years. Again, not for any great reason, just because they didn't. He and his father had always been closer, and when he had died four years prior, Freed had grieved and got over it as best a person can. His mother was the worker of the family, and thus the emotional relationship hadn't been as strong. Neither had made an effort to connect in their adulthood, only really linked by his father. And so once he had passed, there wasn't really any reason to speak. Neither person was overly emotional, so they didn't seek comfort in one another's arms, and instead just drifted off.

And so, the death of his mother was tedious.

Death was followed by a lot of things. The need to plan a funeral, people being completely unaware of how to act around him, and an odd amount of pity coming from people who didn't know him at all. Freed was something of a pragmatist, and as such it became an experience he didn't want to repeat. At least with the death of his father, he'd had his sadness to distract him. But this was just, well… tedious.

Perhaps the worse thing to have happened occurred two days prior. As was customary after someone passes, there was a reading of the will. A pointless exercise for this instance, given Freed had literally inherited everything. Freed knew this already – he was his family's lawyer for god's sake, he drafted the damned thing – but he still had to attend the reading. So, for an hour in a busy work week, he was forced to travel down two floors in his building, and sit there while another lawyer – Natsu Dragneel, who had actually interned under Freed for a year – explained the law and what the will meant. To the man who had taught him it!

Further adding to the annoyance of the situation, almost everything he'd inherited had strings attached. There was a lot of debt, from both loans and gambling, apparently. Freed's credit score was going to take a hit, given how much there was. There were also her belongings, which he would have to look through at some point. She also apparently owned property, which was now his.

This would be good, had it not been for its location. Freed's life was centred in the city, this house was in the middle of the countryside, miles from what Freed considered civilisation. Why she had owned a house there was beyond Freed, she was more metropolitan than him; she lived in Era and Era alone. But unfortunately, now it was his.

So now, he was nearing the end of a three-and-a-half-hour train ride.

He was going to sell the place, of course. Why his mother hadn't done so confused Freed, given her debts. Property values were high in this area, many rich older people wanted to retire there, and a three-bedroom cottage was perfect for that. But he needed to see it, speak with estate agents, and sign away the rights. All in all, tedious.

When he got off the train, he was hit by how different it was to Era. It was open, the air smelt different and it looked like an illustration from a Victorian romance novel. All very idyllic, but Freed had no intention of staying long enough to appreciate it. Instead, he located the taxi service, and ordered a car to his new property.

Apparently Uber hadn't arrived there yet.

The car came soon enough, and after a few failed attempts to illicit more than a curt answer from Freed, it was a quiet ride. It took about forty minutes, and Freed watched as fields passed by, the atmosphere dampened by the scent of manure filling the air. People raved about the fresh air in the countryside, but Freed much preferred the smell of petrol and faint piss of Era to literal crap. Better the devil you know.

Thankfully, the smell of muck spreading was interrupted when his phone lit up. He glanced at the contact name – 'Estate Agent' – before lifting it to his ear and accepting the call. He needed an evaluation for the property, and apparently this man was the best in the area. Hopefully the fastest too.

"Mr Clive," He greeted, leaning back.

"Mr Justine," The estate agent replied in a more jovial tone. "Just to let you know, I'm at the property and waiting for you. There's been a few evaluations over the years and they're all pretty similar, so it shouldn't take long."

"Thank you," Freed nodded to himself, glancing past the front seat to see the GPS saying they should be at their destination in about five minutes. "I'll be there soon."

"Great," Gildarts' grin was audible in his tone. "Sorry that you had to come down here to deal all of this."

"It's not your fault," Freed said placatingly, though not honestly. "The sooner it's done, the better."

"Couldn't agree more," Gildarts grinned.

"Why had it been evaluated before?" Freed asked, brows furrowing slightly.

"Apparently your mother has tried to sell it a few times. Twice with independent online stores, and once with an estate agent. Clearly it didn't go well," The man laughed. "But we'll be more successful. We know what we're doing."

