#just imagine a guy who never blinks and his eyes fucking glow pure white. staring at you and shit

[thebleedingeffect]

fierce deity is the only one I know so 💢💤🕷

YEAAHHHHHH YEAHHHHH FIERCE DEITY MY BELOVED!! (ignore how this took me a whole day to respond cause I got into playing minecraft oops)

💢 ANGER - what are some habits they have that will take some getting used to?

okay I'm just gonna say it, fierce deity gives me the vibes of being SO bad at both divine and mortal social cues, my man's has just stared at all the Link's while they're sleeping. He's done that several times, he won't stop and he doesn't blink at all so I hope you're okay with a literal god staring down at you unblinkingly in your sleep!

Another thing is that... he's kinda overprotective, but isn't extremely obvious about it, if anything he's so quiet about it that it takes awhile for anyone to notice. One of the worst things when anyone does realize? He doesn't uhhhhhhh stop, he can lessen the overprotective tendencies or be sneakier about it, sure, but he just will not stop. The issue is that he's so freakishly strong that most other people just come off as being painfully delicate! He can shrug off fights with literal gods and people just? Fall over after one little stab? What the hell?

Another thing is that the fierce deity doesn't know customs, or social norms, and doesn't really care about sounding nice if someone is annoying him or just made him mad. He doesn't have time for this shit, leave him alone or you're being tossed off a cliff.

Also I gotta emphasize the overprotective part again! ^-^ man's will straight up be the equivalent of the most intimidating guard dog alive but won't say a word, he'll just fucking stare at you. Unless you do something against someone he cares about, then your entire hand is suddenly gone !

💤 SLEEPING - do they fall asleep easily? what helps them sleep?

So here's the thing, as in the name- the fierce deity is a god and doesn't really... sleep, the next best thing he can do instead of sleep is meditate or sorta be in a relaxed doze. But the fierce deity doesn't resent this, not at all, if anything he's very happy that he has no need for sleep. This is because sleeping is actually the closest thing he could ever relate to when it came to being sealed in the mask. Hundreds of years passing by with every blink, reality seeming closer to the murky memories of Demise and Hylia that haunt him for centuries and the anger towards the golden goddesses.

When he was in the mask it was near impossible to understand a thing, his consciousness was closer to sand falling inbetween his fingers despite how desperately he wanted to perceive the world around him. Sleeping inside the mask meant dissociation, endless nightmares, and the complete inability to have any sort of free will. For this reason the fierce deity is secretly relieved that he doesn't have to sleep, it brings back for to many bad memories whenever he tries.

Instead of sleeping he typically just watches over the group and let's them all sleep instead, it brings him far more peace to see them all together, alive and safe.

🕷️ SPIDER - what is their biggest fear? do they have any irrational / mundane fears?

Ooohhhhhh he has a couple big fears, but here's a few: loss of free will, inability to protect, failure, and a loss of control. Most of these stem back to the golden goddesses and Hylia, both of which he has extremely complicated relationships towards and has no wish to forgive them for any of it. Another fear of his is allowing for his incarnations (the link's basically) to fall under the goddesses/Demise's control again as he blames himself for all the shit they've gone through up to that point.

Basically he fears failing the ones he cares about most and them being hurt from his own weak-will/inability to protect and being trapped in the mask again <3 the mask is one of his BIGGEST fears and he will outright fight the goddesses in hand to hand combat to not go back in it <- there's a good chance he would win ANYWAY

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

ʜᴇʀ ʟᴏʏᴀʟ ᴅᴏɢ | ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ!! ᴀᴜ ; ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ!ᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ x ʏᴀᴋᴜᴢᴀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ⚠️ɴꜱꜰᴡ [19+]⚠️

So I may or may not be in a major mood. I haven’t seen a lot of Femdom stuff, so I really wanted to write something for it with the boy I simp the hardest for-- I love Akaashi to bits and pieces so I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did with writing it!

TW: Torture, mutilation, Femdom ; BDSM ; Sadism ; Masochism ; Bondage ; Facesitting ; Pegging ; Strap-on ; Gags ; Pet Play ; Collars ; Leashes ; Breathplay ; Whips ; Marking ; Overstim

》》Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Kill the traitor.”

The command was simple. Fear swam through the air as the scent of sweat and tears merged into a distasteful smell. The figures that all sat kneeled in perfect alignment along the walls watched as one of what they considered their own, was brutally tortured before their eyes. Their blood and guts splattered the once clean tatami mats as garbled pleas for mercy escaped their lips. 

Though this was quickly silenced as piercing gunmetal blue eyes stared down at the parasite that dared to harm the head of the clan. It didn’t take the guard dog of the Fukurodani clan long before easily slicing the traitorous scum’s head off. Glowing (e/c) orbs watched with boredom as the head rolled before her favorite dog returned to her side. 

A simple suit adorned her body as she sat on her throne. 

“I expect this to never happen again. Are we clear?”

Hurried sounds of agreement flourished throughout the once unsettling silent room before she held her hand up once more to silence the room. 

“You all are dismissed. I expect to not be disturbed for the rest of the evening.” 

In an instant the room cleared leaving only (L/n) (y/n) and her loyal guard dog Akaashi Keiji.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned comfortably into her chair as she felt his chin gently prop itself on her thigh. Glimmering gunmetal eyes focused solely on her as she lazily brought a hand up to run her fingers through his black locks. 

“Hm...perhaps I should reward my loyal dog for bringing the traitor forth...”

Immediately the grip around her leg became prominent as she finally brought her gaze over to the expectant male’s as he preened into her touch. A light chuckle escaped her lips as she continued to pet him before bringing that hand down to the base of his throat. Eagerly, Akaashi tilted his head up as his unwavering gaze met her own. 

“What a good puppy...very well. Let’s play a game.”

Akaashi perked at the mention of the game, excitement already simmering in his abdomen as thoughts of their last game bubbled to the surface. Though just as he was about to ask those (e/c) orbs pierced deeply into his soul as she got up.

“Well? Prepare yourself. If you do well, perhaps I’ll give my little pervert of a dog a chance to eat his master’s panties.”

Another stroke of heat fanned the flames as he fumbled quickly, tugging at his clothes as he searched desperately for her favorite collar. The one that she always used to call him her pretty boy in. (y/n) couldn’t help but watch with amusement as the terrifying assassin of Fukurodani stumbled with the grace of a newborn pup as he hurried to please his master. 

The loyalty he held was truly too cute.

As he took his time searching for his favorite collar she went ahead to collect the toys she’d use this time. Beautifully spun deep crimson ropes were thrown behind her as she went through her various types of whips before settling for a simple flogger and holed paddle set. Humming in appreciation, she continued her search before finally finding the beloved strap on. After all, it had been quite some time since she’s gotten to see her favorite pup beg for cock. 

As she turned to reorganize her belongings she couldn’t help but coo at her good boy. Seated naked-- save for the leather black collar around his throat-- and eagerly on his knees in the center of the bloodstained room was Akaashi. 

“What an eager pup. Bring me your leash.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Akaashi leaned forward as he took the leash into his mouth before crawling his way towards her. As he moved, she couldn’t help but admire the curve and ripple of muscle as his scar littered body was brought before her as he gently dropped the leash before her feet.

Letting out a pleased sigh, she leaned down, briefly removing her heels and slacks as she watched with amused eyes at the absolutely hungry look Akaashi was giving her. Those piercing orbs never leaving her hands as she slowly pulled off her panties. 

“You want? You beg.” 

“Please please please pleaseplease stuff me full master---hmmp!”

Easily, a muffled moan escaped his full mouth as he chewed on the panties that were crammed into his mouth. Yet before he could even attempt to mutter his thanks his face was pressed deeply into the ground as he almost choked on the fabric. His body squirmed as he felt heat ripple against his leaking cock as he could smell-- practically taste her against his lips as she sat on his head. The familiar weaving of rope brought another sense of pleasure into him as he let out another unabashed muffled moan as his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of helplessness.

The only feeling he ever felt with his beloved master. 

Lost in his imagination, (y/n) finished up her handy work of weaving beautiful yet constricting patterns around the assassin’s body before snickering as she pulled herself up. A wonderfully set frogtie graced her sights as she pet him.

“Looks like you’re enjoying those so much...perhaps I’ll just stuff you full and make you my personal laundry machine.” 

A sound of confusion came from the male as he blearily brought his gaze back up to her before sputtering as a second pair of panties were pushed into his mouth before a couple of strips of medical tape was plastered over his lips.

“Perhaps if you do a good job washing them you’ll be upgraded to a pup who can eat a decent meal.” 

Another unabashed muffled moan came out of the male’s mouth as he eagerly chewed and toyed with the newly placed gag. His jaw eagerly working away at attempting to remove the tape and fabric now crammed into his mouth. 

Distracted by this, Akaashi failed to noticed his master walking around him before a sharp yet pleasure filled strike snapped him out of his thoughts as bleary and tear filled eyes snapped to attention towards his master.

“Fmmmpf....himmpf mmpf mmprf~.”

Though incomprehensible, (y/n) knew all too well what that look was telling her. Without a moment’s hesitation she sent a flurry of strikes against the bound assassin’s ass as muffled cries filled the room. Stars filled his vision as the precum that stained his chest came close to becoming a white mess of hot pleasure. Yet before he even reached that much needed climax she stopped.

Sobbing into the fabric, he pleaded-- rather begged for his release as he crawled towards her, his cheeks rubbing against her shin in an attempt to ease her into giving him another reward, yet before he could even blink he was thrown onto his back, his weeping cock laying flat against his stomach as she pressed the heel of her foot into his hardening cock.

“What a mischievous pup...did you really think that I’d let you off this easy little one?”

Tears blurred his vision as pure white pleasure filled his vision as he eagerly grinded himself against the pain she brought him as she continued to squash his weeping cock. 

“What a little slut. You enjoy the pain I give you? do you pup?”

Adding more pressure caused another high pitched muffled wail to tear through his throat as he keened at her with a whimper. Leaning forward, she hooked a finger through the ring where the leash would’ve attached, and with a strong tug she brought him towards her as he grunted. Watery blue eyes and beautiful long lashes decorated his features as nothing but pain and pleasure filled his vision. The beautiful shade of red that stained his cheeks was porn worthy as he tried his best to get closer to his beloved master. 

“Since you seem to be enjoying my panties so much...how about I let you drown in my jucies, hm?”

“Hmmpf? Hmmppf!”

Before Akaashi could even question it he was thrown back onto his back. A breath knocked out of him as he inhaled through his nose deeply before his senses were taken over with his master’s lovely pussy. Immediately his senses were assulted by her scent as he eagerly pressed his face into her. His tongue desperately pushing against his confined prison for a fresher taste of his master. 

His pupils already were beginning to roll up into his head as he struggled to breath with her pussy pressed against his face. Desperate muffled moans filled the room as she grinded against the assassin’s face. Her juices smearing his face as he bucked his hips struggling to get air while wanting to so desperately eat his master out. 

As his vision began to blacken he felt another rough spurt bubbled against his abdomen as his cock eagerly twitched with a load ready to explode. Yet before he could feel his body begin it’s descent into a struggling pleasure filled orgasm his master got up. A breath of fresh air hitting him as he coughed and sputtered as tears streamed down his face. Another orgasm gone from that as he began to blabber muffled nonsense behind his gag as he squirmed on the floor. 

Though before he could begin howling the tape was removed and the panties were fished out of his mouth as his tongue eagerly lapped at the remnants of her juices around his lips as his drool began to dribble down his chin. 

“If you do a good job bringing me pleasure...I’ll give you that cock you’ve been so desperate for all week Keiji.”

Hearing his name fall from her lips had him eagerly bucking his hips up into nothing as he stared at her with lust and want. His tongue immediately licking his lips as she settled herself on his chest.

“How does that sound ~ Hm?”

“Fuck...please, please, please~ I’ll give you all the pleasure you deserve master, just fuck me with your fat cock after..please~”

Without a moment’s hesitation she was on him again, pussy pressed firmly against his face as he eagerly began lapping at her sensitive walls. Akaashi strained against the ropes, his hands itching to just dig into the hips of his master to bring her dripping pussy closer to his eager tongue. 

Messy and erotic slurps filled the room as he continued to eagerly please her. His tongue reaching deep into her as his eyes began to roll up into his head again as the feeling of lightheadedness filled his brain again. The thrill and lack of oxygen he was receiving brought another pang of heat into his stomach as his cock eagerly twitched, hoping to finally be able to cum. 

The icing on the cake that brought him over the edge though was the grunts and lewd moans coming from his master. Her flushed cheeks making her ethereal and godly in his eyes as she bit her lower lip to hide her noises. That of course failed as he managed to reach her sweet spot, and in the next he felt her body come undone as he eagerly lapped up her orgasm. The sounds worthy of being in a porno as she finally moved to give the male a breath of fresh air. His face thoroughly fucked and glowing as he awaited to get fucked brainless by her. 

“Fuck...such a good dog...” 

In response he gave her an eager bark as he strained against the ropes before feeling his face flush even more as she finally brought forth the strap on. The sight of it only seemed to fan the heat in his belly even more as he watched her absolutely mesmerized as she slid herself into the device. A sadistic grin on her face as she pressed the tip against his lips, and like a good boy, Akaashi opened his lips as he eagerly took in the cock. His moans once again muffled by the girth and size of the toy that was about to enter him. 

It ended up being short lived though as she finally pulled back before flipping him onto his stomach. An unabashed moan broke through as he felt her fingers pressing against his aching hole. The precum that splattered against his chest becoming his lube as he pressed his cheek into the mat. 

Eagerness to be filled by his master increased as she began to finger his ass. Slowly spreading and stretching his hole for her as more and more moans filled the room. 

“Fuck...ah~ fuck...shit...please, pleasepleaseplease~ hurry and fill me with your cock master...fuck...”

Like a broken record, Akaashi pleaded with her as she began to toy with his hole. With three fingers in and each slowly yet tauntingly toying with his sweet spots, he swore he was going to pass out before he’d even get the dick he was craving. 

Then, finally, he was gifted with what he had been waiting for. Though he missed the absence of her fingers, the sudden girth and length of her cock finally filled him that he let out a broken and hoarse moan as he tried so hard to adjust. His cock began weeping. A bright red shade flushed his body as he felt tears dribble down his cheeks. Of course the moment of peace he had once she was in was shattered as she began to relentlessly pound into his hole. More broken moans filled the room in a hypnotic melody as he threw his head back.

The tension continued to fill him as he timed his thrusts with hers before he was suddenly flipped, his position changing as she began thrusting further deeper into him than before. 

“Ah~! F-Fuck, shit shit shit! Unngf~~ M-Master~. Fuck~!!!”

Immediately his body began to twitch and squirm in pent up pleasure before he roughly came. His seed staining his abdomen and chest as he breathed heavily before panting heavily as he let the stars in his eyes take over briefly before his eyes snapped tp her feral gaze. 

“M-Master?” 

The rocking of her hips had alerted him and immediately he could feel pleasure build up again as she began to thrust slowly, steadily increasing back into her earlier feral pace as gasps and broken moans came out of him like a broken record. His eyes rolling back into his head as he gasped and groaned.

“A-Ahhhng~! F-Fuck, t-too much~! Oh shit, oh shit~!! Fuck ahhh~ ah~ ummmmng~ M-Master~!”

Sobs came out of the assassin as another bout of pleasure hit him hard like a train. His body squirming and straining against the crimson binds that bound him to her as he reached his second orgasm in a matter of moments.

Slowly, he could feel her pull out. His mind absolutely much as his body fell slack against the mat as she began to leisurely remove his binds. The stench of lust, sex, and sweat permeated the air as she sat leisurely next to him. His head on her lap as she pet his sweaty hair. Those blue eyes slowly fluttering to sleep as he nuzzled up to her even more. A large terrifying guard dog who only broke before his master.

“What a good puppy...you’re my loyal dog, aren’t you Keiji?”

“Always f-for you master (y/n)...”

[hermits-that-craft]

Love Run, The Song You Know's Begun.

"Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none Would raise to you a hand nor thumb Not while by you I stand and hum" - The Amazing Devil, Love Run Reprise --- The afterlife. Choices. Broken Promises.

Cross posted on ao3. Link in reblog

He wakes up in a meadow, surrounded by lilies, marigolds, poppies and white carnations. He blinks slowly, looking up at the sky. It’s synthetic. Perfectly painted. The sky is a beautiful baby blue, and he can see the paint strokes in the clouds.

He isn’t angry though. He can’t find it in himself to be angry. He hardly remembers who he is.

Where he is.

He stands, running his hand through his hair. He’s wearing a long sleeved white shirt, with a red collar and arms. His pants are beige, pockets filled with rocks and faded photos. His heart yearns, but he doesn’t move, the flowers growing through his feet and anchoring him to the meadow. Blood pools at his feet, runs in front of his eyes. His skin is littered black and blue.

But he isn’t in pain.

He can’t move.

“You have a choice” The universe whispers to him, gently in the breeze. “You can go back, or you can move forward. You were ripped from that world too soon.”

It’s regret, what's on her voice. At least, thats what he thinks it is.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” He asks her. “What’s my name? Why am I bleeding?”

“You have a choice,” The universe reiterates. “You can go back, or you can move forward. I cannot tell you about your past. I will not tell you of your future. This choice is entirely yours.”

“How will I know?”

“You will feel it. You will feel the pull towards one option or another.”

“What if,” He pauses, uncertain. “What if I don’t want to choose?”

“Then you will be split between both. Half will move forward. Half will go back.” The universe seems to want to say something, as though she believes that she is leaving something out that is important.

“Can I stay here?” His voice is small, uncertain. “I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to be an adult anymore.”

A woman appears in the meadow. Her dark, shoulder length hair flows gently in the breeze, golden cloak swaying with the grass. She wears a black, sleeveless top and black cargo pants, alongside leather boots. She turns to him, and her eyes look like the stars. She isn’t Clara - the emptiness of the void does not exist here - but he knows her.

He’s seen her in the photos on someone’s walls. Heard about her in another’s tales. Felt her in a person’s embrace.

She is the universe.

She is Kristen.

She walks to him silently, tears welling in her eyes as she pulls him into a hug. It’s warm, the warmth he craved from before, but not dangerously so. He isn’t cold anymore. She holds him as he breaks. He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know what he left behind. He doesn’t know where he is or what he is. But he knows her.

“I can’t keep you here.” She whispers to him. “My boy, my son, how I wish I could. Someone awaits you on both sides. You should go to one of them.”

“But what about you?”

“I will join you when the last member of our family joins you.”

“Mum-”

“You have to decide, now.” She pulls away from him, and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Where will you go?”

“I can’t. Both?” He watches her with sad eyes. “Will I remember both?”

“When half of you decides to move forward, then you will remember what the half that moved back will remember.”

“Then both.” He says, and Kristen - the universe - smiles at him. She is kind.

“Go back to sleep. When you wake up, all will be well.”

----

Ghostinnit wakes in his dirt house, floating just off of the bed. He sits, confused. What does he remember?

“TO REVOKE THE CITIZENSHIP-” “Let’s be the bad guys, Tommy.” “I don’t give a FUCK about spirit.” “Let’s blow that motherfucker to smithereens” “Sorry doesn’t cut it. “The only universal language is violence.” “Down with the revolution boys, it was never meant to be.” “I wanna see WHITE FLAGS!” “We’re fucked, we were fucked the minute we were thrown out.” “He would drop us at the SECOND he realised we’re not in the lead anymore.” “Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?” “L’Manburg can be independent, but L’Manburg can’t be FREE.” “The most logical thing to do. For Tommy to be… Exiled. From L’Manburg.”

Oh.

So that’s what he remembers.

Ghostinnit doesn’t know who he can trust. He remembers dying, painful, slow and full of fear, but he doesn’t remember much from between doomsday and death. Perhaps he was happy? Or at least, not scared? He shouldn’t trust anyone, just in case.

Ghostinnit floats out of his house, ‘walking’ towards Eret’s castle. As much as Tommy wants to hate the king for betraying L’Manburg, Tommy remembers seeing Eret fight alongside him during doomsday. Go head to head with Dream and Techno and Philza. The admin and Tommy’s family. Eret fought to help him. So Tommy should be able to at least forgive the king, or steal from him.

He’ll make up his mind on the way there.

Ghostinnit floats, not paying much attention to his surroundings, until he stops. He’s not sure what made him stop, but he looks at the flower garden that grows around Eret’s base. Wild poppies grow on the lawn, and Tommy sits down, picking them. He doesn’t know what possess him to make the flower crown, but it doesn’t feel right until he stops.

A flower crown made of poppies.

A crown of blood.

Tommy holds the flower crown gently, taking great care not to bend it wrong. He floats into the grand castle, wandering until he hears a shout.

“He’s gone, Tubbo!” It’s Jack, his mind happily supplies. He has a few bad memories of the man, he recognises the shout, but he doesn’t have any recent memories of him, so he surely could trust Jack! “He’s gone and the server is thriving!”

“How could you be so heartless!” Tubbo screams, and Ghostinnit floats over to the doorway. Niki and Jack stand to one side, idly watching as Eret holds Tubbo back. Ghostinnit’s friend (ex-friend? They did have a falling out) is struggling against Eret’s grip, screaming and thrashing. Phil and Techno are there, both glaring at Jack and Niki. Tommy doesn’t understand it.

A casket lies on a pedestal, the L’Manburg flag draped over it. A soldier's burial, for Wilbur perhaps. Tommy knows that getting his body from the prison would be a hassall. One that those who hate him wouldn’t go through, even if those people were his father and brother. Sam and a sheep woman stand guard over it, though their eyes are clouded with pain. Quackity and Sapnap weap, Karl holding onto them protectively. Perhaps not Wilbur’s funeral then, he doesn’t remember Wilbur being close to either of the two, though he might have become close in the happy memories.

“What's wrong?” Ghostinnit asks quietly, floating into the room. The crowd looks at him, and Ghostinnit wants to curl up in the air. There are too many people looking at him, they’re angry, they’re going to kill him-

“Tommy?” The sheep woman’s voice breaks, and somewhere in his mind he digs up a name. Puffy. “Oh Void-”

“You’re Puffy, right?” His voice is small. “I don’t have any memories of you, so you must have been a good memory.”