After some pointless pleasantries, the call was ended. Freed found himself frowning; a cottage in this area should have been sold without any difficulty. The fact this one hadn't, despite its perfect position and seemingly positive qualities, didn't bode well. He tried to be optimistic, but at this point, it was almost certain that even selling the house would further add to his annoyances.

It was ten minutes later – it took longer than expected because he got caught up in traffic caused by a heard of cows crossing from one field to the other, followed by an uncaring farmer who glared at the taxi as if it were an affront to his lifestyle – when he saw the house.

It was clear as to why his mother couldn't sell it.

The place was practically derelict. In its prime it would have been the ideal village cottage, with white walls and a slated roof. It would have had a garden filled with perfectly trimmed flowers, a large but well-groomed oak tree, and most likely a cliché dog running around. Unfortunately, the house's prime was clearly centuries ago because it embodied the world decapitated in a way Freed had never seen. The roof was falling apart, the garden filled with so many overgrown plants nothing else could be seen, and a window was hanging out of the wall. It was unliveable, and practically unlovable.

Perfect. His mother had left him debt, three wardrobes filled with wrinkled clothes, and a building nobody could use without a death wish. Now his hopes of selling the place was unrealistic.

As he approached the building, a man made his presence known by leaving a car with a smile on his face. He was older than Freed, in his late forties if Freed was being kind, and he gave a polite 'Hello' as he approached. It was clearly the estate agent, who was showing a lot more optimism than Freed felt at that moment.

"Mr Justine, nice to meet you in person," He greeted.

"Likewise," Freed nodded, though his tone didn't reflect the sentiment. Gildarts laughed.

"I can see from your face that you were expecting something a little… different," The man chuckled, and Freed found himself annoyed by the man's enthusiasm. "You probably thought it'd be a little more liveable, didn't ya?"

"Something like that," Freed agreed, looking at the building almost accusingly.

"Well if it's any kind of relief, the building's structure is actually very secure. I won't lie, there's probably hundreds of problems going on in there, but at least the roof isn't going to collapse on our heads," The agent laughed, and in any other situation it might be less grating. "I can explain the details as we look through it, I'm sure that you want to get this done quickly."

"If that's possible."

Gildarts nodded, then jogged back to his car. When he returned, he was holding two hardhats that one would see on a building site, and Freed looked at it warily. Gildarts smiled and patted him on the shoulder with an unneeded amount of strength.

"The roof itself won't fall, but there's always a chance that the ceiling tiles might, so we can't be too careful, can we?" He chuckled loudly, placing on his hat, and walking into the building. Freed, after a moment of hesitation, joined him.

~~~

"So, you're sayi-" A small scratch. "-basically unsellable."

Freed ground his teeth together slightly. He was pacing down a village high-street, holding his phone to his ear and trying his best to listen to Evergreen's stuttering voice. Apparently random country roads were perfectly fine with phone signals; but for the most built up area for miles, it was practically impossible to have a conversation without some kind of interference. It was something very quickly grating on his nerves.

"Essentially, yes," Freed sighed, sidestepping a couple walking towards him. "It's too run down for anyone to want to buy it. My estate agent said the best thing to do is to see if a property auction will take it and sell it cheap."

"Why don't you-" Another scratching sound. "-it down. Sell the land-" A quick, high pitched noise. "-farmer or property developer."

Freed's muscles tenses slightly at the suggestion. He had thought about that, but of course when he had told Gildarts that it was the logical course of action, the man had looked at him with something akin to pity in his eyes. He had then patted the man on the shoulder – again making Freed's body jerk slightly with the power behind the action – and added another layer of annoyance to this ridiculous situation.

"Apparently it's a listed building, and has some kind of historical preservation status," Freed sighed, slowing slightly when the buzzing on the phone went quiet. Hopefully, he had a stronger signal now. "Essentially meaning, the building has to stay."

"If it's so important, why did they let it get so run down?" Evergreen asked, voice clear now.

"They didn't, my mother has been receiving phone calls and letters from local council about it for years," Freed wiped at his eye with his free hand, deflating slightly. "Which I will now be getting, I suppose. Along with the letters and phone-calls from debt collectors, no doubt."

"How much would it sell for as it is?"

"Optimistically, 25 thousand. Since you can't make any modifications to the outer building, something in this state is hard to get customers for."

It wasn't anywhere near enough to cover his mother's debts, even when combined with the savings he was unwilling to give up. Though a successful corporate lawyer and having saved a substantial part of his earning for over ten years, Freed was by no means rich. His family came from money, but never gave any to him as they wished for him not to be spoiled. So far it hadn't mattered, but now with six figures of debt from nowhere, his comfortable life seemed unstable. This wasn't helped by the fact he only wanted to use his savings as a last resort; he'd saved this money for himself, not to give to online casinos because of his mother's apparent addiction.

"Couldn't you make it a bit more marketable," Evergreen suggested, and Freed found himself irrationally irritated by the chewing he heard. They were colleagues, and he knew that her lunch break wasn't for another hour. "Tidy it up slightly."

"It's not run down, it's unliveable," Freed grunted. "The windows are boarded up, the garden practically a jungle, bare floorboards, furniture that is practically rotting, and a bird had nested on the oven."

"Maybe plant some flowers and bake a cake when showing people around," Evergreen joked, and Freed almost laughed.

He couldn't resent his mother. He did love her, and perhaps if he had made some kind of effort in talking to her then maybe the debts wouldn't have happened because she could talk to him about her gambling. Of course that regret was pointless now, thinking about what he could have done wouldn't change anything. He just had to deal with the consequences.

"You'll figure something out," Evergreen spoke up again.

"I know," Freed nodded. "But I'm not quite sure exactly how, yet."

"Well, I've just checked, and there's a nice-looking hotel near you," Evergreen smiled, and Freed could hear the clicking of a computer mouse through his speakers. "All good reviews, apparently a brilliant kitchen and very nice staff."

"Good for them," Freed said with furrowed brows.

"I've booked you a room," Evergreen declared, clearly grinning. Freed went to speak but Ever went first. "You're staying there for a week. You can either spend it thinking what to do next with your house, or just have a nice break, which you're overdue. Climb one of the mountains or something. I'll have a suitcase sent down with everything you need."

"No," Freed said firmly.

"I don't believe I gave you a choice, dear," Evergreen smiled. "And I've already paid for it. If you stay, consider it a gift. And if you don't, you'll be in even more debt, and I'm much worse than any bailiff you can think of, and we share an office, so I will make your life miserable."