“What?” Eret chokes out. “I thought-”

“I only have bad memories. I guess the universe wanted me to make better memories.” Ghostinnit shrugs, though he can’t quite make the panic subside. He wishes everyone would just look away-

“You look like shit.” Jack says, glaring at him.

“Well, I was beaten to death by my abuser.” Ghostinnit shoots back, though he floats back from the man. Something is off about him. He doesn’t seem quite right. “And I’m sorry for not exactly having enough time to look at myself. I wanted to come see Eret. Who’s funeral is this?”

“It’s yours.” Sam says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry-”

“You didn’t kill me.” Ghostinnit says. “You did what you had to do.”

“We’ll bring you back.” Tubbo says, his eyes full of promises he can’t keep. “I don’t care what we have to do. What deals we have to make.”

“Don’t.” Ghostinnit shakes his head. “The revive book isn’t real. I don’t want to come back. I’m only here because I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Techno asks, and Quackity glares at Ghostinnit’s older brother, who ignores Tubbo’s wails. “What are you waiting for?”

“Whoever Kristen says she’s waiting for.” Ghostinnit shrugs. “Then I’ll go back to the meadow.”

And with that, Ghostinnit turns to leave. He’ll talk to Eret after the ceremony. After his funeral. After all, he doesn’t want to watch as his father and brother’s faces fall with the memory of his mother. He doesn’t want to listen to Tubbo and Puffy’s wails. He just wants to let Eret know that he was forgiven. He places the flower crown on a table underneath a mirror, somehow having made his way into one of Eret’s bathrooms.

He sees his reflection in the mirror, and stares at it in shock. The black eye that he was given as he was beaten to death is no more, instead replaced with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. In fact, all of his bruises are the small, blue flowers. The blood that fell from the side of his mouth and his nose is gone, replaced by a poppy. He wears a red sweater, not unlike Ghostbur’s yellow one, or Glatt’s blue one, and his skin is grey.

His eyes are blue though, not whited out like he imagined. Pure blue, no glowing white or void like black. A bright, sky blue.

He smiles, and poppy petals fall from his lips.

---

Tommy hops off the train that left the meadow, a bag over his back. He’s wearing his normal clothes, and the injuries he once sustained are gone. He feels solid, but also not solid. Scared, but not. He remembers everything, and somehow nothing.

He doesn’t know which stop to hop off at, so he doesn’t. He watches as others hop off at different stops, ghosts going to worlds. Perhaps to be reborn, perhaps to meet the afterlife. Maybe even to become a member of someone’s chat.

The train stops, and he’s the only one on his carriage. The end of the line.

Tommy gets off, worry in his gut. What if he doesn’t see Wilbur here? What if Wilbur hopped off at another stop. What if Wilbur doesn’t want to see him?

What if he does see Wilbur?

Tommy looks around the station, hugging himself as he tries to find a familiar face. Maybe Schlatt will be there, maybe not. He’d take anyone , at this point.

He’s the only person who hops off at this station.

“Tommy?” It’s Wilbur’s voice that pulls him out of his frantic searching. “You’re not supposed to be here, the void wasn’t preparing for you. Why are you here?”

Tommy turns, and sees his brother. Still in his Pogtopia coat, but cleaner. Warmer. Tears pool in Tommy’s eyes, and he runs to his brother, getting pulled into a hug. He’s with Wilbur again. He’s nearly home .

“Who hurt you, Toms?” Wilbur sounds choked up, upset. “Why are you here?”

“Dream.” Tommy says quietly. “He beat me to death.”

“I’ll kill him.” Wilbur swears, and Tommy laughs wetly.

“Don’t. I promised that I’d see you soon.” Tommy pulls out of Wilbur’s hug, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go home, I’m tired of being an adult. Let’s be a family again.”

“I’m not supposed to see you for another fifty years.” Wilbur accepts the hand Tommy offers him, smiling sorrowfully. “But I’m glad you hopped off the train here.”

“I wouldn’t have hopped off anywhere else. Too much pull to here.”

They both walk out of the station, hand in hand. Tommy sees the outline of Schlatt and Mexican Dream in the distance, and he knows that his family will come through, sooner or later. He’ll see them around, but for now he’ll spend time with his older brother and his friends.

He has an eternity to spend with everyone else, when they arrive.

[nekokoaa]

Soft (Part 2 to Stare) - Bakugo x Reader

Soft

Character: Bakugo Katsuki

Word Count: 8K

This took me a while to write and I don’t know why lol this was for celebrating reaching 1700 followers but now we’re at 2500 FOLLOWERS (!!!), so I present to you guys part two to Stare. Stare is one of my proudest works and also is my most popular. I’m not expecting Soft to live up to the same popularity as Stare but I had a lot of fun writing this and that’s all that matters! XD

For Soft, this is Bakugo’s first date, first crush and I really wanted to show the inner turmoil within him. It’s not as simple for him to accept that he has a crush (he can’t even fully believe that you like him lol), he finds it distracting and unnecessary, but he can’t help how he feels. It’s going to feel like he’s going back and forth. One minute he likes you, the next he’s distant and it’s all necessary for him to grow. This is just a little incite of what I was thinking as I was writing this.

Thank you guys so much for this! I love all of you guys!!!

Please read Stare first before reading this!! >>>>>>Stare<<<<<<

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You, with the voice of an angel, the beauty of the stars, and a smile like the sun. It was as if you were Aphrodite herself. It left him obsessed and wanting more.

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Bakugo woke up that morning with the sun in his face and his mother’s deafening voice piercing the walls of his room. She was screaming something about breakfast but as usual, everything was muffled when his mind was full of you.

He thought of the events of yesterday as if it were a dream. Your forever bright smile that actually shined on him, your cheeks a soft red hue when you asked him out, and your dainty wrist in his large hand felt as soft as the cushions on his bed that propped his head up as he stared at his white ceiling above his head. Rays of light were piercing through the thin curtains of his window. Like freckles, spots of light glowed upon his cheeks and if it wasn’t for his date today, he would’ve remained in bed and soaked up all the warmth the sun had to offer. Sometimes he wondered if this was how you would feel if you were next to him.

With the sun upon his skin, he could almost imagine you beside him, glowing in presence and sparkling like a soaring comet. You tore through the darkest blankets of his skies, igniting it with a warmth he never thought he would ever feel before. And then you would stroke his arm, sending a wave of excitement to his nerves, your mouth would slowly widen into a smile and it was like he was watching the sun peek from the horizon to welcome a new day. It would look as if you were laughing for no apparent reason and your legs would begin to tangle with his just as Bakugo’s stomach would flip. You would look glorious in the light like you were in your natural element, the way how your skin shimmered with the sun left Bakugo speechless. All he wanted to do was just trap you within his arms and never let you go.

“Katsuki!” And in an instant, you were gone from his mind. You disappeared from his side and what was left was sparkles parading upon his bed as a figment of his imagination. His mother’s voice sounded once again, threatening to come up to his room and pull him out of bed. Bakugo could tell his mother was standing on the foot of the staircase because of how loud she sounded, she probably had with one slipper on the first step and a spatula in her hand, waving frantically in the air. Her eyes were probably sharp through blond furrowed brows, so pointy that anyone who meet her gaze would instantly combust into cuts.

“Alright! Alright!” Bakugo yelled back before sucking his teeth. He had to get up anyway. If he remembered correctly, he was picking you up at twelve. So, he had about two hours to get ready.

…

Before his mother could physically drag him to the table for breakfast, Bakugo was able to finish his morning duties and also get dressed for his date. When he stepped into his dining room, a neatly traditional Japanese breakfast was upon it. And he was glad to see one of his favorites, Tamagoyaki, as a part of the dishes. He liked them spicy, as strange as that was. But not only did he step into today’s breakfast, but also the bewildered stares of his parents. Their widened eyes followed their son until he entered the kitchen and returned on him when he emerged with a carton of orange juice. They weren’t particularly looking at his face but rather his clothes that seemed all too new and never before worn. Bakugo had dug into the deepest part of his closet for them. Black and orange were Bakugo’s favorite colors and his clothes consisted of them although it was mostly black. He was sporting a black shirt with a graphic symbol of a skull spewing fire out of its eyes and mouth. Straight cut black pants that hugged his legs and hips, giving the illusion that his legs were long, and his bomber jacket was black with orange stripes running down his shoulders and arms.

Clearly, Bakugo’s parents never seen their son dress so well on a Saturday morning even if he was going to hang out with Kirishima.

“A-Are you going out today, Katsuki?” His father, Masaru, was the first to ask when Bakugo sat at the table. He grabbed his chopsticks, contemplating on whether to answer his father’s question truthfully or not. He hadn’t mention to his parents about his date today or about you. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let them know.

“Yeah I am,” he grumbled, sticking a piece of tamagoyaki in his mouth.

“With Kirishima?” His mother, Mitsuki, decided to dig more information out of her son. She placed a cup of coffee down for her husband before sitting and he quietly thanked her and hummed softly when he took a sip. Bakugo lifted his eyes from his plate to look at his mother who stared at him and eagerly waited for his answer.

“Nah,” he hoped they would leave it at that, but he knew his mother liked to pry herself in his business.

“Oh, then who?” She had a small smile on her face when she ate a piece of tamagoyaki. She also liked them spicy. Masaru avoided them.

Bakugo groaned and he let out a heavy sigh that seemed to knock Mitsuki’s smile right out of her face. Before she had a chance to open her mouth and complain about his attitude, Bakugo answered quickly.

“It’s ____. I’m going out with ____.”

His parents seemed to freeze as soon as your name left their son’s lips. They looked to one another and then back at him, their eyes as wide as it could be with their mouths slightly apart. Mitsuki’s surprised expression soon turned into one of anger and she abruptly stood up, reached over the table and pulled his cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a date today!? Look how dirty your face is! Do you want her to run away?!”

“W-What is wrong with you, ya old hag!?”

“Don’t speak to me that way!”

“G-Guys…” stammered Masaru, but the two carried on with their shouting match.

“Did you take a shower?! Brush your teeth?!”

“Course, I did!”

…

“Hey brat,” Bakugo finished tying his laces to his sneakers when Mitsuki approached him at the front door. She was calmer than just a few moments ago. In fact, she looked quite serious. Bakugo didn’t really think much of it. He stood up from the ground and buried his hands within his pockets, his body, hunched, and slightly facing away from her because he expected to hear a lecture from her mouth. But instead, she thrusted two small pieces of paper, tickets, into his chest that he caught before they fell to the floor.

“Here, if she likes you even more after today then take her to this,” Bakugo glanced at the tickets, and he made a small grunt before he stuffed them in his pockets.

“Sure,” he muttered and was about to leave before Mitsuki stopped him by the shoulder. She looked into his eyes that were identical to hers and a soft, yet confident smile came to her.

“Show her a good time, Katsuki,” she said, and they shared a moment of silence, looking at one another from mother to son. Bakugo nodded and he left his house and turned the corner on route to your house.

…

Every step closer to your house had the butterflies fluttering wildly within his stomach and chest. His hands became clammy while they were stuffed within his jacket’s pockets and he started to fiddle with the tickets that sat within them. He wasn’t sure what to expect from this date. Hell, he was even shocked that you agreed to it. All this time he thought that you were afraid of him, but your distance really meant that you shared the same feelings as him. Bakugo couldn’t believe it.

Even as he approached your doorstep with potential words and different scenarios flooding his mind, he still felt as if he were in a dream, lightheaded, while walking through a set of clouds. Is this really how it felt when you like someone? Like the urge to see them again as soon as you seperate seized every sensible piece of your rationality? Or the image of your beloved would play within your mind like a song upon repeat, the melody of their laugh would crescendo into the most beautiful of smiles.

Bakugo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. With that same hand, he rang your doorbell, fidgeting slightly as he waited for someone, hopefully you, to come to the door. It was about a few seconds until finally the door opened and you peeked your head from behind it.

“H-Hi, Bakugo,” you greeted him with a nervous smile and fully stepped out from behind the door. Bakugo blinked once he saw what you were wearing, his jaw slightly dropped as he scanned you over. He looked over you only once—no twice—fuck—a third time. Shit, you were beautiful. “You’re here.”

He froze in place at the sight of you. Your clothes were simple, yet it accentuated your shape. How could you look so gorgeous with a pair of jean shorts and a white buttoned top with lace as its short sleeves. You were a pure angel, a complete contrast to his devilish appearance and here he was, already tainting you by being in your presence. Were you wearing make up? It was light. Bakugo could tell your blemishes had vanished and your lips were a nude to your skin tone. He was fine with or without, it made no difference to your beauty to him.

“Hey,” was all he managed to say in his stupor. Your smile widened, and you called something out within your house before you locked your door.

…

The walk to the arcade was a silent one. Bakugo didn’t have the courage to talk. He wasn’t the most talkative person, he only spoke when it was important and when he did, it was usually at the top of his lungs. But being on this date, he had no reason to raise the volume and he also didn’t know as much about you other than the small habits you tend to do. Because of this, he came to question his reason for liking you. He questioned if it was his teenage urges acting as a dictator to his rationality. Maybe it truly was because he was attractive to your looks.

He glanced at you and he caught you staring at him. You jumped when your eyes met and looked away, a blush blossoming on your cheeks like you were caught doing something shameful. Bakugo found himself doing the same thing as he didn’t expect your eyes would be on him. ‘This is stupid!’ He shouted in his head. A simple stare had reduced him to a coward—a puddle on the side of the road for no one to step in but you. He couldn’t believe how much he was wrapped around your finger, if only you had known, you would’ve used it to your advantage if you had the courage.

Warmed cheeks and sealed lips carried on until you had reached the arcade. The arcade was bustling with teenagers and children with their parents which made sense for a Saturday. Bakugo was buying some tokens at the counter after he aggressively denied your request to pay your share. After all, what kind of a man would he be if he let you pay on the first date? So, you were standing awkwardly to the side, surveying the games while you waited for Bakugo to return. And when he did, he had golden coins in his hand, and a small smirk was on his face when he gestured towards multiple arcade machines with his free hand.

“Alright. Pick which one you want to lose in first,” Bakugo wished he could’ve recorded your face when he said that. You looked so offended that he barked out a laugh after.

“Or how about I give you the honors since you’re so confident?” You raised an eyebrow, a frown on your beautiful lips.

His smirk grew wider. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna make you cry on the first—”

“Just pick!” You pushed him ahead of you and you followed him through the crowds until he stopped in front of an arcade machine. It was on top of a small platform and in front of two screens were two suspended guns. The banner hanging above the machine was the title. Call of Duty, it read. There were already some children playing on it, the guns snuggled to their chests and fingers wrapped around the trigger. They shot at animated Zombies that threw themselves at the screen with their busted mouths bubbling with blood and mucus. The counter on the corner of the screen was skyrocketing into the thousands the more they took down.

“Ever played this?” Bakugo spoke like he was taunting you and turned to face you.

“Of course,” you simply said and folded your arms across your chest and glared at him. You were hoping he wasn’t bringing you to the ‘manliest’ game in the arcade believing you didn’t know how to play because of your gender. You wanted to destroy the confidence in his eyes.

“Ready to lose?” He teased and stepped up on the platform once the children were done. They stuck around to watch with a glimmer of excitement in their eyes. You followed after Bakugo, holding your glare, and taking his hand when he held it out to help you up. You would’ve thanked him if you weren’t too busy mentally preparing to beat his ass.

“What level?”

“Medium. I’ll give you a handicap.”

“Don’t even,” there was a scroll trigger on the gun and you quickly pressed ‘Hard difficulty’. It made him chuckle after he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the iron rails behind him. He grabbed his gun and went into a stance. His back was slightly hunched with the gun clutched to his body while he pointed it at the screen. Your eyes wandered to his arms. So toned, they were, as he was mindlessly flexing them. Your face grew hot and suddenly started to feel very bashful. You looked away, and when you did, started to notice that the game already began. The score on Bakugo’s screen was climbing and you panicked. You quickly pulled the trigger against the zombies that were coming at you. 500 points for body shots. 2000 points for headshots. You were aiming for headshots.

It was quiet between you two with only the thunderous sounds of rapid fire and the gaggled groans of fallen dead. The rest of the arcade sounds were reduced to background noise. Even the children who watched on with random shouts of excitement at the scores and making funny movements (that only seemed to possess children) were cast away in that same category. Nothing existed except you, Bakugo, and a crowd of zombies.

It was almost as if you assimilated into the game and was one with their universe. You defended the town from them like it was your destiny, like it was what you trained for and you felt the phantom pain on the side of your neck whenever a zombie would slip through and take a bite out of you. Your HP would drop but it didn’t stop you from shooting. You could feel yourself start to shake, your palms grew sweaty, and you started to hyperventilate until you caught yourself from becoming too absorbed in the virtual world. It was honestly the most exhilarating thing you had experienced.

By the time the game ended, you grinned at Bakugo with your hand on your hip and your gun holster up against your shoulder. He looked at you with eyes as wide as it could be and his mouth so open it would’ve fell upon the floor. The children’s faces mirrored his in disbelief at your score. 51,500 points for you and 18,500 points for Bakugo.

You: 1

Bakugo: 0

…

Bakugo couldn’t believe you beat him at Call of Duty. He used to play Zombies with Kirishima and the boys at home and he would always be the last person standing to finish up the round. His boys cheered for him for saving the round every time and he would feel so proud of himself for doing so. He was confident in his skills, which made him confident in beating you. But he was clearly outmatched and when he questioned your skills, you smiled and said that this was your go-to game in arcades. He set himself up for failure right from the start.

“Alright! You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he grumbled those last words. “But the next one is mine!”

“Sure, and since you lost, I’ll give you the honors to pick again,” you stressed out the word ‘lost’ and it made Bakugo grimace. You laughed, and that grimace quickly turned into his stomach doing flips. You had him on an invisible leash that you didn’t know about. His body already conditioned to react to anything he found cute or beautiful about you. It was ridiculous, he thought.

“Whatever,” Bakugo dug his hands in his pockets. He didn’t mean to make himself sound like a sore loser and he didn’t like the frown that appeared on your face after. But he was tied between the feeling of accepting defeat and accepting his feelings for you. It was scary having a crush. He could feel himself changing and doing things he wouldn’t normally do. Instead of having fun at the arcade, he could’ve been training his body or quirk. He didn’t have time to waste if he wanted to be number one hero and that meant these feelings for you had to go. All Might didn’t get to where he was by being focused on girls.

“Bakugo,” he felt a gentle touch on his arm and it pulled him away from his thoughts. He glanced at you and you were looking at him. It was the second time he seen you so worried, the last time was after karaoke and he had yet to find out what made you worried. Was it him? You were a normally happy person, like an airhead almost. You tried to look at things on the bright side even in the darkest of situations. It was similar to Deku who always annoyed Bakugo with his optimism but when it came to you, he didn’t seem to mind. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t deserve your apology. You weren’t to blame, yet he pulled his arm out of your grip and the small gasp that sounded from you pained his heart. “I found the next game,” Bakugo stated without looking at you and walked ahead. You lingered in the same spot for a moment before you quickly joined him.

…

The next game Bakugo picked was Basketball hoops which you were a little surprised about. There were two baskets and it was being separated by a tall metal gate that also caged around it to prevent the balls from flying out. Bakugo stood in front of it and pulled a miniature basketball out of the pile. He was already adding the tokens in before he turned towards you.

“Ever played this one?” He threw the basketball towards you and it nearly slipped from your hands when you caught it.

“Not exactly,” you smiled nervously.

“It’s simple. You just throw the ball into the hoop and you gain points. Person with the most points at the end wins.”

“Sounds simple.” You snorted, words melting in sarcasm as you watched Bakugo spin the ball with the tips of his fingers before trapping it within them once again. He was oddly an expert at it, but you decided not to ask about his experience. The game counted down from ten and Bakugo positioned the ball slightly over his head with his elbows tucked in. You tried to mimic Bakugo’s stance as not to reveal that you had no idea what you were doing. A short beep sounded the start of the game and Bakugo rolled his hand the ball was tucked in and it shot into the air in a perfect arch before it swished into the basket. It bumped against the gate before falling back within the pile of its brothers. And soon you continuously heard the sound of swooshing as he consecutively made the shot every time.

You panicked once again. This time with no confidence that you could catch up to Bakugo’s points. You shot the ball towards the basket, inelegantly when compared to Bakugo’s form. Your elbow was out, and you thrusted your entire arm forward rather than shooting with your wrist. The ball slammed against the gate, making it jingle as it fell straight into the pile. You didn’t have time to think about your form. You started flinging balls in the air and prayed that one of them make it. Instead, they bounced against the iron rim with knotted rope. Some were fortunate not to suffer the blow of the iron rim and just fell directly back into their pile. The less unfortunate ones bounced back in retaliation towards your head, missing you completely and left to stray the arcade floors alone.

Bakugo’s points were climbing. It was unreachable now, so you abandoned the goal of winning to ending the game with at least a point. The swift swooshes of the basket whipped through the air and it was attracting a small crowd of children and curious adults around Bakugo. It was almost inhuman how he was scoring, and he had yet to miss.

“Amazing!” You heard a girl behind you say and you were damn well sure it wasn’t towards you.

It wasn’t that you gave up, but you kept the basketball in your hands and looked to your left at Bakugo. Your eyes had fallen on his face, his eyes and lips relaxed, almost serene-like. You wouldn’t say he looked one in his element, but he was definitely comfortable with what he was doing.

The beeps that signified the end of the game sounded from the machines and Bakugo’s score was a whopping 500 points, 10 points for every basket made. Your score was a disgrace. You didn’t even count it as a score because you didn’t make any. You weren’t on the board as embarrassing as you had to admit, but basketball just wasn’t your best sport.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” You felt the need to ask, not in disbelief of his skills but in curiosity.

“I have a hoop in my room,” he replied. He didn’t want to let you know that he uses it when he needed to calm down. Usually after an argument with his mother, he would fling balls relentlessly at his hoop in frustration. His father had gifted it to him when he found out about his habit of blowing up small holes in the walls of his bedroom when he was heated. It helped significantly to control his anger and he even found himself shooting hoops whenever he was bored.