"You're both blackmailing and threatening me," Freed grunted. "I could technically sue you for workplace harassment."

"Yeah, but you're my lawyer so you'd have to argue with yourself," Evergreen laughed. "Which you could, you've got an ego big enough you probably crop up on those reddit pages about people who think they're really smart," Freed let out an indignant sound at that, and Ever just laughed. "Just take some time off, you know you have to have a week off eventually. Why not just do it now? Enjoy the countryside, smell the fresh air, read a book."

"I read constantly, the fresh air is laden with the scent of literal shit, and so far the countryside is a pointless expanse of green that makes me want to take on more cases against environmentalists."

"Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself," Evergreen laughed. "Find your hotel, get yourself a drink, and relax for a week."

After a second of consideration, and a deflated sigh, Freed spoke again. "What's the hotel called."

"Fairy Tail Inn," Evergreen read aloud. "Sounds a bit cliché, but the rooms look great and the reviews are all good. Should be at one end of the high street, at the top of the hill."

Freed looked back over his shoulder, he had walked past the hotel in his search for a reliable amount of signal. He hadn't paid it much attention, as it was at the start of the conversation and he'd been attempting to understand any of what Evergreen was saying, but it looked nice enough. The only real reason he had actually remembered the place was because he was fairly sure they had mistaken the two spellings of the word Tail. He started to walk back up the steep high-street, telling Evergreen that he knew where the place was.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it then," Evergreen smiled, and the buzzing on the phone returned slightly. "See you in a week. Oh, and text me a picture of the house when you're tetchy so I can make fun of you. Bye!"

She cut herself off before Freed could reply, and the lawyer rolled his eyes slightly.

When he reached the top of the hill, he walked through a quaint beer garden and into the Fairy Tail building. He was confronted with a small front desk, behind which a woman with a light bob smiled up at him. He walked towards her, scanning the name tag – Lisanna – before she gave a polite introduction to the hotel.

"Are you here to eat, or to stay sir?" She asked, voice enthusiastic and happy.

"To stay," Freed explained. "I believe my friend just made a reservation for me. Freed Justine."

"One moment," She smiled, leaning down, and typing on the computer.

As she worked, Freed glanced around the lobby area. From the outside, the building had been incredibly rustic looking, and Freed had feared slightly that it was going to be as old fashioned and outdated inside as well. But it was contemporary, clean, and relatively nice. It was clear that it was made to look farmhouse-ish while keeping all the needed amenities, making a distinction from the branded hotels while also keeping to a high quality.

They had a few certificates hung on the walls, mainly hotel awards from different companies. There was also something proclaiming 'MAGNOLIA: Village of the Year 2019' in proud prominence. Freed vaguely wondered if this was something all businesses got, or if Fairy Tail was some kind of hub for the town.

"There you are," Lisanna said suddenly, and Freed turned back to her. "Room 17. If you'd like to follow me, I'll take you there. I can carry your bags if you'd like."

"I don't have any bags with me, actually," Freed said, and Lisanna looked at the floor with a frown to confirm his words. "This is rather impromptu, I'm afraid. I'm having a suitcase sent down here, I expect it'll be here tomorrow."

"Oh, okay," Lisanna smiled, though Freed could clearly see she was somewhat confused. "What brings you to Magnolia, if you don't mind me asking? We don't get many people here in autumn, you're our only guest actually."

"It's not for pleasure," Freed explained. "I inherited some property, and selling it isn't as easy as I thought, so I'll be here for a little while."

"Is that the Albion House?" She asked as they turned a corner.

"Yes," Freed answered a little slowly.

"Oh, sorry, that probably sounds a bit creepy that I know it so fast," She laughed. "It's just that news sort of travelled about it getting a new owner. It's been run down for a while, and people thought that maybe the new person would try and renovate it. But if you want to sell it then that's your choice of course, I hope it goes better than it did with your mother-" She stopped talking, and clearly looked uncomfortable. "Oh, I'm sorry. For your loss, and for that."

"You don't need to do that," Freed waved her off. "I'm not going to start crying at the sound of her name."