“Would you—Idon’tknow—maybe, teach me next time? Maybe?” Next time? What made you so confident that there was going to be a next time? In fact, you weren’t. You were testing out the waters, shooting hints at Bakugo to see if he was even interested in another date after today or even if he just wanted to hang out. You closed into yourself when you asked, your posture curved forward as if to hide yourself from him. You bit the bottom of your lip and couldn’t stop your cheeks from warming up. You were trying to be as bold as you could, as confident as you imagined yourself to be when you fantasize about this date last night. It was easier to dream that you were a confident, strong girl who knew what she wanted in this world and faced issues head on and didn’t get flustered by the mysterious feelings of a crush. But you knew the world in your head was a vast utopia, a world filled with desires that didn’t seem tangible in reality. Still, you urged yourself to try, because trying was a step closer to tangibility.

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

You: 1

Bakugo: 1

…

Bakugo wasn’t prepared for your question. He was still deciding whether to give in to his emotions or not and that sheepish expression on your face didn’t make it any easier. He was convinced it coerced him into responding in agreement to another date. He didn’t have the heart to deny that face or perhaps his heart didn’t want to.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets in habit, looking away when he did, his voice was so small that he nearly couldn’t hear it over the sounds of the blaring game machines in the vicinity. At first glance, anyone would believe he was upset but if they peered into his face, they would spot the flushed skin of his cheeks and nose and possibly his ears. He was hiding his feelings within, though, even if he was lying to himself, his body revealed all truths.

…

The last game would decide it all and you were ready. Because you gave Bakugo the right to pick twice, it was up to you to pick the final game. You guided Bakugo to the corner of the arcade, it was away from the valley of machines but not too far where you couldn’t hear them. The games at this corner were more traditional; darts, board games, air hockey, any game that didn’t need to be attached to a machine to work was there, including table tennis which was where you were pulling him towards. You wouldn’t say you were an expert at table tennis, but it was a sport you were decent in. Bakugo already had good hand-to-eye coordination so you knew this choice would make it a fair final game.

“Final game. You sure about this?” It was like the mellow Bakugo had retreated, and the bold and brash one came loose. The grin returned as it split across his face in a crooked slant from cheek to cheek. He looked the best when he was smirking, his eyes narrowed slightly with a glint of mischief—almost like it was melting with sin.

“Wouldn’t you want to end this with something fun?” You returned his smile with a question, but it looked more innocent than his. You were starting to notice the vast differences between you and Bakugo, not only in style but even in personality. It was odd that you two were attracted to each other. You didn’t believe in the saying, ‘opposites attract’, but you had to admit there was some truth behind it.

“Look, I just hope you’re ready to sing for me again.”

Again? “I’m surprised you haven’t learned from last time about being too cocky.”

“Only thing I learned is to not go easy on you.”

Your eyes rolled. “Oh please, do not pull that crap on me now. I won fair and square. And what do you mean ‘Again’? What made you think I was singing for you the first time?”

You had expected to hear another one of Bakugo’s boastful remarks, but you were delighted by his smile instead. It was far from a soft one and was closely associated with the last one that held mischief. It was a smile that knew the ups and downs and ins and outs of your mind without barely even knowing you. How was that possible? You didn’t know. But you did know Bakugo had a very perceptive character even if his brass personality didn’t make him seem so.

If only you also knew he was bluffing, then you wouldn’t have blushed the way you did, confirming his suspicions about how you acted during karaoke. It was nice for him to know that those stolen glances at him weren’t all for show.

…

You didn’t realize how intense table tennis was. You knew where it derived from held some tension during its matches. Watching the US Opens, French Opens, and other major tennis tournaments with your family often had you near the edge of your seat. You would see the crowds snapping their heads from right to left at the speed of the ball before erupting into cheers once the ball fell out. Your father would jump out of his seat, a fist wringing in the air, as a point was added to the score of his favorite player and the umpire would call to settle down the crowd, but the excitement erupted to where silence couldn’t be an option. But soon, the crowd knew the match wouldn’t continue unless they settled, and they hushed each other until all that sounded was the ball bouncing to and from the green synthetic surface and into the player’s hand. This memory, you recalled, was like you were reliving it except you and Bakugo were the players with the onlookers being the patrons of the arcade.

The sound around you were muffled against your eardrums, nothing but the base of your heart resounding in rhythmic beats and the tennis ball slamming against your paddle, releasing a loud ‘pock!’ before bouncing back onto the table court and into Bakugo’s side. He moved like lightning, the arm of his muscles tensing at the exact moment the ball touched his paddle. A grunt had left him as he returned the ball onto your side and a thunderous sound erupted from the impact. You returned it just as swiftly.

It was match point for Bakugo and you could tell he was swinging harder, faster. He wanted to end this game as desperate as you wanted it to continue.

“Shit!” He hissed when you returned the ball and it hit the table in an odd angle but managed to fly past his paddle. You evened out the score and it was your turn to serve. Two more scores and you would be the winner, but you knew Bakugo wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

The first ball you served hit the table and managed to slip past him. Or was he?

Bakugo chuckled darkly, one that rattled your core when it reached your ears. You allowed it to frazzle you and your next serve was easily deflected and the ball zoomed past you, evening the score yet again.

“I’m not going down that fucking easy,” he declared, and you wordlessly picked up another ball to serve.

The score went from even to either you or Bakugo having the advantage to even again. It continued for as many times until you had lost count. The tension grew to unbearable heights, the patrons were ‘ooo-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’, some urging for your win and others for Bakugo’s, but you didn’t let their cheers distract you and neither did he. A faint sweetness lingered in the vicinity and it could only be coming from the sweat that shined Bakugo’s skin. An aroma that reminded you of being in the training room and whenever it was Bakugo’s turn to spar, your nose would be blessed by that scent while the others, specifically the boys would secretly tease him for it, too afraid to openly do it unless they wanted to face his wrath.

The ball flew from your side to Bakugo’s side repeatedly and it was about a minute until the ball zipped past you and Bakugo yelled in victory as well as his fans.

“One more fucking point!” He roared and raised his racket in the air, confidence spewing from his body language like he already won. All you did was glare at him, ignoring the reassurance from your encouragers but you didn’t understand why they treated you like you lost when clearly the game was still on. They were underestimating you, them and Bakugo, and you knew you had to prove them wrong. You tightened the ball in your hands and licked the sweat off your lips. Bakugo had a terrifying smirk on his face when he went into his stance, gripping his racket until the veins in his arms started pulsating.

You served the ball and hit it with all your might.

…

Bakugo had been wondering what brought him back to sitting on the couches in one of the karaoke venues again. A much smaller room than the one he was in on that day he went with the class, it still held in resemblance, though, the atmosphere of it was nearly suffocating. He was without his boys, without a distraction from you, the beautiful girl who was scrolling through the list of songs with a remote, humming softly when lingered on a title before continuing on. Another glance around the room had him questioning his reason for being here. Hadn’t he lost? Clearly, you weren’t going to reward him for losing, right? Although, he had paid for a 30-minute rental for a venue, so he suppose that was his punishment. It nearly put a dent in his wallet.

“So, you’re gonna sing for me anyway.” Whether it was a question or a statement, you still flashed a smile at him when you stopped at the title you were searching for. It was startling how just a simple curve of your lips could make his heart stop, his breath hitch, and make him all want to drop what he was doing just to feel them slobbering over his. He was a fool, a fool desperately yearning for the girl sitting right beside him, your leg barely brushing his and sending his mind in a flurry of emotions.

Fuck. Get a hold of yourself. He rehashed in his head repeatedly. It didn’t help that the only other presence in the room was you.

“No,” you drawled, reaching to swipe two microphones from the table in front of you. “I want you to sing with me.”

“Hell no,” he abruptly said, pushing the microphone away when you pressed it against his lap. “I don’t fucking sing.”

“A bet is a bet,” you reminded him, and he let out a groan, “besides you’re not really singing. You’re, like, slow rapping.”

“Are you stupid? And what the fuck is slow rapping anyway?”

“I don’t know I made it up. It’s like rapping but it’s slow!” You giggled, and like a reflex, his stomach flipped. You still tossed the microphone at him and as reluctant as he was, he followed you when you pulled him by the arm to stand up, not allowing himself to be drag because he held too much pride within himself to be dragged by the likes of anyone. You had missed his grumble when he confirmed your stupidity, and when you had questioned him with a hum, he remained silent, gripping the microphone in hand to relay his frustrations upon it.

He found himself standing in the middle of the room facing the tv while you were in front of him, gleaming up at him with a smile as the television’s light splashed against your back. Once again, you didn’t seem to need the lyrics because when you started the song, you remained facing him, tossing the remote where you were sitting and bringing the microphone close to your lips. He felt jealousy creeping behind his shoulder at the inanimate object (that held no soul) that had the privilege of touching what he desired. He wondered adamantly how foolish his feelings were going to make him?

The song had started with the melody of a distorted accordion mixed with electronic sound effects that these popular pop music writers loved to add in their tracks. Bakugo was a stranger to this kind of music as his go-to-genre was rock, metal, and sometimes even rap so when you were swaying side to side at the peppy beat that swirled itself into the existing melody, he could only watch as he waited for your voice.

“I'm a motherfuckin' train wreck. I don't wanna be too much,” and there it was, hitting him like a smooth wave slamming into the rocky side of a mountain, carrying his previous frustration into the endless ocean to never resurface again. Once your voice had reached his eardrums, it had placed him under your spell, one he wished would never break as chills walked his skin like they scavenged for mysteries of their birth. Velvet melted from your mouth, sweetness formed into honey and kissed your voice box, blessing it with the gift to open heaven’s gate with a single note.

“But I don't wanna miss your touch. And you don't seem to give a fuck,” his lips had adversely failed him when he fought to keep them from upturning into a smirk, more specifically at the arousing feeling of you cursing. The chills continued to pry around his back and shoulders and the upper part of his arm where you had gently caressed him for a moment, eyes moving to hold his benevolent stare that he blissfully wasn’t aware he was making.

When the beat of the song picked up and greeted the chorus, you had pulled away from him, turning around until your back faced him, your eyes still on him with your head turned to look behind you, a playful smile curling on your lips. Without doubt, a fire was lit from within him.

“You ain't my boyfriend. And I ain't your girlfriend. But you don't want me to see nobody else. And I don't want you to see nobody,” you bounced your body with the beat, the voice of the original singer echoing the last words of the lyrics or otherwise singing with you. You meant to stroll back to Bakugo once you turned around, but he already closed the distance between you two, eyes somewhat wide and searching within yours for any meaning between those lyrics to be true. “But you ain't my boyfriend. And I ain't your girlfriend. But you don't want me to touch nobody else. Baby, we ain't gotta tell nobody…”

The search for the truth in your eyes nearly made Bakugo miss his line. He started out shaky, startled at how fast it came when the screen prompted for the second singer to start. It oddly reminded him of Deku when he pitifully struggled to sing with Uraraka, so he quickly found his rhythm to avoid the same embarrassment, his singing, that was mostly him talking but elongating his words, sonorous in pitch yet rough at the edges.

“I…I promise the way we fight make me honestly feel like we just in lo—the fuck are these lyrics?” He abruptly growled, his voice caught between ire and mortification when he read the sappy lines that made you blush. You squeezed his arm to urge him to continue, already missing a few lines with how fast the song was going. It wasn’t like he had a choice, he sucked his teeth before bitterly singing through gritted teeth. “I lose my mind when it comes to you. I take time with the ones I choose. And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you, yeah.”

Your voice returned for the chorus soon after his part was done, and he never felt so relieved to hear your voice. He didn’t have a clue how you were so comfortable singing, yet it was hard for you to speak in class whenever you were answering a question. You were bold, daring, confidence spelled within your eyes and shyness was nothing more than a distant relative. You let the music guide you, boldness encouraging you to guide Bakugo’s unoccupied hand to your waist as you danced, his touch barely even felt through your clothes as fear had struck him. Even with consent, he questioned within himself if this was okay. Though, the ghostly feel of the arch of your waist to your hips under his palm had abolished all uncertainty. He was a teenage boy, after all.

He was careful not to move his hand anywhere you didn’t place it but even that was hard whenever you would move your body to the song, sometimes his hand would fall lower towards your hip and he would quickly return it to your waist, so he wouldn’t lose the privilege of touching you.

But when you moved closer to his body until your shirts were caressing, your bright eyes inhabited a world in which he wanted to be a part of, his fingers curled slightly into the newly founded lace sewed into the sides of your shirt, a detail he missed earlier when he was stunned by your beauty. His grip on his microphone went loose against his fingertips and threaten to fall, his face was so close to yours and if it weren’t for the microphone against your lips, Bakugo would’ve closed the gap between you urged by the yearn he felt to touch them.

The two of you were now sharing one microphone, eyes locked onto each other’s, unwavering as they embodied the passion of want.

“If you were my boyfriend…” You sang softly, your vocals sweet and heavy.

“And you were my girlfriend…” Bakugo spoke, his voice harboring that same softness of yours which was foreign to him. He was no longer able to sing, and the song carried on with no vocals as you too were rendered speechless by how thick with warmth his words sounded. There was no indication that the two of you were going to continue the song nor did you encourage him to. The melody was left as background noise as you became trapped in Bakugo’s gaze. How they fidgeted about on your face, taking in your irises, the shape of your nose, the blemishes upon your cheeks and your forehead, the shape of your cheekbones, your chin, and lastly your lips. Gradually, they were moving closer to Bakugo’s just as the microphone was slipping away from between.

If only it wasn’t for the raging scream of Bakugo’s phone trapped within the constraints of his jacket’s pocket, he would’ve already felt the soft press of your lips against his. He had never turned so fast, so dramatically before in his life. He was already digging through his pocket, fingers already mindlessly tapping at the screen once he pulled his phone out and you swore his hands were going to ignite into an explosive if it weren’t translated into the roar that came out of his mouth.

“What!” The person on the other end was no other than his mother who was informing him about coming home at a respectable time. The rage he used to answer his phone was hammered back at him with that same force. You could hear his mother’s screech that certainly reminded you of Bakugo’s, just more feminine.

The heated moment between you two ended with Bakugo screaming into his phone with a colorful combination of profanities you have never even thought of and you were surprised that his mother was worse in her usage of language, even threatening to ‘come down over there’ if he didn’t show some respect.

…

“Bakugo, this was fun, thanks for coming with me,” You smiled softly to the short grunt that came from Bakugo after. He was walking slightly ahead of you, hands in his pockets like usual with his head slightly down. He was wearing his black earphones but only his ear that was away from you had them in while the other earbud hung loosely near his chest. He hasn’t been able to look at you since you two left the karaoke booth and he thought himself a fool that he couldn’t stare at you for more than two seconds without feeling embarrassed about what had happened. Bakugo handled embarrassment the same exact way he handled every emotion that didn’t fit his tough exterior, it fuel his anger and he turned into a grumpy mess, silent yet aching to explode if someone were to speak to him. Though he could never do that to you. No matter how much his anger seemed to tip over, he couldn’t imagine you being at the end of it.

The walk back to your house was as silent as the walk to the arcade. Bakugo wasn’t really sure what to say, whether to question you about what had happened before that untimely interruption or just leave it up in the air. Did you actually like him…? Like how he liked you? Or was he imagining everything, misreading the signs like an idiot hoping the girl he liked actually liked him back? You were a nice girl without a doubt. Bakugo could see that every time he would watch you train with the girls or when you would give up the last dessert to Mina during lunch time or when you would feed the stray cat at the back of the school or when you would always, always greet him with a smile in the mornings if you were to cross paths with him and then Bakugo would think he was special until you would do the same for Deku shortly after. You were a nice girl indeed so for all he knew, you could’ve been hanging out with him out of the kindness of your heart, giving him all this attention because you were too nice to say no to a date. Then again, it didn’t explain what happened in the booth because that was all you and you were—dare he say it—flirting.

Bakugo stopped walking, turning halfway to look at you. You blinked, wondering why he stopped and was now staring at you, mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something.

“Something on your mind?” You asked him, cocking your head to the side slightly, but he simply stayed staring for what felt like an eternity and it made your cheeks burn.

When Bakugo realized he was just repeating the question he wanted to ask in his head without saying it was when he swiftly turned his back to you and continued to walk. “…Just hurry up… it’s getting dark,” but it was only around 4pm and Bakugo didn’t know that it was capable for him to feel so stupid, first, losing his ability to speak as soon as he looked at you and second, instantly regretting his words as the sun was still wide awake in the skies.

But I don’t want this to end, was what you wanted to say but you found your words stuck in your throat, afraid that Bakugo might not feel the same as you.

“Um… thank you for walking me home. Today was really fun,” you said when you reached your front door and turned to Bakugo. You told him that repeatedly throughout the walk, you really had no other way to express how happy you were. You felt that a hug would’ve been too uncomfortable for him as you’ve never seen Bakugo express any affection physically. “I kind of wish it didn’t end…”

“Ah—well, you know, time.” What the fuck was he saying? He growled under his breath, frustrated that not only was he losing his thoughts to you but his language.

Oddly enough to him, you understood and chuckled. Fuck the butterflies in his stomach. “I know. There’s just not enough of it… I guess I’ll see you Monday, then?”

“Yeah,” you waited for him to leave but he stayed staring at your face. Perhaps even longer than he did before, and you saw him aggressively move his hand within his pocket like he was fumbling with something. He spoke your name softly because he thought he had lost your attention, but he in fact had it because he was all you could focus on the entirety of the date. “You had fun, right?” He knew you had said it multiple times, but he wanted to ask because he couldn’t believe it himself.

“Yeah, of course, it was the best Saturday I had in a while,” Bakugo felt like you had to have been lying but that wide smile held all the truth in the world.

“Then—this,” Bakugo pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to you. “You wanna go with me next Saturday?”

You took a good look at what he gave you, nearly dropping it when you read out the words. “Di-Disneyland?! I—yes! Yes, I wanna go with you!” you clutched your ticket to your chest. Desperate to calm your beating heart, you wanted to fan your heated cheeks but instead you tucked the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, realizing that Bakugo could very well be asking you out on another date. “A-As another date…?”

“Sure.” He grumbled, looking away from you for a moment and returning his hands to his pockets. “Then Saturday, I’ll text you the details.”

You nodded frantically at him with one of those large smiles he loved, and he said his goodbye and left your doorstep. You glanced at the ticket in your hands and jumped excitedly on the balls of your feet. It was hard to believe that Bakugo invited you to Disneyland. You didn’t think he was interested in that kind of stuff but there was a little part of you that wanted to believe he was going just for you. Oh, you so wanted to be right!

Before you knew it, you heard a call of your name and Bakugo was already back in front of you. He quickly leaned forward, and it felt as fast as it came. You saw a glimpse of his red cheeks hidden behind a frown and furrowed brows. “For today. See you Monday,” he quickly said before he turned around and left, leaving you stunned on your doorstep. Of all the things that happened today, the least thing you expected was Bakugo Katsuki kissing you on your cheek.

Bakugo stormed out of there as fast as he could, fingers touching his lips as he realized what he had done. He just acted. He felt like he couldn’t leave without doing something to finish off this day but—Bakugo groaned loudly, throwing his hands up in frustration—he didn’t even stay to see your reaction if you liked it or not. What if he arrives home and you text him to cancel the date because you felt uncomfortable about what he did? He was stupid, utterly stupid! He should’ve read the mood instead of acting on his urges.

He continued to berate himself in his head until he finally convinced himself that you liked it because who wouldn’t like a kiss from him especially since he was taking you to Disneyland.

Later that night when he was lounging on his bed, you texted him to once again thank him for today and that you looked forward to Saturday. Bakugo grinned to himself and replied ‘same’ before shutting his phone and closing his eyes. He thought he would be able to put his thoughts about you to rest but he couldn’t help but try to relive the events of today. Especially the feeling of your cheek against his lips.

As he expected, your cheeks were the softest thing he ever felt. The last thing he recalled was hoping to sleep and suddenly wake up to it being next Saturday.

Part three - Slumber - coming soon!

[divineluce]

A Trail of Fire || Adam & Luce

Timing: Late May 5th, 2021

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @walker-journal & @divineluce

Description: Adam spotted an out of control spellcaster raising hell. He enlists the help of Luce, but all isn’t quite as it seems.

TW: Brief mention of sibling death tw

Slamming the door of her Jeep shut, Luce slung her bag over her shoulder and waited for Adam to lead the way. He’d mentioned shit going down, seeing some kind of… out of control fire spellcaster. And, of all the people who could help in town, he’d asked her. While she’d normally have more than mixed feelings about this sort of thing, maybe helping protect the town would be the nudge in the right direction her magic needed. She was trying to be… fucking better. She’d been trying for months. But, it wasn’t working and she was running out of ideas. Maybe she’d be able to talk to thispellcaster-- granted that they weren’t part of the coven-- and get some answers on how she could get her spark back. If they were even able to talk. As they began to hike into the woods, Luce spoke up, “So… You said there’s an out of control fire witch out here?” She asked before wryly adding, “I thought I was the only one of those in town.”

As they walked, Luce reflected on the first time she and Adam had met in the woods. That was… huh. It’d nearly been a year. It had nearly been a year since Bea’s death and since she had raised 20, 30 foot tall flames in the clearing while sparring with Adam. Flexing her hand, Luce swallowed uncomfortably. She couldn’t even light a candle right now. She’d been without her magic for so long, been so vulnerable for so many months. She needed her magic, she needed to get it back.

“Yeah I thought it was just average Scorch Street stuff,” Adam allowed, referring to a particular thoroughfare where even snow was prone to spontaneous combustion. “But they melted their way through a car and didn’t respond to anything I said and fucked off into the woods.” The Hunter pushed his way through the brush and led the way down into a steep gulley.

The depression might've been filled with brush and played host to a stream once. However the river gulley was now just a furrow of blackened earth. Adam pointed to footprints in what’d once been a stream bed. Each print was like a miniature blast crater, surrounded by broken veins of obsidian and glass.