She looked relieved at his reaction, and Freed tried not to show a small scowl on his face. The young woman hadn't done anything wrong, but the fact she knew both the house and the fact his mother had died meant that other people knew as well. He had hoped that, at least for one week, he wouldn't have to deal with people knowing about his bereavement. Apparently he wasn't even going to be given this.

"Is the house important for some reason?" Freed asked as they climbed the stairs. "It's got historical preservation, and you said people were interested when they found out I own it."

"Not exactly," Lisanna smiled. "I think all the buildings in the town have that status, they want to make it look like it did when it was made. Personally, I think they do it because the council makes a lot of money from film shoots coming here," She laughed a little. "And we're a fairly small community, so news gets around. They were the same when it got sold last time, actually. They thought it'd get renovated too."

"So my mother wasn't the reason it looks like it does, then?"

"I've never seen it in a better state," Lisanna shrugged, before pausing in thought. "I think there's a painting of what it used to look like in your room. That's a coincidence."

She laughed to herself before continuing to walk, Freed following her. They walked through a few more corridors and up another staircase before they stopped at the old looking door of one of the rooms. Lisanna pulled a key from her pocket and opened the door, revealing the room that was to be Freed's home for the rest of the week. Freed walked in after, and looked around.

It was a nice room, also designed to look like it belonged in a farm house while still being relatively luxurious. It was on the smaller side, clearly Evergreen hadn't wanted to spend too much if the single bed was telling, but nice enough. A private bathroom, TV, and area for making drinks. It was essentially everything one could want from a hotel room. Although the fact that the slanted roof above the bed was low did make Freed pause; he would have to make sure not to bang his head when he awoke.

His eyes fell to a painting on the wall. Sure enough, there was an illustration of the house he'd been inside, only in a much better state. It looked rather homely.

"It's nice, isn't it," Lisanna smiled. "I think that's why people want to see it renovated. Just because it's nice."

"Well, perhaps soon it will be," Freed mused. "I'll most likely have to sell it to a retail auction, they often attract people looking for cheap property to work on, or so my estate agent said. So perhaps that'll happen."

"You don't sound enthusiastic about the idea?"

"I was hoping for more than an auction house would be willing to pay, I must admit," Freed sighed, still looking at the painting. "It's a last resort, but I doubt I'll find a better offer over the next week."

"You could renovate it and sell it when you're done?" Lisanna suggested.

"My knowledge of property development extends to the legal side only," Freed chuckled to himself. "If I were to try and work on it, there's a good chance I'd set it alight. I expect that doesn't align with the preservations society's rules."

"I suppose not," Lisanna laughed. "I should get back to the desk and leave you alone. Breakfast is served from six until twelve, you get it included in the price of the room. And if your bags come I'll bring them up for you, or have my brother do it since he's working the desk tomorrow If there's anything else you need, just call reception," She smiled. "And we hope you enjoy your stay."

Freed watched her leave, before standing alone in the room and letting himself decompress for the first time since he arrived.

Peculiarly, he found his gaze land on the painting.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 13

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger!

Jon walks Martin home.

As expected, it's still cold outside.

By 11:30, Martin had locked up the lighthouse and walked out into the night with the others. It was a nice walk to start. Tim was set on distracting them both by having Martin guess between real and made-up work stories, with a few of them even involving the supernatural. It was almost enough to settle the anxiety bubbling in Martin’s stomach, but every time his eye caught on Jon the feeling would surge and keep him from being more pleasantly occupied.

Eventually, the group split for their separate destinations and said their goodnights. Tim warned Jon to get Martin home safe like a parody of a television father, and all too quickly Martin and Jon were the only ones left on the road home.

Whatever confidence or wishful thinking had possessed him to let Jon walk him home, it had abandoned Martin entirely.

Several blocks went by without conversation. Martin refused to look at anything but the ground, because how else would he avoid a fall? That was the whole point, right? Forcing his eyes down and away from anything else was obviously the safest way forward. So was keeping his mouth closed, can’t go wasting his breath, and if he just kept quiet for long enough-

Jon cleared his throat “So. You came up to get some air?”

Martin squeezed his eyes closed. “Yeah, I did.”

“Is there any particular reason or-”

“Okay, I know what you’re getting at so, yes, I- what we talked about, I did it.” Martin opened his eyes and focused on the road. “It’s done.”

“Oh,” Jon breathed out, as if he’d been holding it in. “Good. You, um, you did the right thing.”

With Jon apparently satisfied, or at least with nothing else to say, a more companionable silence stretched between them. Well, that was nothing, he thought. He’d worked himself up for what ended up being a simple transaction. Of course Jon wouldn’t need to dig into the emotional details of the event when his interests lay elsewhere.

Martin’s relief was short-lived as his foot snagged on a pothole. He only just managed to stop himself from plummeting face-first into the pavement. “Shit! That was-”

“Are you okay?” Jon asked, grabbing Martin’s elbow. “Was it the-”

“N-No, no, I’m fine! There was a hole in the street.” His heart pounded from the adrenaline. He shook his head, trying not to think too hard about Jon’s hand tugging him upright. “Just zoned out and didn’t see it.”

Jon frowned, releasing his grip. “You’ll want to ice your head when you get home. Probably should have before we left.” The last part he muttered to himself like a curse.

“My head is fine. No fuzziness or anything, I swear.”

“Hmph.” Jon eyeballed the mark on Martin’s forehead, unconvinced.

They resumed their walk, and Jon began to sweep his eyes across the street ahead of them. The turn of his profile was stern, almost comically absorbed by this new preventative measure. His fingers laced and unlaced themselves with a strange energy, most likely to keep warm.

The corner of Martin’s mouth twitched upward. The man so ridiculously, unintentionally endearing. It really was unfair of him.

Finally, Martin’s heart returned to its normal speed. He laughed, the day’s events settling into his bones. “I hope this was the last of the excitement for today.”

Jon smirked. “Sure you wouldn't like to run a marathon tonight? Maybe hunt down a local vampire.”

“No, I’m completely exhausted,” Martin replied. He wasn’t ready to do anything until he got a good night’s rest.

Jon’s face fell slightly. “I was- Right, no, I’m sure it’s been a lot.” He scratched at his neck.

Ah. Martin had missed something, hadn’t he? Whatever it was, there was no figuring it out now. In front of them was the end of the road and the start of the cliff side descent.

“I think I’m feeling all right. It’s been long enough,” Martin said. “You should head back to your hotel. It would be-”

“A long way back up, yes. I recall from this morning.” Jon glanced into the trees with disdain. “But that would go against the whole point of me being here. If anything is going to give you trouble, it’s a twisting downward slope.”

Martin opened his mouth to argue, then reconsidered. With Jon’s stubborn posture, all folded arms and rigid shoulders, arguing would just mean forcing an ill-equipped man to stand outside longer.

Seeing he’d won, Jon nodded. “Let’s continue on, then.”

Down they went, the gentle curve leading to the main path. Jon held his phone out in front of him to light the way. Every once in a while, he would point out some obstruction and give warning. This, paired with Jon only seeing the way once in the light of day, made for an incredibly slow process. Eventually Martin had to beg him to just please keep walking.

However, without Jon’s interruptions there were only the sounds of crunching footsteps and whistling wind, hollow whispers through the trees that Martin’s ears couldn’t parse. The ground sloped down into the waiting dark like a tongue dipping into the throat of a beast. Martin was no longer moored by the view around his feet as it swerved and sloped ahead of him. Instead he clung to the visual of Jon’s outline, glowing in the phone light, steady and consistent.

Halfway down Jon paused again, but before Martin could urge him forward, he turned around and asked, “Is everything all right?”

Martin braced himself for whatever this was. “...Yes?”

“Are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to discuss?” With the phone illuminating their feet, Jon’s face hidden save for the flash of his eyes and outline of his jaw, but his voice gave away his frustration. “When you showed up earlier, I thought maybe-”

“Like I said, I just-”

Jon talked on, running his fingers through his hair. “Because if something happened that you’re confused or worried about I can try to-”

“Jon?”

“-help, given I was the one who told you to do it in the first place. If there’s-”

“Jon.”

Jon clamped his mouth shut, waiting.

Martin dragged a hand down his face. “It’s… It was a lot for her. She needed some space, that’s all.”

With some hesitation, Jon asked, “But she… did she know about it?”