Scorch Street. Luce had hung out there more than a few times in her high school days, cutting class to hang out with some of her art class friends in the one place in town that seemed dangerous to even normies. Little did they know the entire fucking town was dangerous. Listening to Adam’s description, Luce frowned. “They melted through a car?” That wasn’t just out of control magic, that was strong magic. Power, don’t fuck with me magic. Even at her strongest, Luce couldn’t do create a flame that hot without significant effort and time. Whoever this way, they were a danger to everyone, including themselves.

Following after Adam, Luce let out a low whistle of astonishment as she took in the scene before her. There used to be a stream here, but this person, they’d changed the fucking landscape. Just like she’d done. Picking up a hunk of obsidian, Luce stared at the glossy, black surface. Who hurt this person? What had happened? “That looks like as good a lead as any.” She trailed after Adam, keeping her eyes and ears open for any movement in the brush. She didn’t know if her lack of magic also affected her fireproof situation, but she didn’t want to find out first hand. “Hey. That’s… that’s still burning.” She said, pointing to a patch on the ground that was smoldering, the dirt itself ignited with a bizarre, deep red flame. 

“Mhm, didn’t even really pause or anything just kinna walked through it.” Adam knelt on the ground and slipped off his backpack. In a few practiced movements the Hunter had retrieved and assembled a military folding shovel. He slipped on some gloves and approached the smoldering patch of pure scarlet flame, boots snapping on the gulley’s new layer of obsidian glass.

Adam scrutinized the blaze for a moment before lunging forward and lifting something up with the shovel. “Is this like…?”

On Adam’s shovel was the indanscent outline of a single feather, the pulsing vermillion core within red flame.

Or at least it was before the feather melted through a whole through Adam’s normally heat-resistant shovel and plopped back onto the ground. “Shit…”

“Jesus.” Luce muttered quietly, trying to imagine just how much magic would be needed for something like that. The strongest magic user she’d ever met couldn’t do something like that, not without significant help from someone else. Just who the fuck were they? And would she even be able to do anything to stop them, to reason with them? Watching as Adam pulled out some new prepper tool, Luce continued to stare at the chunk of shiny black rock in her hands. She’d done a lot of destructive shit, but she’d never done something like this. Could this have been her? If… if they hadn’t been able to bring Bea back, would this have been her? Would she have continued to set fire to the forest, would she have continued to kill anyone who could ever pose a threat to what remained of her broken family?

Adam’s curse shook Luce from her thoughts and she blinked in shock as she saw the pulsating glow within a single feather that had melted through the end of his shovel. “Holy shit.” Luce echoed, tossing aside the rock. A feather. A burning feather-- there was only one thing that could have left that. Flexing her fingers apprehensively, Luce hesitantly extended her fingers towards the feather. But, even before she could touch it, she could feel the power radiating from it in waves, the radiant heat starting to sear her skin. She jerked her fingers back before reaching for her water bottle. “That’s a phoenix feather, but it’s not. It’s… There’s something wrong with it.” She said, unscrewing the cap of the bottle. She unceremoniously dumped water onto the feather and was startled as a cloud of steam filled the space between her and Adam. Waving it away, she was startled to see that the feather was untouched. “That’s-- what the fuck. What the actual fuck,” She looked at Adam and at the still glowing feather that sat between them, “We need to find them.”

“Uh not to be that guy,” began Adam, “But what I saw was definitely a person not a magic bird.” In truth the only proof Adam even had Phoenix's even existed was those tears mom had given him as a college fund. They were allegedly among the rarest supernatural creatures and Adam’s training had focused on common threats to human settlements, not fairy tales and miracle cures.

But here were molten feathers along the trail of someone he’d seen burn through solid objects. Adam felt compelled to revise his understanding of the legendary fire chicken. “So uh...do they look like people sometimes?”

Glancing up from the feather to Adam, Luce frowned. “You do know that phoenixes have a human form, right?” She asked, a bit surprised that Adam “Hunter Bro” Walker didn’t know that. Of course, Luce had a feeling she knew more about phoenixes than your average spell caster, even in White Crest. Leave it to Bea to have made friends with the phoenix family in town all those years ago. An entire childhood of having her mom not only compare her fire to Bea’s but a literal incarnation of flame, thanks Leah. “I’ve never actually scene the full flame on situation, so I can’t actually say what that looks like. But they’re not full on fucking... fire chickens.” She said with a shake of her head.

“Like I said, they look human most of the time. But if they’re putting out this much fire, they might be in their true form. There’s no way they could just cut through a car without it.” She said, hoping she was right. “But why would they do that? Most phoenixes don’t go around torching things on purpose. And definitely not in public, that’s a good way to get yourself hunted down.” Which was only slightly different from what they were doing. They were hunting this person down to help them. Not to hurt them. Help.

Adam frowned in thought. “They’re some of the rarest supernaturals around,” he explained, “I only knew they were real because of some tears mom had.” He considered Luce’s words and took in the charred trail of obsidian and everburning feathers that been carved through the woodland ravine. He motioned for the sorceress to follow, now keeping a healthy distance away from those patches of blood scarlet fire.

“Kay so what you are saying is this Phoenix is probably like sick or cursed something,” Adam reasoned with the air of resignation from constantly encountering new things that fucked with peoples’ heads. “So question is if we catch up with them and they like don’t wanna talk, and we can’t like ...contain them or whatever, what’s the game plan? The Hunter’s question was spoken Adam’s usual aimable baritone, but couldn’t quite disguise the grim implication in how open ended it was.

Rarest around? Well, that was news to Luce, particularly when she’d been saddled with one since childhood. She had some kind of inkling that Leah and her family were different-- the idea of a reincarnating family that stayed together for years and years had always struck her as weird, but… after last summer, she couldn’t help but rethink that perspective. “Well, they’re human looking most of the time. Whatever happened to this person is definitely not normal.” She said with a shake of her head. Sick, cursed; either seemed likely. But, when Adam’s tone shifted, her head jerked up to stare at him

“We’re not hurting them.” Luce snapped, “I’m not killing someone again.” The words came out before she could stop them, but the similarities of the situation to Lydia stared back at her. A young Hunter who she was familiar with, maybe even respected, asking her for help. Asking her to deal with an out of control supernatural person, someone who was dangerous. Someone who could kill. She’d made that mistake before, she wasn’t going to do it again. Not for Adam, not for anyone. “We’re going to find them and if we can’t talk to them, we keep trying to help them.”

Adam turned his attention from the ravine of burning feathers and looked at Lucinda for a time, leaning on the ruined shovel. The Hunter’s brown eyes faintly reflected the scarlet flames all around them, but didn’t hold any surprise. This was the second time he and Luce had a conversation in the woods about doing whatever it took while surrounded by eldritch flame. Some things had changed before the blue and red fire.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t quite the same dude either.

“Kay, I respect that,” Adam assented eventually, “let’s see what we are dealing with.”

The trail of pinion bonfires led up the ridge, something passing through enormous boulders where the Phoenix had simply bored their way straight through solid rock, leaving a tunnel of cooling obsidian. The air was choked with acrid smoke and breathing became increasingly difficult as they gained on the traveler. Eventually the hikers cleared the treeline and got above the smoke. A small valley stretched out below them, and Adam raised a hand to his sweaty brow to see through the evening glare.

But the glare turned out to not be from the setting sun at all.

It was as if a meteor had struck the valley, still incandescent from the plumet. Even with his mutant eyesight, Adam could barely pick out the humanoid form at the heart of the roiling inferno. Scarlet fire roared out in a blastwaves from the figure, leaving a swath of ash and glass in their wake across the valley. Great red sheets of fire and sparks seemed to wrap around the Phoenix like enormous wings, flexing and spreading outward on thermal currents.

“Well shit.” 

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Writing Commission - memories were made to be forgotten (but you weren’t)

Hello! Back at it again with another writing commission I did - and this one is for Danny Phantom and Father Time (which is father/son Danny and Clockwork). I hope you guys enjoy it! (Dear Danny Phantom Truce Partner, I promise I will get you story finished soon, please don’t hate me.) 

                                                             ⁂

Summary: Danny Fenton was friends with a ghost named Clockwork; a ghost that could control time. It sounded cool, when he thought about it, but the problem was that Danny had absolutely no memory of ever being friends with a ghost. He may have been fourteen, and, admittedly, yes, he had gotten himself zapped by his parent’s Ghost Portal last week, but he wasn’t an idiot. Who actually believed someone when they told them they had amnesia, after all?

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Relationship: Danny Fenton | Danny Phantom & Clockwork

Characters: Danny Fenton | Danny Phantom, Clockwork

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 3,472

Transaction Amount: $10 (USD)

                   memories were made to be forgotten (but you weren’t)

                                                              ⁂

Danny Fenton had, like every bored teenager before him who had too much free time during study hall, daydreamed unlikely possible scenario after unlikely possible scenario to try and alleviate at least some boredom until it was time for lunch. Nowhere in his daydreamed scenarios, however, had Danny imagined that he would be held captive by a ghost called the Master of Time who claimed that Danny had amnesia and that they were actually ‘good friends.’ Danny may not have been the top of his class, but he had seen basic safety videos like every other fourth grader. 

He had also been brought up on his parents and their research and stories and knew how dangerous ghosts, and anything associated with them, could be. Danny had learned that well enough last week after his parents’ Ghost Portal and his… accident with it. He hadn’t gotten in trouble for it, though, and he was perfectly healthy, so he was taking that as a win! 

No, the real trouble for him was the fact that he was facing down a ghost after waking up somewhere he had never seen before with absolutely no memory of why he was there or what he was doing or what was going on. His parents, his sister, his friends, absolutely no one was nearby, so that left Danny to try and bullshit his way out of the situation as best he could because otherwise he was probably going to be the next ghost his parents studied. 

“Look, man, I’m not saying I don’t believe you, here, but…” There was absolutely no way Danny believed a single word out of the ghost’s mouth. Really, though? Him? Friends with a ghost who claimed to be able to control time? As if. “Look, it’s, uh, it’s cool, and all, I guess, to know that ghosts are real, but are you sure you don’t want to talk to my parents or something about all of this?”

“Well,” the ghost said – ‘Clockwork’ he had said his name was, which, right, totally fake name. “At least you haven’t lost all of your memories… Can you tell me the last thing you remember, Daniel?”

Danny immediately made a face, because Daniel, before shaking his head, denial and a refusal to answer anything at the tip of his tongue before he paused and thought that maybe arguing with a ghost wasn’t the best of ideas. He would just have to comply until his parents rescued him, although… It could take them a while to notice he was missing… 

Gathering his thoughts and shoving down his panic with enough force to make him feel exhausted already, Danny crossed his arms. “I remember I was just sitting in my room, er, doing homework, and then suddenly I wake up here.” At least, if anyone asked him he had been doing his homework. “You know. Kidnapped. And in danger-”

“Daniel, if I wanted to harm you then you would already be dead.” That was supposed to reassure him?! “The fact that you are here, unharmed and not even bound, should, at the very least, dissuade you from the idea that you’ve been abducted, yes?” Oh, god, this ghost was worse than his sister. 

“Yeah, so, uh, I understood all of those words separately and junk, but-” Danny cut himself off as he saw the ghost moving towards him. Danny’s immediate reaction was to raise his arms, squeeze his eyes shut, and pray for a miracle, but instead he felt his body move before he could even think, rapidly stepping back and to the side and dropping into one of the defensive positions that he half-remembered his mom maybe teaching him years and years ago. 

The ghost stared at him, looking as caught off guard as Danny felt before he was moving back and away from him, looking at him curiously and oh, god, Danny hated when people looked at him like that. It meant they were studying him. Maybe Danny could pretend he was just… stretching? 

Before he could rush to defend himself with an excuse, though, Clockwork made a soft, curious noise, “Only the memories, then, but not the instincts…” Oh, god, Danny was in a horror movie about to be sacrificed or cut to ribbons, wasn’t he? 

After dropping his… whatever he had been doing, Danny moved jerkily a few feet away, at least getting a piece of furniture between them as if that would help matters. “Look, just… what do you even need me for?” 

“Ah, I had wondered if that paranoia of yours was developed or innate.” Was- Was the ghost taking shots at him after kidnapping him? What a jerk. Danny would be so glad when someone showed up with some kind of plan to get him out of there - hopefully soon. “If you’ll recall, I informed you that we have a positive relationship and you have amnesia. It’s safest for you here-” 

“Why would it be safe here and not with my family?! Or in a hospital?!” Actually, Danny should definitely be in a hospital if he had amnesia or something, so the fact he wasn’t meant this ghost was definitely lying. “No offense, but I’m not a big fan of believing in something that’s obviously a lie. Now let me go.” 

The last few words echoed for a few seconds, Danny trying to keep his glare up as mentally he panicked because what had just happened with his voice? Instead of even so much as cracking, which Danny admitted, at least to himself, sometimes happened when he was emotional, his voice sounded like it had gotten deeper and it sounded… menacing. Like Danny could actually back up whatever threats he made - a good thing, but also a weird thing. 

“Daniel,” Clockwork sighed, sharp and tired, as he met his gaze with a frown, moving forward again. “I only have your best interests in mind.” The ghost hadn’t even fully finished talking before Danny was scrambling back and grasping at something - anything - to protect himself because he was suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge that words like that only came before pain and- 

It was as sudden and shocking as the Fenton portal had been, Danny feeling like the breath had been stolen straight from his lungs as ice crawled through his veins, something in him building and building before snapping out, Danny staring with wide eyes at the sudden dome-shaped wall of green that appeared between him and the ghost who looked as surprised as he did. 

“Well, I suppose that’s proof enough that your memories were merely suppressed instead of erased altogether,” Clockwork said cheerfully, as if Danny hadn’t just- Just- He didn’t know! Danny didn’t know what he had done, but suddenly there was this thing between him and Clockwork and Danny somehow knew, with everything in him, that he had caused it and how had he done that? “Daniel…?”

“I just…” Danny stared at the green-tinged ghost, just on the other side of the shield, or wall, or something that Danny had made. “I… What did I just do?” 

Looking down at his hands, because he somehow really had done that, Danny froze at seeing he was wearing gloves where a second ago there had been nothing. What’s more, he realized, the gloves were a pure, bright white that looked to be glowing and, after twitching his fingers, Danny realized they were his hands. They also weren’t the only thing that had changed. 

While Danny didn’t exactly have a mirror to look in, he didn’t need one to see that everything he was wearing was different. Whereas before he had been wearing jeans and one of his shirts, now he was wearing what looked like one of his parent’s hazmat suits only it was pure black with white boots and it, like the gloves, were glowing a soft white. 

“What…” Danny swallowed sharply, looking back up at the green thing he had made that slowly seemed to fizzle out and fade away to reveal Clockwork staring at him as if afraid of him. “What happened to me? What did you do to me?”

Clockwork was silent for a moment - which meant he was thinking up a lie Danny would believe. Well, if Clockwork thought that was gonna work on him, then he had another thing coming because everything was- It was insane. “Daniel… do you remember your parents’ portal and possibly an accident involving it?” 

“I- Hang on, what?” Danny blinked, some of his panic draining out of him at the question that had taken him completely off guard. “How… how did you know about that?” Because no one should have really known about that. Yeah, sure, his family technically knew, but his friends had been the only ones to be there. 

“Well,” Clockwork chuckled, as if Danny wasn’t questioning everything he thought he had known about the world. “I did introduce myself as someone close to you, didn’t I? You’ve talked to me of that incident yourself, Daniel.”

“Yeah, nice try, buddy,” Danny scoffed, shivering as something about his voice sounded wrong. It sounded like it had… echoed. “You-” What was wrong with his voice? “You introduced yourself as the Master of Time. No way you didn’t use some weird ghost power to see what happened yourself because there’s no way I would ever trust a ghost.” 

Clockwork sighed, something fond and amused as if this was all some sort of game to him. “You were very untrusting at this age, weren’t you?” 

Danny felt a spike of anger because was this guy fucking serious?! Danny was stuck in a place that he had never seen and had been kidnapped by a fucking ghost! This was the opposite of just simply being ‘untrusting.’ “If you think for one second that I would ever trust you, then you don’t know me at all.” 

What broke up the suddenly tense silence between them wasn’t Clockwork, but a loud snapping sound that reminded Danny of ice breaking and cracking near the beginning and end of winter. It also sounded like it had come from him, and Danny couldn’t help his startled glance down, eyes wide as he saw that ice had formed around him.

Except… Saying that ice had formed around him seemed too simple. No, instead it looked like it was coming from Danny, ice rapidly spreading out from around his feet as frost climbed up his arms in spirals and loops that almost distracted him from the fact the ice at his feet acted as a mirror. He half wished that it had distracted him completely, but instead Danny was staring down at what was basically a mirror that showed he… didn’t look like Danny Fenton. 

His eyes were flickering between a toxic green color and a bright, icy blue and his hair- His hair was a bright snow white that matched the frost crawling up his arms; frost that was starting to spiral and wrap around his shoulders and sides.

“I’m…” The glow around him wasn’t from the suit, Danny realized slowly, and then all at once; as bad things always were. “I’m a…” It was from him. The glowing, the ice and snow, the shield, all of it had come from him. 

Snapping his head up, Danny looked at Clockwork, hating how his voice came out weak and scared, but unable to help his question of, “Am I dead?”

“What?” Clockwork blinked, as if surprised Danny would ask that and maybe that was why Clockwork thought Danny trusted him if he really had lost his memories; because he was a ghost, too. “No- No, no, no, Daniel, you aren’t dead-”

“Don’t lie to me!” Danny shouted, hating at how the sound was almost a scream more than anything else. “I’m- Look at me! I’m a ghost, and I don’t know what kind of world you’re living in, pal, but if I’m a ghost then I-” 

Danny’s words tangled around a hitch of breath, the realization hitting that… he had died. That was the only explanation as to what had happened to him. He had somehow died and become a ghost and maybe he really had lost his memories or this ghost was just trying to use him, but either way he had died. 

“Daniel.” There was something in Clockwork’s voice, something soft and caring and enticing enough that Danny found himself looking at him before he could realize it. The ghost’s expression matched his voice. “Daniel, if you believe nothing else I say to you, then believe this. You are not dead.” 

“But I’m…” The words died on his tongue, Danny to scared to say them. It was obvious enough what he had been about to say, though, Danny thrusting his hands out as if to emphasize the point. Spirals of frost had near overtaken his body, at that point, and the ice cracked again as it grew more at his feet. For the first time in a very long time Danny realized he was absolutely terrified. 

“You, Daniel James Fenton, are something very different,” Clockwork said gently, floating a few inches closer slowly and gently. “Listen carefully to me?” It sounded like an order as much as it did a request, but something about the way it was said had Danny nodding shakily, latching onto the words as if they could make him stop feeling like he couldn’t breathe- Could he breathe? Did he need to? 

Clockwork nodded back, voice still soft, “Thank you. Now, you don’t have to close your eyes, but it might help with what I’m about to tell you to do. There should be this feeling of warmth in your chest, somewhere close to your heart. Do you feel it?”

Danny opened and closed his mouth, hundreds of arguments and words dying in the back of his throat before he shivered as he felt the frost reach the back of his neck. It started to look and feel more like ice than it did frost, and it was terrifying enough that Danny shut his eyes on instinct. 

“Ssh, it’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright.” Years and years of his parents’ lessons screamed at him to not trust a thing the ghost in front of him said, but something deeper had Danny relaxing just the smallest amount, even as he hated himself for it. “Do you feel that warmth?” 

“I…” Danny didn’t open his eyes, terrified at the spreading feeling of ice, but he did try to feel for whatever Clockwork was telling him about. A feeling of warmth near his heart sounded impossible with how cold he felt, but slowly, slowly and surely and deeply, Danny felt something inside of him that he could call nothing but warmth. “I think I do.” 

“Good. That’s good.” Clockwork’s voice was still soft, and something about it made Danny think he was relieved. “I want you to visualize yourself holding that warmth and then clutching it with both hands. Do you think you can do that?” 

He wanted Danny to what? “I- I can try?” Even if nothing happened it was still a distraction from whatever was happening to him and, well, how hard could it be? Danny was good at daydreaming, after all, and it was easy enough to picture that feeling of warmth as if it were a small, glowing ball - something orange, maybe. It would be something orange and yellow with maybe a few red tones thrown it. 

Danny could picture holding something like that easily enough, and while it did take some focus, he could picture clutching it within both of his hands and squeezing- 

Danny’s eyes snapped open as he felt the warmth suddenly crash over him like a bucket of hot water, bright light flashing in front of him and forcing him to blink his eyes quickly before he looked down and saw the ice that had been climbing up his body was gone. The suit or whatever he had been wearing, as well as the glow, were also gone, leaving nothing but human skin and his typical outfit of jeans and a t-shirt. “I’m…” 

“You’re not dead, Daniel, and you are also not a ghost - at least, not quite,” Clockwork laughed, something in his tone that made Danny think he really had been worried for him. Looking up, and slightly startled at seeing Clockwork so much closer, Danny stared at the hand that was held out to him. 

Danny took it hesitantly, surprised when Clockwork pulled him forward and out and away from the pile of ice that had been building up around his feet. “Did I… really cause all of that?” It looked like that one small part of the room had gone through winter itself, covered in ice and bits of snow. 

“It’s a long, long story,” Clockwork chuckled, this time his laugh soft and barely there before he was moving Danny’s hand, gently, to rest over Danny’s wrist. “You know how to find your pulse?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Danny frowned, fingers searching out his pulse absently for a few seconds before he was nodding to himself as he found it. “See? It’s right…” Danny trailed off, blinking as he realized that he had a pulse. To have a pulse, though, he needed to be alive, which meant he wasn’t- He wasn’t dead. “I have a pulse.”

“You have a pulse,” Clockwork confirmed, smile flicking into something larger for a moment. “Do you still believe you’re dead, then?” 

“I mean, it feels slower than it probably should, but, uh… it’s still there,” Danny admitted, letting his hands drop to his sides as he stared at Clockwork, who had just helped him through what would probably become a metaphor for a panic attack. “So, you, uh… You really aren’t here to hurt me or anything?” 

“No, Daniel,” Clockwork said, slowly and gently setting a hand on his shoulder. It felt familiar. It felt nice. “I’m here to help you if you can finally believe that.” 

Danny would never be able to explain it to himself or anyone else later if he tried, but in that moment the only thing he could think to do was rush forward and throw his arms around Clockwork, hugging him tightly as his hands buried in the cloak like it was second nature. 

Clockwork, on his part, didn’t even hesitate, arms sliding around him in return and making him feel safe. “I know this is difficult for you, Daniel, but you will be safe. You’ve lost quite a few of your memories, but we, both myself and your friends, are working hard on getting them back for you. I imagine it can’t be easy to believe me… but can you try?” 

“I…” Danny swallowed, feeling his throat working in silence for a few moments before he pushed himself back just enough to see Clockwork’s face. Danny couldn’t see a trace of a lie or anything else. If anything, Clockwork looked more worried than Danny did. “I don’t believe you, but…” 

This was someone he knew. Now that his panic and fear had faded away, Danny could tell that this was truly someone he knew; someone who cared for him and wanted to help him. That- That had to be more than enough, right? 

“I don’t believe you,” Danny said more firmly, hands clutching tightly at the other’s cloak. “But I trust you.” It was the first thing Danny had said that felt true to him. “Is that enough for right now?” 

“Oh, Daniel…” Clockwork said his name softly, like it was something important. “That is… That is more than enough, Daniel.” 

Danny smiled, ducking back in to hug Clockwork tightly for another minute before he finally cleared his throat and stepped back out of the, admittedly nice, hug. “Okay- Okay! So, uh, obviously this is pretty crazy and weird, so can you maybe explain a bit more about that whole amnesia thing and maybe why I can do that?” Danny asked, gesturing towards the pile of ice that didn’t look like it would be melting anytime soon. 

Something he said must have been funny because Clockwork was laughing, but he did lean forward to ruffle Danny’s hair in a motion that felt as familiar as the hug he had given him. “Yes, Daniel, I can explain why you can do that. It might take a while, though.” 

“Good thing you’re the Master of Time and all that, then,” Danny joked, staring at Clockwork and giving a wider smile because, well, maybe ghosts weren’t as bad as his parents had made them out to be. 

Somehow, Danny thought to himself, even if these supposed memories of his never came back, well… He had a feeling that everything would be okay. 

It was a good feeling.

[elssiie]

Walk through the fire

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

You can also find the story in fanfiction.net 

Strategist and priestess Lucy Heartfilia gets caught up in the turmoil of war. Torn between duty and love she must decide whether to follow her heart or mind because the destiny of two nations rests on her shoulders.

Chapter 5: Instinct 

There is no instinct like that of the heart

  Natsu was moving through the trees as fast as the forest let him. His men were far behind him but right now he couldn’t afford to wait for them. Fucking hell! That little witch had been giving him a massive headache for a while now. He seriously hadn’t needed Romeo to magically show up in the middle of the battle camp and put himself in danger like that. What was even going through the kid’s brain? Hey, I see a suspicious person walking into one of the most dangerous places in the empire. I’ll mention this to the nearest soldier and then indulge myself in an epic adventure following said suspicious person in the woods. Brilliant, Romeo. Just fucking brilliant.

Natsu stopped for a moment to sniff the air. The witch’s scent was anything but witch-like. Soft and clean, the smell of spring. It was too vivid, too strong. She and Romeo were close. He sprinted following their trails. There. Just behind those bushes. He could distinguish their voices now with his ultra-hearing. They sounded frightened. Then he felt the presence of other creatures. Shit! He quickly moved through the bushes and found them.

Just in time to see the deadly spear flying in the air straight towards Romeo. For one terrifying second Natsu froze, unable to say or do something. His eyes widened as he watched the strategist’s body blocking the spear’s path. A horrible, blood-chilling scream tore from her mouth as she crashed on the ground. He registered in the distance of his mind that the forest people were turning their attention to him, ready to take him down as well. He didn’t care. His vision was pure red. The usually calm and quiet fire in his chest was now blazing furiously. Red markings covered both his arms, neck and cheeks. His skin glowered in a faint gold color and he knew what his eyes looked like, what kind of effect they had on the enemies. The forest people screeched in despair, trying to quickly get away from him. He wouldn’t let them. The white hot fire covered his hands. Burn, motherfuckers.

The first thing Lucy noticed when she woke was that it was nice and warm. She strained her muscles in order to move but every single nerve in her back screamed in pain. Holy gods! What in the world was this pain?! She had been laying on her stomach probably for hours if she had to judge from the missing sensitivity in her arms and legs. She realized with horror that she was back in the tower. She was a prisoner again. Then she remembered the forest people and the hit she took. Ah. That’s why her shoulder hurt so much.

She had to get up. Lucy clenched her teeth and slowly, so very slowly pushed her body up. Gods, someone was tearing her skin apart! Piece by piece! Her arms trembled, too weak to do this kind of physical activity. She groaned as the pain became unbearable.

“No. no. Stop.” Big, warm palms dropped on her lower back and gently pushed her to the bed. “Stop.”

“I want to get up.” Her voice was rusty. It sounded too exhausted like she’d been screaming for a long time. Maybe she had but she couldn’t remember a single thing since she got unconscious in the forest.

“You need to lay down.” The male voice was coming somewhere above her head. The palm moved slightly up her spine, leaving behind a nice hot feeling.

“Please.” Lucy whispered. She didn’t really have the energy to explain how awful her limbs were feeling or how she wanted to at least see what was happening around her and not have her head on one side, leaving her defenseless.

For a moment he didn’t say anything so she thought he was ignoring her request but then strong arms wrapped around her stomach, his head briefly touched hers and he softly breathed out in her ear, “This is gonna hurt.”

She nodded.

He carefully started lifting her body while she desperately tried not to cry out. He helped her turn herself over and after another five agonizing minutes Lucy was finally sitting in her bed. She was panting, her eyes full of tears and her shoulder burning in agony but she was at least seeing the room.

She couldn’t believe it.

It was Dragneel who helped her. There was something different in his stare. A newfound spark she hadn’t seen before.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The forest people hit your shoulder with a wooden spear. You’re lucky they didn’t manage to hit your lungs or you’d be dead by now.”

“The boy… Romeo, is he okay?” The fear was evident in her voice.

He was contemplating her, sizing her up with his stare. “He’s fine. Just shaken up.”

Lucy exhaled shakily and closed her eyes.

“Pretty good idea, by the way.”

Her nose wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“Saving a kid from my camp in hopes of getting away from torture.”

“What?” She asked flatly. Surely he wasn’t implying that…

He shrugged.

“I’m just saying it’s a good strategy. You knew I was going to find you so you decided to put the boy in harm, then getting injured while saving him. We both know I can’t afford to torture you right now cause there’s I high chance you’ll die in the process. It was reckless but in the end a pretty good idea that actually worked.”

She gaped. Was this guy for real? Oh, gods, he was. He was for real! Her anger bottled up in her throat. She wanted to smash his thick pink head with a table so hard!

“Wow. Are you that amazed that I figured you out?”

He laughed but there was a certain stillness to it. His whole body was tense. His eyes didn’t sparkle with their usual humor.

“How could you be so… aggh!” The sharp pain from her wound stopped her from punching him in the face.

“Hey, be careful.”

His hands flew towards her, probably to help her, but she was so done with him. Lucy smacked his palms and he blinked caught in surprise. Good. Let him be surprised.

“I had no idea where that bloody spear would hit me! I could have died on the spot! Yes, I would have done almost anything to get away from here, I did not want to betray my country but I would never -”, she was panting now. Her shoulder was killing her and she was pretty sure her wound opened up but she was so angry. “I would never bet the life of an innocent person just to save my own! For you to think I would do that to a little kid is beyond me! Making up that kind of twisted story truly tells terrible things but not about me. It’s about you! Don’t you dare say such bullshit like that to my face again!”

And she was even swearing now. She hadn’t done that in years. He really pissed her off.

Warm streaks of blood fell down her back. Suddenly her head felt too heavy and dizzy. Dragneel, who’d been in total shock until now, quickly shook off his mixed feelings and called for the doctor. Seconds later a middle aged man came in, saw her condition and heavily scolded the General. While the doctor started changing the bandage he asked why the wound opened up again. For the first time since Lucy knew him Natsu Dragneel kept his mouth shut and didn’t fire with a smartass comment. Well, then she’ll answer it.

“He was being a jerk.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Natsu’s body cringe. Dull, unpleasant pain hit her head and she groaned. Her forehead and neck were sweaty. She couldn’t even keep her eyelids open any longer. She was just so, so tired. Everything hurt.

“What’s wrong with her?”

Did she imagine it or Dragneel sounded genuinely concerned?  

Ah, never mind. She just wanted to sleep.

“A fever, I believe.” The doctor almost growled. “Her body is weakened not only because of the blood loss but also because of the intense pain she feels. Opening up her wound isn’t helping her either, General! I will give her some strong herbs but they will keep her dizzy. General, with all due respect, I will ask you to leave the girl alone for some time, at least until she recovers from the fever.”

Natsu nodded. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her tormented expression. He thought about her stubbornness and wills to fight, how brave and strong she’d been. Now she was laying completely powerless and shaken up by the pain. Something sickening curled up in his chest. It was awful, this feeling, whatever it was. His eyes traced the sensual shape of her eyebrows down to her feverish cheeks and stopped at the sight of her slightly opened lips, out of which painful sounds were coming. Her shoulder and half her back were completely exposed to him, revealing soft milky skin, delicate curves. She was so small, so fragile. Why the hell would he think about torturing this creature which was about to break any moment?

“General! You are only making my job harder! Please, leave immediately!”

The shout broke the strange trance Natsu had fallen into. He sharply turned and flew out of the room before he did something. Before he did what exactly?! Godsdammit, he was such a mess. That woman was truly a witch. What had she done to him?

“Why are you frowning at the air?”

Natsu almost jumped. Almost. Gajeel always showed up at the best of moments. He hadn’t heard him approach which was kind of strange. But this whole day was just fucking over the scale of strangeness.

“How is the strategist?” He just had to ask about her, didn’t he.

“She is…” Natsu clenched his fists, then deeply exhaled. Hot gray smoke came out of his nostrils and that glowing, heavy feeling in his chest started fading. His rhythm slowed down until only the familiar quiet but tense fire in his heart was left.

“That thing with the smoke is still as freaky as I remember it.”

Gajeel was giving him one of his worried stares again. He knew something was off. But Natsu would never admit to anyone how thrown off he felt. Instead he asked, “Where’s Romeo?”

“With Sting and Rogue. You know, that whole lecture you gave really upset him.”

“Yeah, well, he deserved it. That brat isn’t going to pull a stunt like this again in the near future. I almost had a heart attack because of him.”

“Natsu Dragneel and his lectures on responsibility. I’d never even thought you had that word in your limited vocabulary.”

“Very funny. I’m dying from laughter here.”

Gajeel was waiting for Natsu to spill the beans. But Natsu had a dignity to keep. He just passed by him and said in a nonchalant voice, “The strategist has a fever so I left her with my personal doctor to look after her. We’ll have to wait for her to get better.”

Yeah, Gajeel was seeing right through his bullshit but thank the gods, he wasn’t feeling asshol-ish enough to mention it. Natsu would take what he could get. He needed some time, to cool his head and heart down. So he forced himself to smirk lazily at his cousin and walked away.

[ktrsvo]

racing to sixty

In which Simon tells Bram that he is Jacques during the party.

@mia-the-dork   *shows up 2 days late wearing sunglasses and a garbage bag* hey thanks for the prompt!! 

Simon knows exactly how this story might go - how it might end - but still it does not stop him from staggering tipsily up the stairs, trying to fend off the fogginess that has settled in his mind. There’s that logical part of him that’s yanking tightly on the reins, warning him that he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but there’s also another voice in his head, the loud, optimistic sunshine-and-rainbows one that says fuck, to hell with all caution. Like seriously, screw it.

Go for it, buddy.

Give this one your best shot.

Eyes forward, chin held up high.

When, at last, he reaches the second floor, he braces himself up against the wall for a moment. His knees threaten to buckle underneath his weight, and his stomach feels like it’s been wrung bone-dry and put in a trivection oven to bake. His insides, they’re this scrambled - though, arguably not as much as his brain is.

His outfit’s starting to feel real suffocating. Especially at the shoulders and around the neck. Simon sucks in a shuddering inhale, pops off the first three buttons on his shirt. His wig got lost somewhere along the way, so that explains the pleasant absence of weight on his head.

“You can do this,” Simon half-whispers to himself, as he disappears into the bathroom to mull over this situation a little bit more.

The pale white lighting overhead casts a strange aura to his face, Simon observes, staring at himself in the mirror. Not anything bad, not anything negative, no. It’s a glow of confidence, one he so often sees inhabit Nick’s face before an important game, filled with the belief that everything will turn out A-okay.

“Hey, Bram, it’s me, Jacques,” Simon says to his reflection in the mirror, fingers curled decisively on the countertop.

The sentence comes out flat, stale. Lame. So that one’s going out the window, definitely. Simon thinks for a moment, willing his addled brain to come up with something a bit flashier on the fly, but all that his wishing has got to show for is a dumb variation.

Hey, Barack, it’s me, Jacques .

A small snicker escapes Simon. Ha, ha, very funny - though, least this one’s got rhyme to it. A smoothness, a style - but Simon figures that instead of clapping himself on the back he’ll end up smacking himself if he seriously messes up the execution. Because Simon logic, you know.

Ah, the ever-frustrating, migraine-inducing physiology of the Simon Spier brain. Definitely not interesting enough to anatomize Freudian-style, but, whatever, Simon has better things to do than get pissy over being too unworthy for a hypothetical consideration by a guy who’s been dead since forever.

And so Simon makes his way out of the bathroom. Shuffles towards the nearest bedroom in the vicinity, because yeah, it’s totally where Bram’ll be chilling at, his job as gracious party host be damned.

Before Simon can get his hand on the doorknob, a wave of self-doubt comes crashing around his ears. He groans. Really? He’s just one second away from pulling the trigger, and the image that chooses to manifest in his mind is of Bram hooking up with a random girl?

“Stop,” Simon murmurs more to himself than anyone else.

A simple twist has the door clicking open, and then the worst case scenario disintegrates completely. Shatters like glass.

Simon’s breath sticks in his throat. There’s a sudden pounding in his ears that he’s sure has absolutely nothing to do with the shots he downed earlier. Also, Simon doesn’t remember his shirt being this stuffy. Or hot.

(Confidence restored? Kind of?)

Bram’s sitting down on the bed, looking deep in thought - a signature Bram expression that ought to be established as its own brand. Simon snickers. Then thinks: it always seems like there’s some sort of very important internal monologue going on inside Bram’s head. It could be about anything. Tax rebates, socialism, dumb puns, whether or not Keanu Reeves is truly immortal, the cool soccer moves he did yesterday, the lyrics of Between the Bars - assuming that he’s Blue, but even if he isn’t, it’s still possible, it’s not like Simon is the only one who knows and digs Elliott Smith.

So, yeah, a concoction of worldly issues, bad jokes, and depressing music - though, it’s probably leaning more towards the intellectual stuff. And, okay, definitely the sports stuff, too. Because Bram’s good at both. Great, actually.

(Simon is totally justified in his assumptions, because Bram’s always been one of those super smart, all-around guys. The handsome, sporty nerd types everyone has a crush on - grandmothers included. It’s amazing, really.)

“Simon?” Bram’s voice cuts through the haze of Simon’s thoughts.

Simon stops.

Functioning, that is. And it’s all because Bram’s got his soft, brown-eyed gaze locked onto Simon’s face, one that somehow evokes an image of an adorable puppy lounging on a stretch of sunlit grass. Simon’s cheeks warm. His pulse does a funny dance.

He stares, unable to look away.

It’s a curious thing, the cute, downward slope of Bram’s mouth when he’s thinking real hard, both dimples exposed, eyes glittering. Luminous.

God, has Bram always been this unfairly good-looking?

(Simon is reminded of how very gay he is. And repressed.)

I have feelings for you, Simon thinks with all his mind. And soul.

“Uh, sorry? I didn’t quite catch that,” Bram says, and Simon’s blood turns into fire. He actually said that out loud?The words leave a painful scorch in their wake, extinguishing what little rationality is left over in Simon’s mind. The motormouth in him has started to take off, racing at around sixty trillion miles per beat, and if Simon were in full possession of his mental faculties, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but since he’s not at his best - though, not exactly scraping rock-bottom, either - this can only bode ill for the next five seconds.

Simon moves forward. One foot in front of the other, slow, methodical, deliberate. He gets up and close, and then, exultant, he gets floored by the precise colour of Bram’s eyes. The crescent-shaped dimples on his cheeks. The pensive bend of his brow. The cupid’s bow of his mouth. The warm, rich hue of his skin - warm warm warm.

Bram Greenfeld is here, in the flesh, within Simon’s reach - physically speaking, of course; he’s still unsure about the mentally bit. Now, here’s the part where Simon should carefully consider what he should say next, but because Simon’s far from being an international gold-medalist at think-before-you-act, he ends up plunging himself into the deep end instead of simply testing out the waters -  you know , just dipping your toes in, gauging for the feel of the moment so that you don’t end up fucking embarrass yourself.

“Bram,” Simon says, then shakes his head, “no, I mean - Barack -” At this, Bram raises his eyebrows -”it’s me, Jacques.”

A beat of silence ensues, then two, three, four. Just as Simon is arriving at the conclusion that he’s made a serious miscalculation, recognition, pure and unfiltered, settles along Bram’s features. His jaw goes slack, and his forehead creases, like he cannot believe that Jacques is really, really here. Fully corporeal. No longer a collection of pixels and Arial font letters.

And then realization hits Simon, too - hard. His mind spins, tilts, whirls, as it tries to reconcile this reality to the fantasy Simon has been constructing out of little more than a few vague hints.

“You’re Jacques,” Bram says, slowly, as though testing the heft of the name on his tongue.

Simon swallows. “And you’re Blue. Right?” He must be. Obviously. Simon doesn’t think he can bear the alternative.

Bram purses his lips. “Donner sa langue au chat ,” he says, and it occurs to Simon that he’s referencing a conversation they had a few emails ago.  Give up guessing an answer. The funny thing is, the phrase could also apply to their current situation.

“Oui?” Simon says.

Bram nods. “Yeah.”

Five minutes later, they’re sitting side-by-side on the bed, knees touching, not speaking. Like they’ve both gone into shock, now on the verge - the cusp - of experiencing cardiac arrest, which, all things considered, is fair enough. Their hands are close enough to touch, and the proximity is electrifying - probably even more so than if they were actually touching.

“I still can’t believe that it’s actually you,” Simon breathes out, breaking the near-silence between them.

“So … you’re disappointed?” Bram’s voice is small. Quiet. Not at all the reaction Simon intended to draw out of him.

“No, no, no, you have it the wrong way,” Simon says impatiently, shaking his head. And it’s true. If anything, it’s Simon who should be asking that question. “Are you kidding me, Bram?” His tone rises up a notch, the way it does whenever he works himself up into an impassioned frenzy - which is next to never, because he’s too awkward for raw, heartfelt spiels, theatre club antics not included. “It’s just that you’re you, Mr. Everyone’s-Got-Their-Eyes-On-Me Greenfeld. I mean, ever take a good look at yourself in the mirror? Like, God, imagine exchanging anonymous messages with someone and finding out that Mystery Person is this smart, popular, sporty, good-looking guy who has always been totally out of your league, who you thought was totally straight and therefore would never have a chance with.” The words continue to pour, relentlessly. “See, this is pretty much the stuff of dreams, Bram, holy shit, I mean, you’ve got me over here, someone who’s a disaster when it comes to starting conversations with cute boys - or just people in general - and then we’ve got you, who -”

Bram’s hand closes around Simon’s. Simon’s mouth closes. “Simon,” he begins in a light tone of voice, the kind that typically precedes a chuckle, “for what it’s worth, I was hoping that Jacques would be you.”

Simon blinks. Lets out an exhale. So … the feeling is mutual, then. Oh.

“Since when?” Simon bleats, because the revelation still feels too brittle. Too new. Like it’s merely an illusion Simon managed to will into existence through sheer wishing alone, an easy-to-break fantasy. Cruel by virtue of it simply existing in its false, hollow state.

At least if Simon never dreamt this up, a desire for more would have never been incited in him.

But when Bram tilts up Simon’s chin with his fingers, saying, “I’ve been crushing on you for a long time, now, Spier. Of course I’d want Jacques to be you,” the impact solidifies - turns real - and then the gap between them is closing, closing, closing, until Bram’s lips are on his.

The kiss starts off awkward. Clumsy.

It is more mouth than feeling, a sweaty fumble of boy instead of exhilaration. But it isn’t bad, no. As a matter of fact, it’s the best kiss he’s ever had in his entire life - not that he’s had enough good or real ones to have a proper benchmark. Simon doesn’t know where his hands should go, if he should be touching Bram here, or touching Bram there, so he just lets Bram guide their mouths together into a slow, experimental rhythm.

And it works out just fine. Bram’s lips are soft against his, so pliant, so warm, and Simon nearly dies on the spot when Bram does the thing, nipping at his bottom lip lightly with his teeth. They break away for a second, to gather their bearings, before pressing up against each other again - this time with a little bit of familiarity and a lot more fervour.

Simon figured out along the way that it would be best to rest his hands right here, on Bram’s shoulders, so that’s what he does now. Every press of Bram’s mouth sears his skin, raises his body temperature a notch higher each time, until Simon’s sure he’s practically indistinguishable from flame. Made from it, even. Embers and all.

The sound that emerges from Simon’s throat is a needy, almost carnal groan that Simon’s sure will plague him later on in his dreams, but for now there is only this: Bram kissing him senseless, breathless, motionless.

They hastily pull apart when there’s a loud knock, the door swinging open to reveal some chick in a minion costume. But the moment she disappears, Bram draws Simon in for another kiss, and the rest is history.