“Yeah.” Martin stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at a rock. “Yeah, she knew.”

“Oh.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Jon stared at his feet. It was almost imperceptible, but a shiver passed through his shoulders. “That wasn’t the scenario I’d expected. I’m sure it was an intense moment for both of you. If I’ve... pried too much, I apologize.”

“It’s… it’s okay.” Martin exhaled. “If you hadn’t pried, she wouldn’t have it now. That’s worth something, I think, but at this point, it’s just… it’s family stuff.”

“Right. I understand.” Jon rubbed his forearm. “If there’s anything you’d like to know or talk about, though...”

“You’ll be the first and probably only person I’ll ask.” With nothing left to add, Martin began to walk ahead. Jon seemed to get the message and was quick to put himself back in front, dutifully shining his light ahead onto the dirt. “Jon?”

“Yes?” Jon didn’t turn or stop walking, keeping to his task with renewed determination. Stupidly endearing.

Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again. He smiled to himself. “You really should get a thicker coat.”

His reward was slumped shoulders and crotchety grumbling about Tim’s bad influence.

--

They reached the treeline without any problems. Perhaps low light had helped, or having Jon’s back to fixate on. Whatever the case may have been, Martin was blessedly close to being off his feet and in his own bed without further incident.

Jon, however, would have a long, lonely walk back to his hotel. Despite the reassurance that it had all been no trouble, Jon’s hunched posture betrayed how poorly he was doing in the night air. At least his head was covered.

Tapping his foot, Martin stared at his home. There was… a lot, there. On any other night his mother would be fast asleep. There was no light on in her bedroom window, but that didn’t necessarily mean things were the same as usual.

From Martin’s left, Jon coughed. “I should get going. If anything happens, be sure to text the details to Tim so we’ll all be aware.”

“Sure. Thanks for walking me down. I think it helped,” Martin said, his mind already halfway up the stairs.

Jon nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.” There was an extended, empty moment before Jon moved to leave.

At the sound of Jon’s steps, Martin shook himself to the present. “Wait a minute. You should at least warm up inside.”

With a scowl, Jon said, “Listen, while I understand you’re part of this inane inside joke-”

“No! No, it’s not like that. You’re just… you’re shivering, as we speak.” As he spoke, Martin saw Jon stiffen. “As long as we’re quiet, it should be fine. Frostbite isn’t a joke.”

Jon glared at the rocky beach, where the fog had already settled in thick. “...Fine.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. It had been much less of a fight than he had expected. A small grin spread across his face. “Great! Let me just make sure everything is okay first.”

He led Jon to the front door, then stepped inside. Keeping his steps light, Martin inched over to his mother’s slightly open door, just as he had left it. Through the crack he could see the rising and falling outline of his sleeping mother still tucked into bed. Martin carefully closed the door and exhaled.

Like nothing had happened, he thought, ignoring the jelly sensation in his knees. What would he have done if she had been awake? What would she have said about him leaving the house so late? Would she have said anything?

There were other things to think about. He walked back to the door and let Jon inside, leading him to the kitchen. Neither of them spoke, but the tension seemed to seep out of Jon’s shoulders as warmth returned to them.

Jon kept his hands tucked under his arms, eyeing one of the kitchen chairs. He kept his voice to a low whisper. “Thank you for inviting me inside. I won’t need to stay long.”

A pity. Martin bit his tongue at the thought. “You’re welcome. Feel free to sit down.” With some reluctance, Jon took the offer and sank into one of the wooden chairs. In spite of himself, he relaxed just a little.

With that out of the way, Martin glanced at the doorway and asked, “Actually, could you wait here a moment?”

Before he got an answer, he slipped back into the hall, toeing off his shoes before making the climb up the wooden stairs. Once he’d crept into his room, he faced his skinny chest of drawers with a sudden determination. There had to be something.

The first articles of clothing were definitely wrong, both too big and not the right material. Everything would be too big, really, but he could at least figure out the best options for blocking out the cold.

After some sifting, Martin fished out an old thing of stretchy fleece that had managed to retain its size better than some of his other pullovers. Still very Martin-sized, but that meant it would fit over other clothing just fine. On top of that, it was a dark grey material, nothing so bright as some of his other windbreakers. He could at least spare Jon from his own very retro fashion choices.