[lucytara]

perc’ahlia & vaxleth fic: songs from the ash [1/2]

Keyleth can only look on, dazed, buzzing, those neon lights filling up her heart and her skin is where she wants him to write his songs; she licks her lips and tastes salt, electricity, copper, music. Percy idly drifts away imagining what it’d be like to control his dreams, and that if he could, he’d dream about Vex now, exactly like this, and no shadows would be lurking in the background.   [rock star/movie star au. fame isn't so bad, he says, if it introduced him to someone like her. 34k words. all links are clickable.]

songs from the ash

It’s an accident that he meets her at all, really; they just happen to be at the same afterparty.   He’d gotten an invitation and he’d promised Keyleth he’d take her if he did, secretly hoping he wasn’t yet popular enough to warrant an invite to an awards show for an art he wasn’t even involved in. But apparently he is, to his chagrin; he’s an actor, for god’s sake, not a musician. That’s likely the family influence.   Either way, it’s how he’s ended up at the Grammys with Keyleth squirming impatiently at his side as they await the announcement of the winner for “Best New Artist.” He watches faces and songs he doesn’t recognize flash across the giant screens and thinks that maybe he should start listening to the radio.   Damn his recent, more mainstream work. He should’ve stuck to indie.   Keyleth suddenly screams next to him, clapping wildly and whistling. He keeps his expression politely engaged, remembering they’re in pretty good seats and riding a wave of fame at the moment, meaning they’re likely to be panned to at random intervals for online streams of the audience, or whatever; fortunately Keyleth’s excitement is genuine and he’s a pretty good actor. Or so his reviews say.   An odd, mismatched group of people traipse up to the stage, grinning and giggling and shoving each other - one of them is huge, definitely cracking six and a half feet - and the screen behind them reads Vox Machina. Two members of the five-person group step up to the mic, eerily similar in appearance; they’re definitely related, both with long black hair and similar bone structure, though the boy is a little more angular, sharper. The woman speaks first, holding her award in the air and smiling widely; she says, “Here’s to our darling father, who told us we’d never amount to anything,” and Percy is immediately captivated despite himself. Her brother laughs loudly and raises a finger - Percy’s sure this is quite unprofessional and absolutely not allowed on television, but the audience is widely amused; Keyleth hollers next to him - and a small girl with white hair tugs the mic down and says, “No, really, thank you so much, we love our fans, thanks, this is amazing--” before the exit music starts to play.   The big guy in the back bends down and screams “Rage on!” and the crowd goes nuts, Keyleth included.   He leans over to her. “Who are they? What kind of music do they play? That was a wildly inappropriate display.”   Her eyes are bright as she turns to him. “Oh, they’re the best,” she gushes enthusiastically. “Vox Machina - they’re alternative rock, mostly, but they’ve got some songs that hedge on punk.” That explains it, Percy thinks. “Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan, they’re the twins and the frontrunners - he shreds on the guitar, she’s an amazing singer and I think she can secretly play every instrument - the shorter guy, that’s Scanlan, he definitely can play every instrument and he’s like, a classically trained singer - Grog’s the big one and he drums, obviously - and then there’s Pike, the smaller girl, who mostly plays the keys.” She barely breathes while she tells him this, her excitement getting in the way of her basic primal needs, like oxygen. She’s been trying to engage him in their music for the better part of a year, so his slight interest is driving her wild.   “Wow,” he says, because there’s not much else to say. “I’m intrigued, if nothing else.”   “I’ll get you to fall in love with them if it’s the last thing I ever do,” she declares dramatically, riding the high of their win.   He rolls his eyes but humors her; he knows better than to trample on other people’s passions.   And--   Well--   As it turns out, she’s almost right.   --   They’re at one of the smaller after-parties - he couldn’t say whose, as Keyleth had mostly planned their itinerary for the night, despite the invitations being directed at him - and though it’s crowded, it’s a cooler, looser crowd; the setting is more relaxed than he’s used to, and everyone’s letting their hair down, dancing, drinking, laughing, yelling.   The music is loud and pulses through him. Keyleth starts to sway automatically.   “I want a drink,” she shouts, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bar. Not like he could lose her, anyway; she’s tall and towers over a lot of people there. Keyleth often gets mistaken for a model whenever they go out in public, which endlessly amuses him because she’s just so awkward. Objectively, yes, Keyleth is gorgeous, but she spends more time covered in soil and talking to the plants she fills his apartment with than him for him to ever think of her as anything models usually encompass - grace and elegance, for starters.   (First thing to know about Keyleth: she ferociously believes that in another life, she’s a florist instead of an actress, or maybe she’s a national park ranger, or she’s botanist, or a wild creature that lives in the forest and carves herself a home out of a hollow tree - in truth, she can never pick which one is most appealing to her. All of them are fitting.)   The bartender raises a quick eyebrow as he spots her, immediately coming to her service. “What can I get you?”   She smiles and her teeth sparkle. “Four shots, tequila. And then I’d like a paloma, please.”   (Second thing to know about Keyleth: she can sure fucking drink.)   The bartender nods once, looking simultaneously impressed and concerned, before shifting his attention to Percy. “You?”   He opens his mouth to answer, and that’s when he sees her.   She’s sitting on the other side of the bar, talking animatedly to her brother and a dark-skinned man with piercing eyes and long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Her lips wrap around her straw through her smile. She’s positively radiant. She’s ethereal, she’s glowing, she’s otherwordly--   The bartender glances back to see what he’s staring at and snickers. “Yeah,” he says, understanding. “She’s fuckin’ something else, isn’t she?”   Percy swallows and says, “Erm.”   “He’ll have a mojito,” Keyleth interrupts. “Make it strong.”   --   He’s not going to talk to her, of course. He’s a gentleman and he doesn’t want to disturb her night. And, of course, she’s way out of his fucking league.   But Keyleth - bless Keyleth, who completely doesn’t give a shit about any of the things Percy does, so free-spirited and pure-intentioned - downs two shots in quick succession while pushing the other two towards Percy, who follows, choking slightly, and walks confidently around the bar to where two members of her favorite band are relaxing in the afterglow of their win.   Vax’ildan tilts his head and catches sight of the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life, holy shit, what the fuck, standing behind him with an easy-going grin. She slides in next to him and asks loudly (the music’s overpowering and pounding and Vax can feel it in his bones), “I love your band and I think you guys are awesome, do you wanna do shots with me?”   Vex laughs nicely over his shoulder, but he can’t tear his gaze away from this transcendent being beside him, her long red hair spiraling over her shoulders, her eyes almost the color of gold - he says, “Erm, fuck yeah.” He’s seen her somewhere before, he knows, maybe a runway - he can’t put his finger on it, she looks kind of like a model, but--   She smiles again and signals the bartender for four more shots.   “Here,” she says, passing him one, Vex one, and downs the other two by herself. Vax is fucking in love with her already. She blinks slowly, her lips in a lazy curl. “There,” she says, pleased. “Now I feel great.”   “I bet you do,” Vex replies, admiration in her voice, but she’s staring somewhere else.   Gilmore is obviously delighted. He chortles out, “What a firecracker.”   “Please excuse us,” a boy with a shock of white hair says from behind her, apologetic and uncomfortable; Vax hadn’t even noticed him until just now, but that hair on him is unmistakable--   “I’m sorry,” Vax says, completely entranced, “but what is your name?”   She leans closer to him suddenly, her fingers grasping the bar; the man next her tuts under his breath and steadies her. “I’m Keyleth,” she says, like she’s a fucking angel or something, which, Vax thinks, she probably is.   Vex repeats, “Keyleth--”   He knows that name - Keyleth, Keyleth, the way it rolls around in his mouth, Keyleth, Keyleth - “Oh, shit,” he says, recognition washing over him. “You’re in that film--!”     She laughs delightedly. “Am I?”   Vax finally tears his eyes away from Keyleth to the boy she’s with and it’s-- “You too! You were in--”   Vex finishes excitedly, “--The Sun Tree! I knew it was you, how could I not, but I didn’t want to interrupt -- oh, hells, we love that movie, it’s absolutely brilliant--” and Vax sees the anchor of her stare had been Percival the entire time, who has done nothing but silently take her in for the past five minutes, lacking Keyleth’s unconcerned nature, afraid to take a step.   “Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third,” he introduces quickly, as he is prone to do when he is nervous or showing off; in this case it’s the former.   Keyleth waves a hand airily. “You can call him Percy.”   “Percy,” Vex echoes, and oh, he has never loved himself more than when she is holding him in her eyes.   --   Our manager, Shaun Gilmore, I’m Vax’ildan, that’s my sister, Vex’ahlia. Short, brief, to the point.   “Charmed,” Gilmore says, winking and clapping Vax on the shoulder before slipping out.   Keyleth, now undeniably a little (a lot) drunk, leans her chin in palm, elbow on the bar. “Is there a garden?” she asks.   “Probably,” Vax answers. “Big property, isn’t it? Let’s have a look.”   He takes her by the hand and stands; she’s taller than him, which he thinks is fantastic, truthfully, though he’s sure they’ll be a bit more even when she’s not wearing heels, and waits for her agreement; she laughs lighter than the chime of the wind, and begins to drag him away with her. “I love flowers,” Percy hears her state as they head off, Vax’s face torn between dumbfounded and inspired.   Percy wearily collapses on the now vacant barstool next to Vex, shaking his head. “Sorry about that,” he says, still not quite able to look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time. “She’s - ah - insatiable and innocent. It’s an interesting combination.”   “Clearly,” Vex answers, her tone playful. “Not your girlfriend, I’d gathered that much.”   He nearly chokes on his drink. “No, gods, no. Best friend, co-star on occasion.”   “Good. He’s already obsessed with her,” she nods after her brother. “Better it be someone available.” She pauses. “Any particular reason you can’t bear to look at me, darling?”   His face burns red, his ears hot, his neck tingling. He peaks at her over the rim of his glasses. He catches her fingers curling around her glass - rum and coke by the looks of it - the swell of her chest peeking out of her dress, her hair let out of its braid, loose and flowing and lightly curled against her back, her cheeks, the bright blue feather behind her ear - and he says, “I’ve not meant to be rude. It’s simply that - you’re a little too beautiful and I’m - new at this, I suppose. I apologize.”   She’s silent for a moment, and when he sneaks another glance at her he’s surprised to see her expression flushed with a similar embarrassment; he’s caught her off-guard. The idea emboldens him slightly and he keeps his eyes locked on her.   She meets his gaze and her lips turn up abashedly, genuinely. “That’s charming. Thank you. I appreciate your efforts to maximize my comfort, but I don’t mind if you stare. I’m aware of how good I look.”   He laughs, startling himself. “Well, as I’ve been given permission, I must admit I feel much better about the whole thing.”   “Excellent, because I’ve my own compliments to shower upon you,” she says, and holy hells, she’s too charming and easy for her own good - the air is warm around her, all the light is coming from her smile - “Truly, Percival, let me sing your praises again - I love your films. Honestly, Vax and I have seen The Sun Tree too many times to count, I recognized you instantly - we’re big on fantasy,” she tells him, a hand briefly resting on his arm. She’s a little drunk herself, he’s realizing; but then again, who isn’t - it is a party.   “We’re filming the sequel at the moment,” he provides, holding back a laugh at her excited squeal.   “Tell me nothing,” she says. “I want to be surprised and enthralled. Will you be attending the Academy Awards in a few weeks, as well?”   “Oh, no,” he says bashfully, embarrassed that she even thinks he’s good enough to go. “My most recent film released after the cutoff date - I’ll qualify for next year, but as for this year, I have work obligations, so fortunately I can skip.” The music shifts, a base line thumping around his heart. Vex’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t think much of it. “And you?” he asks. “You’ve accomplished quite a musical feat - what’s next?”   His tone is sincere, interested; she allows a full-blown curl of her lips and moves closer, cornering him, a strangely victorious glint in her eye. “You’ve never heard our music,” she accuses, apparently amused at the revelation.   He weighs his options and decides on the truth. “No,” he admits sheepishly. “I haven’t. It’s a priority now, though. What gave me away?”   She laughs loudly, gesturing at the speakers. “This is us.”   He freezes immediately, becoming hyper aware of the beat in the background; it’s oddly refined for something so rough - it’s her voice singing, low and sensual and sharp at the edges, cutting into him with an edge that feels good - the notes are clean and the drums aren’t overpowering and it flows in a way he didn’t really think rock music, or punk-rock, whatever they are, was capable of.   She’s watching him take it in and she’s silently mouthing the words without realizing it; her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Find me someone out there whose heart isn’t full of holes, my hands are bloody from refusing to let you go. Damn. He kind of hopes she didn’t write this.   “Did you write this?” he asks.   “No,” she says, and then: “Well, sort of. The sentiment of the song came from Pike, but Vax and I helped her with the lyrics.”   “It’s good.” He clears his throat. “It’s great. You’re - you’re an incredible singer.” He frowns at his own attempt to pay her a compliment. “It’s not that I didn’t like your music, by the way. Keyleth is always telling me my taste in music is a grave offense to ‘all of the beautiful things life has to offer.’”   Vex laughs again. “And what is your taste in music?”   “I have none.”   “Well, that certainly is a problem, then, isn’t it?” Her knee brushes his. He feels the condensation of his glass dripping across his fingers. “I’ll have to fix that.”   “Please,” he answers, trying to fall back into it, relaxing against the bar. “I’m bereft. Clearly I’m missing a core defining aspect of the traditionally constructed personality. I was in a rush when I created mine.”   “It’s a good thing you’ve got me, now, dear,” she says playfully, and the world keeps turning.   Over the course of the next few hours, Percy learns that Vex is beautiful everywhere; he sees it in the way her fingers curl delicately around his wrist when she’s sincere, how her hidden talent is actually archery and not the fact that she can play most instruments, the brush of her eyelashes against her cheek as she winks (which she does, often, because she clearly knows how to get what she wants from him, from everybody); it’s in the almost sultry tone of her voice when she calls him darling and dear, her mouth against the rim of her drink, the way she throws her head back when she laughs. Vex is funny and she’s clever; he banters with her like he was born knowing the trigger to her smile, and she provides insightful commentary from angles he’s never bothered to consider. She calls him out when his words drop from his lips in ways he doesn’t intend them and he challenges her prejudices against the industry and the fame and the wealth.   “Percival, darling, we had vastly different upbringings,” she points out. “Not to dwell, as I’ve a tad more tact than that, but I do know what you come from.”   The slight hinting at his past doesn’t sting the way he’s used to; he finds he actually appreciates the promptness and matter-of-fact tone she’s adopted while discussing it. “Fair,” he concedes. “I don’t know yours, though, do I?”   “Syldor Vessar is my father,” she says, and he raises his eyebrows in shock. “Yes, you would know of him, as I’d assumed. Being a Lord yourself,” she teases, and he reddens once again. “Or is it Duke? I’ve no taste for royalty. You outrank our father by miles, though, I know that much.”   “I don’t tend to adhere to that custom,” he says. “I’m no Lord, nor Duke. I mean, technically, yes, I am - but my sister Cassandra is much more suited to the position than I.” He smirks at her. “And I get the sense you’d have a taste for the right royalty.”   “Ta,” she answers, grinning back. “And as Syldor’s bastard children, Vax and I were also quite unsuited to that life.” She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, before adding: “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”   Ah, of course.   Being from England, she would be aware of the incident - most people who search him, he imagines, are - the fire that claimed his family and forced him and his sister into positions they weren’t ready for.   “It isn’t for you to concern yourself with,” he says gently, trying to cue to her that he appreciates it but doesn’t want to discuss it further. Fortunately, she’s perceptive and picks up on the message easily enough, offering a sharp nod in return. “I can have Cassandra stir up some trouble for your father, though, if you’d prefer. Where does he reside?”   She laughs; such a welcome sound. “Reading.”   “Marquess of Reading?”   “Yes. And your sister - Duchess of Cornwall, is that correct?”   “Yes,” he affirms, suddenly missing Cassandra terribly. “She is quite fit for royalty, though she never should’ve achieved such high status.”   “Royalty fits you as well, Percival,” Vex says, looking at him intensely, carefully, a wicked glint shining in her eye, like royalty is an outfit she’s dressing him in. “My Lord.”   A jolt of electricity shoots up his spine, channeling the rest of his bones, like he’s made of copper and metal. He isn’t sure what to make of it. “Ah, that’s - erm - really not...necessary, Lady Vex’ahlia.”   She grimaces and flips him the bird. “You’ve proved your point. I’m no Lady.”   He takes her offensive hand in his own, covering it, pulling her closer - maybe it’s the alcohol, the dimness of the fairy lights, the moon shadowing overhead - her lips red, her eyes a dark mirror of the night sky, the catch of breath in her lungs - “Say what you must, but I disagree,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”   She swallows quietly. “Yeah?”   “I’ve known plenty of people with money, dear, and they are certainly not worth you.”   --   Keyleth bends down, her face buried against the roses, fingers gently scraping against the thorns; she lays her palms flat against the grass, the mossy rocks, the rough tree bark. Her heels lay strewn somewhere by the garden path. Vax watches as if he’s in a trance, this unearthly nymph, this woodland creature - “Keyleth,” he says in awe, absolutely struck by her raw love of life, “Keyleth, what are you?”   She smiles wide and takes his hand, pressing a loose petal into his palm, and then holding it to her heart.   “Don’t you feel that?” she asks lowly, and he smells the tequila but there’s also something fresh, like rain on woodchips, fog; she inhales deeply. “The entire earth inside of me. I could’ve been a forest, once, you know.”   “You’re absolutely nuts,” he says. “I want to marry you.”   She laughs and laughs and laughs, falling back against the grass like nothing in life could ever make her happier. He lies beside her and lets her tell him of wonderful, impossible things; how she believes she belongs to another world, one where she tends to the world’s largest garden and carries the light of the sun in her bare hands, and if he were interested, perhaps the two of them could grow tomatoes together.   “I am,” he says vehemently, “I am,” and for a split second, he swears he recognizes her from a different life, a flash of a bed of flowers and a flickering pair of raven’s wings, their souls in flux across the universe.   --   Vex’s eyes dart down to his lips, her heart pounding; she’s full of fire and smoke, explosions beating against her ribcage, and there’s this boy, his gasp of white hair, his rounded glasses, his earnestness - his shy attraction, his quieted demons, his addicting voice - he’s so handsome, he’s so--   “Beautiful,” Vex whispers. “You, too, you know. You’re beautiful.”   He blinks slowly, dazedly, and she leans forward--   “Hey, Stubby,” her brother’s stupid fucking nickname for her rings in her ear, and she’s absolutely going to kill him tonight. “Come on, we’ve got to go. It’s nearly four.”   Percy pulls back, looking sheepish and nervous again. The announcement of the time deters her from murder for a moment. “Is it really?”   “Yep,” Vax says cheerfully, his arm around Keyleth, who’s a little unsteady at his side.   “Percy!” she says, and flings her arms around him overenthusiastically. “I’m having so much fun!”   “It certainly seems so,” he says, his glasses knocked askew. Vex restrains a smile, not wanting to reveal anything to her brother about how her night had gone.   “Percy, we haven’t watered your plants for hours.”   “I’m sure they’re fine.”   Vax grins, unconcerned, uncaring of whatever Vex might gather from his expression. Well, they always did differ that way. Vax wore his positive emotions on his sleeve; Vex cloaked them in whatever material she could get her hands on.   “Keyleth,” Vax says her name unbearably softly, and oh, he’s so fucking fucked. She turns to face him, releasing Percy. “It was lovely to spend the evening with you.”   He takes her hand and presses a kiss to it, and she giggles. “You too, Vax. Thanks for - humoring me.”   “I wasn’t.” He says it so seriously that she can’t doubt the sincerity.   She giggles again bashfully and says, “Well, I - thanks, and I guess I’ll - you know, see you around.”   “Definitely.”   Vex looks at Percy and rolls her eyes pointedly. He half-smiles in response, but she knows exactly what he means.   A hand smacks the back of her head. “Up. Let’s go.”   “Fuck, Vax, okay,” she snarls, instantly annoyed with him. He gets the perfect night and then ruins the climax of hers. Fucker. “I’m coming.”   It’s enough for him - he turns and starts shouting for Grog, who Vex is pretty sure has been challenging people to arm wrestling and shotgunning contests all night.   Keyleth also starts wobbling away, heading for the gate. Vex slips off the stool to her feet as Percy remains, still a bit stupefied; his eyes follow her, and he says, “Vex’ahlia.”   “Yes?” she asks, unmoving.   He seems to deliberate for a second before smiling delicately and saying, “I meant what I said.”   The spell has been broken already, and the moment is clearly over, but she bends down anyway and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, her hand resting gently underneath his jaw, his fingertips against her wrist.   “You don’t know me,” she says, slipping for the briefest of seconds, and there’s a sadness to her he hadn’t called attention to before. “Goodnight, Percival.”   “Goodnight,” he breathes out, his hand falling away as she steps to join her brother, and it’s the last time he sees her for months.   --   So, Percy’s bright, sure. He’s intelligent. But he’s also a fucking idiot.   “I can’t believe you didn’t get her phone number,” Keyleth says for the thousandth time, sending a text to Vax, who’s somewhere in the rural wilderness of Montana at the moment.   “Thanks, Keyleth,” Percy answers, disappointment unfolding in his stomach as he scrolls on his laptop, seeing paparazzi pictures of her from a few days earlier leaving a bar with some guy. He’s jealous, even though he has no reason to be - it was one night, one conversation, over a month ago. He needs to get over it.   “I can ask Vax about the guy, if you want,” Keyleth offers helpfully as a crew member touches up her make-up. They’ve started filming the sequel to The Sun Tree, called Passed Through Fire. He thinks of Vex constantly, wondering if she’ll see it, if she’ll love it, how she’ll feel watching him. He tries to do a better job. He wants his future self to impress her, somehow.   “No, it’s fine,” he says dejectedly, immediately wincing at the sound of his own pathetic voice. They’ve had this conversation before, always ending in the same denial.   Keyleth frowns, because she’s a good friend, because she wants him to be happy - “Too bad,” she says, quickly typing out a message with a flourish, “I’m asking.”   “No, Keyleth, don’t--” he tries to stop her, but it’s been sent. He hangs his head and rubs his eyes. “Balls.”   TO: Vax Hey who’s that guy your sister was with the other night? Saw the pics   FROM: Vax o that’s just jarrett. he sometimes works security w us & he acts as her bodyguard when she’s out alone   FROM: Vax y   TO: Vax Percy was totally jealous lol but don’t tell him I told you   FROM: Vax hahaha does he want her # i can just give it to u   FROM: Vax she wants his 2 lets do a swap shes always moping around now   TO: Vax I love matchmaking!!   She swipes “share contact” and gets Vex’s number in a matter of seconds - she saves it, but doesn’t do anything with it yet. “He’s her bodyguard,” she tells Percy, who perks up instantly.   “Not that it’s any of my business,” he supplies, and Keyleth just grins.   “Sure,” she says, continuing to text Vax, letting Percy have his moment of relief in private. He’s called to set a second later, and the scene goes brilliantly; they only do three takes just to get the angles, and the director has no notes for him.   He heads back to his chair, Keyleth now in full hair and makeup, still texting away.   His phone buzzes suddenly, and he opens the home screen--   Keyleth, grinning even wider, has sent him Vex’s contact details.   She’s called for her scene a moment later, and before he can even process what he’s staring at, she says, “You can thank me later.”   He doesn’t thank her. He’s done for the day, and he heads home without another word to anybody.   --   Vex is scrolling through twitter when Vax approaches from behind - she’s lived with him forever, and she can sense him coming, but she doesn’t bother deterring him - she’s got pretty good aim if he does something obnoxious.   “Guess what Keyleth told me,” Vax sing-songs in her ear, loud and annoying. She reaches up a hand and swats him away.   “What?” she asks, kind of curious despite herself.   Vax smirks. “His Royal Highness saw those pictures of you with Jarrett,” he says, shrugging. “Apparently, they made him a tad jealous...”   Vex struggles to keep her voice level; internally she’s burning again. “Is that so?”   “Yeah.”   “Well, thanks for the update,” she says, and returns to her twitter feed.   Vax rolls his eyes. “I know you fancy him,” he says. “Quit being so bloody obtuse.”   “I’m not doing anything,” she argues, not lifting her eyes from her phone. That’s not it, she wants to say. It’s more than that. He knew me, Vax, I swear. Like from somewhere else. Like recognizing someone you’ve never met. He knew.   But she doesn’t say anything.   “When was the last time you shagged about with Jarrett?” he prods, and she senses a challenge coming but she won’t give in.   She side-eyes him. “A few months ago,” she answers honestly; nothing to hide there. He knew the answer, anyway.   “Why’d you stop?”   Fucking prick. “Because--” she starts, and stops, and starts again, a sputtering engine. Because I keep dreaming in monochrome, because I see his eyes when I blink; because I can almost taste him. “Fuck off, Vax,” she says instead. He’s so beautiful it haunts her. She wants to ruin him like he’s ruining her. There’s that smoldering heat - the desire for his shy stare, probing her - she doesn’t want him to look at anyone else like he’d looked at her then.   Her phone buzzes; Vax’s name pops up, along with the contact details for Lord Percival whatever whatever de Rolo, and Vex has to do everything in her power to keep her emotions sealed tight.   “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Vax says, and she’s on the verge of combusting.   She doesn’t do anything with it. Not yet. Instead, she searches his name on twitter and follows him.   And then follows him on every other platform he has an account on.   --   @imvexthatsvax I’m flattered. I loved your album.   @percivalderolo glad to see you’re finally developing your personality, darling.   --   (Nobody really knows what to do with that exchange.)   --   It’s nothing, but Percy rereads her tweet over and over again. He still can’t shake his inadequacy - she’s so much larger than life, so confident and sure of herself, so untethered and unshaken - and he’s, well - he’s pretty fucked up.   He’s better now, sure. He goes to therapy. But the world knows his story and to them, he’s like a war hero, a tragedy-turned-to-art, some sort of sad, beautiful thing that is deserving of an embrace. He feels slightly like everyone is clamoring to adopt him, like he’s lost, soulless.   Which - even if he is - he’s dealing with it. He’s trying. He’s becoming.   He hovers over Vex’s contact details again; she doesn’t have time for broken pieces of his life when hers is already so full.   --   PercivaldeRolo liked your photo.   The thing that really starts to eat at Vex is how famous he is.   He’s on the cover of magazines, he’s interviewed on talk shows, there are paparazzi pictures of him everywhere; he’s a movie star for fuck’s sake. He’s royalty. He’s every possible intimidating title tucked into one person, and he represents so much of the acceptance she and Vax never got.   PercivaldeRolo liked your photo. It’s a picture Vax took of her with her feet up on the dashboard of their tour bus. Sometimes she likes to sit up front and stare out at the unfolding scenery ahead, the countryside shifting around them, the bustling towns, the big cities, the secluded forests, the vast, empty valleys.   “Hey, Kiki, look at this,” Vax says from behind her, and she twists around to see him holding his phone up to the window. “The fields! I don’t know if the quality is any good, but the flowers are blooming--”   “It’s so pretty!” She can hear Keyleth’s exclamation through Vax’s earphones. “Percy, hey, check this out--”   “Hey, de Rolo,” Vax says, waving into the camera, and quickly shifts the phone towards her. “The gang’s all here!”   Vex suddenly can’t move, so overwhelmed by the idea that after a month, Percy can see her - he’s staring at her now, she wonders what his face his like, his eyes, if his lips are still where she left them - ”He says hi,” Vax passes on - and she smiles as her stomach bubbles up, her heart in her throat. She raises a hand carefully and waves.   “Hello, darling,” she says, and to her relief her voice sounds steady.   Vax is silent for a moment. “He says you’ve failed your duties.”   “Sorry?”   “He’s still without tunes.”   She feels herself smiling without a thought. “Keyleth isn’t helping you with that?”   “He doesn’t trust me, Vex!” She hears Keyleth yell. “He’d trust you, though--”   Vax laughs at whatever is happening on-screen. She stands, suddenly ill, and pushes past Vax. “Sorry - need to make a call,” she hastily excuses, and she glances back over her shoulder and catches sight of that white hair, those glasses, and she--   She crawls into a bunk with Pike, who says nothing and rubs her back as Vax’s voice echoes throughout the bus, Keyleth’s name falling from his lips like a prayer.   --   (She hears ta, Percival, and her lungs shudder in her chest. Pike’s hand falters over her spine.   It’s tough, she whispers to Pike.   I know, honey.)   --   But damn it, Percy likes her.   He watches her performances on YouTube, sometimes of her concerts the day after she’s played them; he reads interviews the band has done, listens and listens again to their album. He has most, if not all, of their songs memorized.   “I don’t get it,” Keyleth says one night as she re-pots one of his plants that she’s convinced is bored of its soil. “Why won’t you just talk to her?”   “Because she’s too good for me.”   “Oh, Percy,” Keyleth tuts under her breath. “You know that’s not true.”   “I know no such thing,” he states immovably, keeping his eyes trained on the old radio he’s tinkering with.   “You’re a good person.”   “Perhaps, perhaps not.”   “Okay, I take it back,” Keyleth huffs. “You’re exasperating.”   Percy smiles. “That’s more like it.” He feels sort of bad, though, because he knows Keyleth is trying to help; he doesn’t want her to think he’s taking her for granted. “Look, Keyleth - it was easy for you and Vax, and that’s great. But I’m...struggling. And I don’t think she even - it’s been weeks, hasn’t it? She doesn’t fancy me like that.”   “Vax and I aren’t dating,” Keyleth says bizarrely, undermining everything Percy has previously believed.   “What?” he asks, craning his neck to look at her. Her expression is troubled and confused, but the flowers hold her gaze. “What do you mean?”   “I mean we aren’t dating,” she repeats, straightening a bouquet. “He’s not into me like that.”   “Keyleth,” Percy says slowly, fearing he’s entered an alternate reality, “that boy is obsessed with you.”   “He can have anyone he wants,” she reasons to herself aloud. “He’s a rock star, Percy, he’s like - he’s just so cool, and I’m just me.”   Percy’s stunned into silence, but there’s a deeper truth there, lingering underneath the absurdity of her words - he sees himself reflected in them, damaged and uncertain and afraid.   Well, balls. Maybe this is what he sounds like to her. Maybe it’s time he start leading by example.   “You aren’t just anything,” he says kindly, and Keyleth smiles brightly in response. “He’d be the luckiest person in the world if you chose to give him a chance.”   She starts humming to herself as she tends to the rest of the flowers. Percy picks up his phone and texts--   TO: Vex’ahlia Hello.   --   “Band meeting!” Vax yells as they approach a McDonald’s at two in the morning, somewhere in Vermont. They pile out of the bus, Vex clutching her phone tightly, Grog carrying Pike in on his back. He orders fifty nuggets between them and Vex knows he’ll eat about forty of them. They get five orders of fries and a couple Big Macs and hole up in a corner, even though the place is basically deserted.   “So what’d he say?” Vax pokes her in the side, shoving fries in his mouth with his free hand.   “‘Hello,’” Vex quotes, staring down at her phone.   “Well, he’s clearly thinking about you,” Pike points out, smothering her nuggets in honey mustard. “I mean, he’s had your number for awhile, right?”   “According to Vax.”   “Yep,” the boy supplies helpfully, still chewing.   “So obviously he’s been holding onto it for whatever reason, like, debating whether or not to text you,” Pike rationalizes. “What are you so worried about?”   “He’s royalty,” Vex says vehemently. “He’s a movie star.”   “You’re royalty, too,” Grog responds, and slurps loudly at his coke. “And you’re a music star.”   “What do I say?” Vex asks the group, having a mild internal crisis that nobody can quite decipher the cause of. Scanlan finally takes a stand, leaning over the table.   He says, “I’ve got an idea.” He takes her phone and types something in before sliding it back to her with a shit-eating grin. She glances down.   “‘Hey,’” she reads aloud.   “It’s perfect,” Scanlan says. “Short, sweet, to the point.”   She stares blankly at him. Vax laughs loudly, and even Pike stifles a grin.   Grog says, “I like it.”   When her expression doesn’t change, Scanlan sighs; well, he is the oldest of the group, after all, he claims, and he’s beyond petty dramatics. He says patiently, “Vex, just fucking say hi. Just be his friend - the poor guy, he always seems so lonely. What’s so terrifying about just being a friend?”   She thinks of Saundor with his hand around her throat, spitting into her face about her cruelty and selfishness and worthlessness; Syldor and the disapproval etched into his face like age lines, his eyes unforgiving and cold; she thinks of the sting of rejection, of never, ever being good enough, or talented enough, or noble enough - I know people with money and they are definitely not worth you--   TO: Percival de Rolo hello   TO: Percival de Rolo what do you think of this lyric - “and I swear that if I could, I’d rid my blood of you and give it back”   FROM: Percival de Rolo I support the sentiment.   FROM: Percival de Rolo But I implore you to keep your blood where it is. You need it to live.   “We’re good,” Vex declares to the table, and Grog celebrates by shoving five nuggets into his mouth at once.   --   It’s as if he’s finally knocked down an imagined, previously thought to be impenetrable barrier just by saying hello; she texts him all the time - when she’s bored, when she’s excited, when she’s upset, when she’s inspired; for every reason, just because - and she’s so engaging and definitive within herself that he can’t help but be drawn to her. Sometimes he feels as if his own identity is a stone’s throw away from shattering entirely, like he isn’t always sure he’s all the things he pretends to be, but he feels more himself than ever when he’s talking to her, which comforts him and terrifies him equal amounts.   (3 days ago FROM: Vex’ahlia i must say, i do quite prefer flying to driving. so much quicker. better views.   TO: Vex’ahlia Disagree. Depends on what you’re looking at, I think.   FROM: Vex’ahlia the grand canyon.   TO: Vex’ahlia Ah, well, that would be a nice view.   2 days ago FROM: Vex’ahlia how do you feel about dragons?   TO: Vex’ahlia Well, I’m convinced that all mythology came from somewhere, with a basis in reality…   FROM: Vex’ahlia i feel as if i wouldn’t trust them.   TO: Vex’ahlia You’d be one. A magnificent blue dragon hoarding treasure.   FROM: Vex’ahlia does sound like me. too complimentary, percival, truly.   Yesterday, 4:05 AM FROM: Vex’ahlia i can’t sleep. you should hear grog snore. maybe i’ll kill him just to shut him up.   TO: Vex’ahlia Dear, I think your talents are best left out of prison.   FROM: Vex’ahlia did i wake you?   TO: Vex’ahlia I shall neither confirm nor deny, for fear of you stubbornly deciding I shan’t be texted in the wee hours of the morning.   FROM: Vex’ahlia you flatter me. my every whim is meant to be answered. i expect nothing less from you.   TO: Vex’ahlia Oh, excellent, so we’re on the same page.)   Keyleth comes barging into his hotel room one evening in mid-April - they’re filming on location for the next month, somewhere just outside of Atlanta - and throws herself across his bed, her phone glowing in her hands.   “Vax invited us to a concert,” she squeaks out, overcome with exhilaration. “It’s this weekend and we aren’t filming - Saturday night in New York!”   TO: Vex’ahlia Your brother invited us to a show?   FROM: Vex’ahlia yes, i wasn’t supposed to ruin the surprise - are you going to come? :)   TO: Vex’ahlia Do you want me to come?   FROM: Vex’ahlia don’t you want to see me rock out in-person, all american-like? it��s much more satisfying than a grainy youtube video   TO: Vex’ahlia Well, with an offer like that.   “That sounds wonderful,” Percy says agreeably, his stomach knotting and tensing at the very idea.   “We get backstage passes and everything,” she informs him, almost trembling with anticipation. “Can you believe it?!”   He can, actually, as they probably could’ve gotten them anyway, seeing as who they are - but it’s the same reason Keyleth is so refreshing; she’s always herself in her eyes, nothing more and nothing less, an awkward bumbling girl who prefers trees to people despite her gift of acting. He imagines she’s the type of person to win an Oscar and say, oh, wow, I had no idea you guys felt this way about me, and it endears her to him all the more.   Percy reaches for his laptop on his nightstand. “S’pose we should start booking tickets. Where are they playing, anyway?”   “Terminal 5,” she says. “You’ve been to the city more than I have, so I’ll leave the planning to you, for once.”   “Hang on.” Percy unlocks his phone again. “It’s probably best if we go through the official channels.” Keyleth hums noncommittally as Percy dials his agent.   “Hey, Percy,” the voice greets warmly after a few rings. “How’s the shoot so far?”   “Hello, Allura,” he responds, and Keyleth echoes his greeting in the background. “Going well, thanks, but I’m actually calling in regards to some personal business.”   “Are you finally handing me a proper Hollywood scandal, Percival?”   He smiles. “Afraid not.”   “An agent can dream.” She’s teasing him, he knows - if anything, he is an agent’s dream and she’s well aware of it. “What’s up?”   “Keyleth and I have been invited to see Vox Machina in New York on Saturday night. I figured we’d spend the weekend.”   “Oh? By who?”   “The band.”   She laughs. “I approve. I can make this work - it’ll be good to have you seen out and about supporting other forms of art. Kima and I will take care of reservations for the two of you.”   “And how’s Kima?” he asks, and not just out of politeness or obligation - he loves Kima and Allura, and it couldn’t have been better luck for him and Keyleth to have agents who are married to each other, considering whenever they do anything personal it’s usually together anyway. It makes it easy for their agents to coordinate.   “She’s great. She’s going over a few releases about Keyleth’s upcoming movie - let Keyleth know that the early reviews are all overwhelmingly positive. I know she missed a few screenings already because of work.”   He brings the phone away from his mouth slightly. “Keyleth, you’re getting excellent reviews for Aramente.”   She rolls over, looking at him upside-down, her eyes bright. “Really?!”   “Yes.”   “Cool!” She stares dreamily at the ceiling for a moment. “That was a fun movie. That’s so cool.”   “Anyway,” Allura continues, “I’ll send over your reservations and any pertinent info in a few.”   “Fantastic. Much appreciated. Ta,” he says, and he hangs up.   He and Keyleth relax in silence awhile longer, lounging on his bed - Allura sends him an email with a hotel reservation and options for flights, leaving that for Percy to book himself. They decide they’ll arrive Friday early evening, sparing the risk of any travel fatigue, and then they’ll have all day Saturday to do whatever they want.   He forwards the itinerary to Vex, who texts him immediately.   FROM: Vex’ahlia we’re at the same hotel and we arrive friday morning. you’ll spend the night out with us, won’t you, percival? we have a show that night but should be done by 10:30.   TO: Vex’ahlia What are your plans after? We’d be honored   “Hey, Percy, we’ll go to Central Park, right? I mean, I love the city, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a picnic or something?” Keyleth interrupts his train of thought and he pauses typing for a moment, continuing the rest of the sentence distractedly.   “Sure - if you don’t mind people possibly approaching us we can go to Sheep Meadow,” he allows, knowing Keyleth loves meeting fans, “or we can just walk along until we find an appropriate, somewhat secluded location. And if the weather’s nice,” he adds as an afterthought, sending the message without realizing what he’s typed, which is--   TO: Vex’ahlia What are your plans? We’d be honoured. I’m coming to see you, after all.   FROM: Vex’ahlia Just me in particular? ;)   “Oh, balls,” he says, blushing furiously down at the screen, Keyleth immediately takes notice and rolls back over to read his text, and then giggles cutely.   “Freudian slip?” she sing-songs, and slides halfway off the bed, stretching her limbs.   “That man was wrong about almost everything after caving to pressure from his colleagues who didn’t like the findings of his research, and frankly it’s a sin he’s still used as an authority today at all,” Percy counters, but, well - the concept does stand, in this case. He hovers inside of himself, at war. What to say, what to say.   TO: Vex’ahlia Technically, dear, yes.   --   People take their picture in the lobby. Some fans are brave enough to approach them, and they sign autographs and smile for Snaps, Grog sticking his tongue out and Pike laughing, Vax and Vex with their peace signs, Scanlan in inappropriate poses. Gilmore checks them in and gets their keys, making sure everything’s in order, and they’re spread out among a nice suite on the thirty-second floor.   Half of them decide to just crash immediately - they don’t really have plans until their show in a few hours - and Pike curls up next to Vex in one of the bedrooms, whispering animatedly.   “Don’t make fun of me,” she starts ranting, “but I’m really excited to meet them. They’re amazing actors! Everyone’s saying they’re gonna get nominated for Oscars - apparently that new movie Keyleth’s in is like, mind-blowing - and Percival’s definitely winning for Whispers. Ugh. And he’s like - I mean, come on, Vex. He’s hot.”   Vex snickers into her arms, stretched out on her stomach. “He has a nice face, I’m not disagreeing with you there.”   Pike raises herself onto her elbows. “No, like, everywhere on that boy is nice. He’s a mechanic for fun - I read that in an interview, and he was shirtless in Whispers - he’s ripped, Vex.”   This information sinks in slowly, because Vex can’t reconcile his slenderness with muscle, but Pike’s already on her phone, searching for the proof. She makes a noise of victory in her throat, shoving the device towards Vex. “Look.”   “Holy shit,” Vex says, her eyes widening, neck snapping up. “What the bloody--”   “I told you.”   “Hells,” she says, not quite able to comprehend what she’s seeing. “Christ. Wow.”   It’s just a simple still from the movie - she resolves right then and there to watch it as soon as possible - but he’s standing in a shop, shirtless, covered in soot, and Pike had not been fucking around - he is...extremely well-defined, to say the least. Chiseled, rugged. She imagines touching him, feeling his body against hers--   Pike tells her, “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, is all I’m saying.”   “Erm, yeah.”   “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed either, though, Vex, just so you know.”   Vex winks at her. “Oh, I’m aware, darling, as you’ve had many opportunities to do so.”   Pike digs her fingers into Vex’s side, laughing as she tickles her; Vex squeals, slapping her hands away--   --   (“Girls,” Grog says, shaking his head, as he and Vax prepare to leave for lunch.   “That’s sexist, Grog, they’re just having fun,” Vax points out. “Nothing wrong with that.”   “Oh, sorry,” Grog says, genuinely apologetic. “I thought that was just something people said.”)   --   Percy and Keyleth don’t have an eventful journey aside from the usual paparazzi catching them at the airport and groups of fans clamoring around them at the gate, but they’re in first class on the plane, and there’s a private car waiting to take them to the hotel when they land.   They step out by themselves for a late lunch, knowing their dinner won’t be until after the band’s show is over; they split a nice bottle of wine at an Italian place Keyleth had picked around the corner. They’re mostly safe from photographers, though Percy’s sure a few random patrons have snapped some pictures under-the-table. Well, it goes with the territory.   After that, Keyleth’s too wired to go back to the hotel and drags him into a bar down the street with a semi-private back room; they sit at a booth and drink jalapeno margaritas, and throughout the night fans approach, asking for pictures and autographs. They oblige every time; Keyleth’s thrilled by it, honored, like she’s being given some incredible opportunity. It’s unbearably sweet.   By the time they meet the band in the lobby - the first time Percy’s seen them all together, up-close, and boy are they an intimidating group - they’re showered, fresh, and dressed for camouflage. It’s easy to blend in the city, fortunately, though Grog probably causes a stir everywhere and Percy’s hair is a dead giveaway, but he’s wearing a beanie whereas Grog’s just - a giant. All the time. Well, it is what it is.   There’s Vex again, standing in front, even more beautiful than he remembers even though she’s dressed casually in ripped jeans and a tank and hoodie; she smiles widely at him and steps forward--   Keyleth goes flying into Vax’s arms, startling him; he lifts her up and spins her around once, beaming. “Vax!” she exclaims. “It’s so good to see you! How was the show?!”   “You too, Kiki, and it was great!” He grins back at her. “Here, meet everyone, come on - Percival, great to see you as well--”   “Cheers,” Percy answers, glancing at Pike and smiling. “Hello, I’m Percival Von Mu--”   “You can call him Percy,” Keyleth interrupts customarily, waving a hand again.   Vax wraps an arm around him and grinds a hand against his hair. “You’re famous and shit, Percival!” he proclaims, and Percy laughs despite himself. “They know who you are.”   Vax lets go of him and continues the introductions; Vex approaches him and gives him a warm hug, her arms encircling his neck, her body against his - it’s brief, too brief, and he barely has the time to process the way it makes him feel before she lets him go. Upon releasing him, a phone is suddenly shoved into his face as she says, “Look, you and Keyleth are having a lovely romantic getaway this weekend.”   