When he returned, Jon was standing near the kitchen window and staring out into the night. Without looking away from it, he said quietly, “The fog is much thicker down here. Is it always like this?”

“Not always, but it’s pretty normal? Mum likes it.” Martin fidgeted with the pullover in his hands. With every passing second, he was losing time to throw it out of sight and forget the idea ever came to mind. “Makes it sort of eerie, sometimes, like it’s just the house.”

“Hm. My phone light should still be fine, I suppose.” Jon pivoted away from the window, and his eyes landed on the thing in Martin’s hands.

Just get it over with, his mind desperately hissed. “I found this upstairs and figured it might be helpful. It’s, um, it’s a bit big, but it should slip over what you’re wearing just fine.”

Instead of responding, Jon stared at the pullover, sparing a single glance for Martin’s face before returning to the object in question.

“You don’t have to use it, obviously,” Martin said, squeezing the fabric. “I just thought, since you came down here because of me, it was the least I could do. But, yeah, it’s probably too much? I’ll-”

“Okay.”

Jon seemed as surprised by this was Martin, whose feet were now rooted to the spot on the kitchen floor.

“Um. Good? Good.” Martin held the pullover out in front of himself, his elbows locking him into a position that begged Jon to just take the damn thing.

Jon walked over and pulled it to himself. With almost robotic motions, he slid the garment over his jacket, pushing up the sleeves so they weren’t flopping over his hands. Gosh, it absolutely swamped him. It reached down to his mid-thigh in a way that might’ve been considered fashionable when worn with something other than work trousers and scuffed formal shoes. If Martin hadn’t been stricken with a lead tongue he would’ve let out an inappropriate giggle.

“Well. It’s not as if Tim is going to see me,” Jon sighed. “Thank you. Now I really should get going.”

Though attempting to put on a veneer of calm formality, Jon was clearly distracted by some thought as they walked to the front door. He couldn’t seem to stop pulling at his sleeves. Martin should’ve been thankful for the silence considering the awkwardness of the whole exchange. If Jon never brought it up again, it would be a boon to them both.

Once Jon had exited the house, Martin held the door halfway open. “Careful on the way up. Maybe have Tim text me when you get there?” Or Jon could just text him, if they exchanged numbers. Martin stomped that thought out of existence. No, there was no way he’d be able to ask for that when he’d just barely survived the pullover situation.

Before replying, a weird look crossed Jon’s face. Something between irritation and intense concentration. “Yes, I’ll let him know to do so. Good night, Martin.” And he was off, shoving his hands into his new pockets.

Martin shut the door. That was that, he thought. Jon wouldn’t freeze to death, and the day was finally over. As if a string above him was snipped, Martin slid against the front entryway and sat on the floor. What a familiar location. Who needed chairs?

It was a few minutes before he could will himself up and forward, his legs barely cooperating. As he passed his mother’s door, the urge to check inside, to see if she still clutched the skin to her chest or if she’d thrown it aside for reasons beyond him, it itched in his hand and begged him to turn the knob. The door stayed shut, and with the last of his energy he reached the top of the stairs and stumbled into his room.

His bed was before him. Without changing, he flopped forward onto the mattress, ready for sleep to take him, but it came so achingly slow he was still awake to see the flash of a notification on his phone.

Tim: boss said to tell you he made it back

Tim: at this rate youll have him wearing long johns by friday

Ah. He pressed his face into his pillow. Tim had caught Jon in the pullover after all.

At least he’d kept it on. With that thought, Martin’s mind finally showed mercy, and he slept.

--

No dreams made for a quick jump to morning, and Martin was unfortunately awake.

Checking his phone, he found that his barely awake self from the night before had responded to Tim’s text.

Martin: just in time for you all to run from the cold weather

Tim: i wouldnt say its much warmer in the city

Tim: and hey were still here

Tim: so i hope youve got some oversized fuzzy socks to complete the set for our brave leader

With a snort, Martin pushed himself upright. It hadn’t been enough sleep, not for the day he’d had, but there was no helping it. He got ready and began collecting his things together, including his work contract and the sketchbook buried in his bedside drawer.

If nothing else worked out, he would make sure this thing was out of his hands with Peter none the wiser.