Sure enough, there’s an article open on some gossip website with pictures of the two of them at the airport earlier that afternoon, deep in conversation. Percy grimaces. “They’re determined to push that angle. Apparently we have an active fanbase.”   “We do,” Keyleth pipes up. “Some of the blogs are really pretty.”   “She follows them,” Percy supplies.   “They’re really nice to us.”   Pike giggles nervously as she leans up to hug Keyleth in greeting; the blush on her cheeks doesn’t hide well. “I follow blogs dedicated to us, too. It’s fun.”   “So, shall we?” Scanlan asks, and extends his arm to Pike. “My lady?”   “Oh, thanks, Scanlan, but I’m already holding someone’s hand,” she says, holding back a smirk as she places her small fingers in Grog’s, who barely notices. Scanlan moves on with a fake sigh and a rejection he’s clearly used to, so Percy doesn’t bother feeling bad for him.   --   They have dinner at a small, hole-in-the-wall burger joint in the Village - the type that New York is famous for - and it’s actually the best burger he’s ever had in his life. She sits next to him in the booth, her boots kicked out under the table, back of her hand pressed up to her mouth when she laughs. Their thighs brush, they knock elbows. He thinks about turning and kissing her and citing the small space. Sorry, he imagines saying, I just ran out of room.   They have ciders and rate them against European ones. She’d love to live in a small town around the English countryside, she divulges; somewhere with space and sky and woods. Keyleth agrees, raising her glass. Percy says, without thinking twice, Yes, I’d probably like that.   If she notices, she doesn’t respond; she offers a fry to Pike and smacks Grog’s hand away from stealing it.   --   Vex wants to go clubbing. She misses clubbing, dancing, that escape of alcohol and pounding beats. Percy shifts next to her, his arms flexing, the muscle prominent underneath; she wants him all over her, the sweat of his body under colored strobe lights. She wants him and she wants to not think about anything else anymore, not Saundor or Syldor and their sharp, cutting words. He smiles shyly and pays the bill before anyone even knows the bill has come.   Vax invites Percy and Keyleth back to their suite to hang out and drink; Vex’s body trembles. As much as she’d love to dance - well, fame has its downsides. Perhaps not tonight. And she’s made it so long without slipping back into her old habits.   Keyleth accepts for them - Percy doesn’t react at all, but he seems to appreciate her enthusiasm; Vex can tell it’s important to him than Keyleth is happy. She finds that overwhelmingly sweet and the sudden urge to fuck it out of him entirely hits her like a gunshot. Pike gives her a knowing look and mouths, I know.   Gilmore’s out with his own friends - that man has contacts everywhere - and they crack open the hard liquor and beer, playing music over the stereo system and talking. Grog and Keyleth, in the showdown of the century, have the shotgunning contest they should’ve had at after party - Pike roots for Grog out of loyalty, to which Vax raises a finger and chants Keyleth’s name even louder; and then--   Keyleth loses by a split second, something Grog is genuinely impressed by, and gives her a high five. Considering his method of drinking involves unhinging his jaw like a snake and widening his throat until he can just pour alcohol down it without swallowing - or at least, that’s how Scanlan describes it - it’s amazing Keyleth finished as closely as she did.   Vax and Scanlan take turns selecting songs, trying to find music that appeals to Percy, who they treat as some sort of toddler, giving him about a minute of each song and asking - very slowly - if he liked it or not, before selecting a new one and doing the same thing all over again.   By the end of it, Percy has a few new artists he’s apparently a fan of - Tunng has a good song, and he’s into the electronica vibe of CHVRCHES; Hozier, he says, sounds like who he’d be if he made music, and then a few classic rock bands - and then people start drifting off one at a time, slowly. Pike smiles apologetically and says, “Being on the road’s just tiring - but you don’t have to leave! Stay, it’s cool, we can sleep through anything.”   “Stay,” Vex says, and so he does.   --   They’re playing music at a softer volume and they’re the only two left.   Vex stands at the window, looking out at the lit-up square below, the recklessness of cars, the people running like little dots on the sidewalk. Percy’s next to her, leaning on the window seat, also staring out. It’s slightly rainy and the clouds hang low.   “I wanted to go clubbing,” she confesses, though she’s not sure what she’s confessing to. “Don’t you ever miss doing things you used to be able to do before you were famous? Things that made you feel...better. Freer.”   “It’s been awhile since I’ve been a commoner,” he responds mildly, sounding sort of like a pompous asshole, but she gets what he means. He’s talking about the accident. Americans love the royal family, so they’ve known about him for ages; she imagines there aren’t many places he’s able to run to for relief and anonymity. “I’ve found comfort in other things. Mechanics.”   “It would,” she says, and nothing else.   “Clubbing, huh?” he repeats, and now he’s looking at her; she shivers without knowing why. “I can’t say I’ve ever been clubbing.”   She smiles, pressing her hands against the glass. “I can’t say that answer surprises me.”   “Am I not the type?”   “Not really, darling, no.” But she’s teasing, tone playful and light. She sees him stand out of the corner of her eye, but he’s facing her, no longer using the scenery as a pretense.   “See,” Percy says, talking about something else entirely, “this is a nice view.”   “We’re on the thirty-second floor,” she points out, not fully understanding. “I think you’re fighting your own argument.”   “Well, not exactly, as the view I’m referencing is in front of me.”   He’s so plainly forthcoming at that moment that it stuns her; it’s his version of flirting, she realizes, and she takes it in--   The light is soft, dim. Keyleth had lit a few candles, because she’s the type to light candles. Percy’s in a plain white t-shirt and black jeans, his hair ruffled and boyish, his stare sincere but bashful. Her phone’s plugged into the sound system on shuffle, and her music is low, slow, gyrating. They’re alone. She wants to devour him, fuck him until she forgets the names of her demons, until he no longer feels the torment of his own.   In a bold move, because it’s two in the morning, because she’s a little drunk, because it’s New York - she takes one of his hands and slides in front of him, pressing him back against the window, his entire body flush to hers.   “So, Percival,” she murmurs, and she’s well aware of how turned on she sounds, “you’ve never danced?”   His eyes flicker like blackness seeps into him; smoke is rising from his skin. The heat burns between them. “Like this?” He says, and she’s pleased to hear his voice shake. “Never.”   She smiles with a dangerous flash of teeth. “Good.”   --   So, what they’re doing is definitely not dancing.   She guides his hands to her hips, knowing he won’t move first without permission; her palms splay against his chest, and she’s humming the melody playing low in her throat. He can feel her breathing, the way her body sticks to him, her chest rising and falling; he’s caught up, overcome--   She sways slowly, almost grinding against him; he bites the inside of his lip on instinct, looking down at her, eyelids heavy. She’s still fucking smirking, and her hands drift up, over his shoulders, around his neck; she finally shifts her gaze up and locks eyes with him, now quietly singing the words - he’s momentarily distracted by it, because how many people get to hear her sing without a stage, and her voice is sultry and gorgeous and hot - and then he comprehends the lyrics--   When you say it like that…   His fingers curl around her hips; she drops her stare to his mouth and continues, “Let me fuck you right back,” and he about faints right there.   “Oh, holy shit,” he breathes out.   “Something wrong, dear?” she asks, and her tone is low and teasing, knowing exactly what she’s doing to him.   But he’s still drunk, too, and reservations aren’t exactly something he has the time or willpower to manage. “This isn’t music to dance to,” he says, and she laughs once, throatily.   “No,” she agrees, still slowly grinding against him. “It’s music to have sex to.”   His mouth is dry and all the flashing city lights are suddenly in the room with them. “I should’ve known,” he says, and pulls her tight against him. The smirk is suddenly gone from her face. “Only you would seduce someone with a song that isn’t even your own.”   They’re too close, it’s too dark, she’s going to fuck him here in a suite with four other sleeping people and he’s going to enjoy it and beg her for more; he cycles through the coming events in his mind and sees absolutely no issue with any of it. He’s already underneath her and she can do whatever she wants to him.   She presses her fingers against his cheek, guiding the tilt of his head, and she leans up--   They hear the unmistakable sound of the door opening and someone’s voice rings from the doorway, “Vex, darling, I know how pretty he is, but unless you’re inviting me to join, perhaps you should drag poor Percival off to somewhere private before you eat him alive, hm?”   --   Fucking Gilmore.   She’s fuming and turned on and it’s a horrible combination - Percy is actively averting his eyes from her, his hands now back against the window seat, holding himself up - and in an almost cruel fit of denial, she slides slowly back onto her feet, pressing her hips carefully against his until he’s again biting his lip, now burning red.   Gilmore heads off to bed, leaving them there, knowing he’s ruined whatever was about to happen in the suite’s living room and satisfied with it. She’s going to have a talk with him tomorrow. Fuck him, that fucking asshole, and fuck Vax for so long ago declaring him enough of family that he shares their rooms.   “Percy.” She needs him to look at her. She needs him addicted to whatever she’s planning next, anxiously awaiting her every move, his nerves standing on the precipice. He carefully glances down at her - he’s restraining himself again, Gods, she hates that, she was so close to unraveling him entirely - and she says dangerously, “This isn’t over.”   He seems almost amused at her tone and choice of words. “Is that a threat?”   “Yes.” Her mouth curls into a half-smirk, a remnant of what they almost did. “I’m going to fuck this sweet, sad boy act out of you. Who are you really, Percival?”   He shivers against her, his lips parting in a harsh inhale, exhale. “At this moment, I’m not sure I even know,” he answers unsteadily, pupils blown wide.   “Good.” She pushes off his chest, grinning broadly. He stands there unmoving, the shock and arousal still filling his veins instead of blood. He stares unblinkingly, swallowing once.   She backs away. “Sleep well,” she says airily, and heads into her room.   --   (She leans against the door and whispers, “Fuck.”   “Vex?” A voice mumbles sleepily. “Is that you?”   “Yes, Pike, it’s me,” she hisses back, waiting for the telltale sound of Percy running from their room, which comes a few moments later when the door slams. Pike sits up in bed; Vex can see her hazy outline.   “What happened?” She asks, rubbing her eyes. “Was that Percy who just left?”   “Yes.”   “Wait.” Pike’s staring in her direction. “Why aren’t you with him?”   Vex grimaces, knocking her head back against the wood. “Gilmore interrupted us.”   The girl gasps. “Like while you were doing him?!”   Vex laughs at that and then sighs, moving to throw herself across the bed. “Gods, Pike, no,” she says, an arm over her forehead. “We were - dancing. Sort of.”   Pike rubs a hand over her stomach comfortingly. “Aw, Vex, it’s okay. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances. I mean, come on, who’s gonna resist you? I would never.”   “Thanks, dear.”   “Anytime.”)   --   “And then she said--” he breaks off, blushing horribly, and then quotes, “‘I’m going to fuck that sweet, sad boy act out of you,’” and Keyleth’s head whips around the curtain, mouth agape, soap still lathered in her hair.   “No way,” she says, shocked and a little appreciative. “Damn, Percy, that’s hot.”   “I know,” he says. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Forgive me for being a little traditional, but I do genuinely like her.”   “And that’s a problem why?” Keyleth asks, disappearing again. “She nailed you, didn’t she? Wow.” She snickers to herself and he hears her repeat, “Sweet, sad boy act…”   “It’s not an act,” he says, mostly faking affrontement. “Am I not sweet?”   “Sure, sure,” Keyleth answers. He hears a bottle hit the floor and a small squeak of surprise before she continues speaking. “You’re nice, Percy, but you come off a lot nicer than you are. You can be cruel and cold when you want to be, or to people you don’t trust - and you don’t trust anyone. You’re...distant, I guess, is the word. From everything.”   He frowns; she’s not wrong there. “I trust you,” he points out, defiant. He hadn’t really viewed it as an act, though, but maybe he’s putting himself on subconsciously. “Semantics.”   “I’m rolling my eyes.”   “Anyway. I’m saying I like her,” he says again. “What if she’s merely - into the idea of sleeping with me and that’s it?”   Keyleth’s head pokes out of the curtain again. “Percy,” she says exasperatedly, “have you even looked at Vex? She could have anyone she wants; she’s like, beautiful. Some guy once threw a five-thousand dollar engagement ring on stage and proposed to her. She said no and kept the ring. Hell,” Keyleth adds as an afterthought and ignoring Percy’s jaw on the floor, “I’d date Vex.”   “Stick to Vax,” Percy says, still recovering from the bizarrely sexy idea of Vex rejecting some man and keeping his money but somehow wanting Percy. “I can’t compete with you.”   Keyleth laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, shutting the water off, “she’s only got eyes for you anyway.”   Percy resumes washing his face. “Well,” he says, and that’s really all there is to it.     --   Gilmore forbids them from going to boozy brunch - “It’s meant for Sundays,” he reasons with them, “and you’ve a show tonight,” - so they resort to normal brunch, though Grog and Pike are determined to sneak a mimosa; drinking always cures his hangovers and Pike’s desperately in need of relief for hers. Keyleth and Percy meet them in the lobby, Percy wearing sunglasses and looking a little more disheveled than usual, whereas Keyleth--   “Fuck,” Vex whispers to Vax, “does she always look this flawless? What the fuck, honestly.”   “Keyleth, you are hot,” Grog says randomly from behind them, and Vax bumps his arm.   “Don’t objectify women, Grog, just tell her she looks nice,” he instructs, and Grog glances at her apologetically.   “Oh, sorry,” he says genuinely. “You look real nice, Keyleth.”   She laughs good-naturedly. “Thanks, Grog, you look pretty handsome yourself.”   “She called me handsome,” he murmurs to Pike, his smile huge; she pats his arm and nods.   “Competition,” Vex hisses at Vax again, grinning. So, Keyleth isn’t the most charismatic of people, but something about her is undeniably entrancing; she’s not just beautiful. She’s the most honest person he’s ever met; she doesn’t care about her image because she’s intrinsically so good it doesn’t even occur to her that she might be projecting the wrong one. There’s no way he’s letting go of that after years and years of everyone expecting something of him.   “Kiki,” he says, falling into stride next to her; she links arms with him automatically and he turns to quickly stick his tongue out at Vex - who now, of course, only has eyes for Percy.   Whatever; more material for him, at least. If she’s going to tease him endlessly, she’s going to get it back twice as good.   Keyleth smiles at him and says, “I had a great time last night. Percy and I never go out like that. It’s cool to have such a big group of people.”   “They’re family,” Vax responds and shrugs. “It was fun to have you with us - we see each other every day, you know, so...I liked having you there.”   “Yeah?” she asks nervously, as if she really needs the statement reconfirmed.   “I like having you here now,” he tells her, his blood swirling around his heart at the sight of her slight blush. “Honestly, Keyleth, I do.”   “I’m happy to hear that,” is all she says, her eyes solidly watching the street ahead, but her fingers clutch his arm a little tighter.   --   (“Percival,” Vex greets warmly as he approaches, Keyleth now preoccupying her brother. “And how are we this morning?”   He takes his sunglasses off, wincing slightly at the light. “I’ve been better.”   Her lips twist up; her eyes are hungry and dark. She traps him like a snare. His heart thumps in his chest, his ribcage rattling.   He wants to fuck the smirk off of her face. So, maybe she’s a little right about him.)   --   Grog and Pike order mimosas before Gilmore can stop them; he waves a hand as if to say, it’s your head. They high-five across the table. Keyleth laughs and absorbs Pike in conversation about where she learned to play piano; Vax just stares, nodding along, contributing here and there but mostly content to watch; finally she turns the question on him, and he says, “I learned it to impress you,” but he’s grinning, a little snarky.   She takes it in stride. “Shut up, no you didn’t,” she huffs, but she’s smiling. “Tell me the truth.”   Ah, the truth, well--   “My mother was very musically inclined,” Vax says, surprising even himself at his honesty. Vex quiets, something that doesn’t go unnoticed. Grog, Scanlan, and Pike are now involved in a discussion on breakfast burritos and where to draw the line on ingredients, and don’t pay any attention. “Fortunately, it was a skill she passed onto us.”   “That’s nice that you have that now,” Keyleth says, and reveals herself to be more perceptive than they’d previously thought when she adds, “It’s nice to have something that keeps the people you love alive.”   It’s almost tactless - they’re at brunch and it isn’t information Vax had quite gotten around to divulging - but she isn’t fully speaking about them and their mother, and it’s what calms him, what keeps Vex from snapping. Loss can recognize loss, and Keyleth’s far-off look, her gentle, sad smile…   “You understand,” Vex states, seeking confirmation before being open; it’s not a topic the twins are normally forthcoming about.   “My mother left when I was young,” Keyleth says, very matter-of-fact. “She’s been declared dead - it’s been so long. She left for a business trip and she never came back.” Off of their stunned looks, she rectifies, “Oh, but not like that! Not like she - ran off, or something. It was supposed to be a week-long work trip; she used to take them all the time. That’s, ah…” she wrings her hands nervously. “That’s all. So I just meant - I know how you feel.”   Vax puts his fingers over hers, intertwining them. “Thanks, Kiki. And we’re sorry.”   She sort of shrugs uncomfortably, pressing on, locking eyes with Percy--   “Well,” the boy suddenly says off-handedly, leaning back, “almost my whole family is dead, so I’m not one for sympathy.”   Vex lets out a startled laugh and looks horrified; she covers her mouth hurriedly, but Keyleth giggles openly. Percy’s mouth is in a wry half-smirk.   “You can laugh,” he says, and his head falls against the booth, his eyes fluttering closed. “It’s already going to hurt forever, so you might as well laugh when it strikes you.”   Somewhere on the other end of the table, Grog is pouring an entire bottle of hot sauce on his burrito and Scanlan’s eating a raw chili pepper for a challenge; Pike is grinning while Gilmore shakes his head. Vex says, “We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose.”   “I’m not surprised.” Percy’s head tilts, following Vex’s stare. “Tortured artists. It’s so predictable it’s almost boring.”   Vax raises his glass. “Cheers, Percival.”   He supposes in some ways, it truly is the perfect phrase to describe what they are.   --   (They go to Central Park for Keyleth, who Vex is pretty sure may actually die if she’s away from nature for too long, and lounge around Sheep Meadow until they start getting recognized. It doesn’t help that Pike keeps Snapping, either, so everyone in the Manhattan area definitely knows where they are. They’re careful not to post anything of the actual famous actors until they’ve left, though, in order to deter the paparazzi, who don’t care for indie bands as much.   Vex takes a pic of Percy as he drifts off under the sun for a little while, and Keyleth says, “He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” with a cute grin that Vex is sure is supposed to be a smirk.   Vex shows her how it’s really done and answers, “I can’t imagine why.”)   --   The show starts at eight, with a band Percy’s never heard of (shocker) opening for them called Chroma Conclave. It’s the first night of their leg of the tour - they’ll be opening for another month of shows - and Vex tells him privately that they actually hate the band’s music, but it’s a publicity thing and they can’t do anything to stop it. He’s familiar with the act of having to play nice with difficult talent.   He and Keyleth are upstairs in the VIP area - it’s tables and bar service looking down on the stage - and they get a few ciders and relax for the opening act, not paying too much attention. Internally, he agrees with Vex: they’re awful, more like metal than rock, but the crowd seems to be into it to a degree, at least. He watches fans hover around the merch table and thinks about buying a shirt as a joke; Keyleth’s almost definitely going to do it seriously.   By the time their band is about to take the stage, Keyleth’s had three ciders and she’s buzzing; Percy’s trying to keep a leveler head. The lights go out, the crowd screams, the neon signs flash; in the chaos of it all he sees them quietly settle into their instruments before--   Vex’s voice, as beautiful and sexy as it was when it was only him and her the night before comes echoing around his skull; he recognizes it immediately as their second single - well, I’ve got a story about how you left me for dead, I told you I loved you and never saw you again, now when I dream about you I hear it’s all in your head, all in your head.     “Babe, you’ve got me thinking I’m fucking crazy,” he sings under his breath, because he can’t help himself, because she’s entrancing and their music is good. Fortunately Keyleth is doing the same thing, only she’s singing all of the words and at a much louder volume.   Scanlan harmonizes with her nicely, subtly, not taking the song away from her but enhancing it - the title is Demons and he adds a haunting quality to it, like a dark vibration underneath the edges.   And then Percy realizes she’s playing the bass.   He is inexplicably, instantaneously turned on - watching her fingers move, her lips curving around the words, the way she holds the melody in her mouth - her eyes dart up, searching for his, and he sees her smile flicker. Maybe it’s only a trick of the light.   Keyleth turns toward him and screams, “She is so fucking hot!”   Finally letting go, he answers “I know” with a smile, and it’s the lightest Keyleth has seen him in years.   --   (The show is electric; the crowd can’t get enough and neither can Vex. She loves this. She loves the bright lights and the fans singing and the music burning up her skin; Vax is shredding next to her and Grog’s hammering the drums and Pike’s holding them all together, her notes a solid through-line.   And Percy - through the blinding flashes she finds his white hair and his unrestrained smile, Keyleth’s arm around his shoulders--   I’m not running out of time, babe, and you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna be mine.   She’s singing to him now, but one day soon, she won’t need to.)   --   They head backstage just before the end of the set to avoid the crowd, still wrapped up in the band’s final song; Keyleth sways on her feet and keeps singing, watching from the wings. Percy’s drawn more to technique from this angle - the deftness of Scanlan’s fingers on the guitar (he’s picked up about four different instruments tonight so far), the way Pike plays with her eyes closed, Grog’s ferocity fading and swelling in beat with the music - they’re well-trained, incredibly in sync with each other. It’s a pleasure just to witness.   The song ends, the crowd screams, the room is suddenly drenched in darkness - the band stumbles their way to the wings through the dimness of the stage, tripping over each other and laughing; Keyleth cheers with the rest of the fans as the lights flash on again for the encore, bright neon colors. Vax finds her eyes amidst the chaos, as if she’s the pull to a compass, and as he gets closer she yells, “Vax, that was ama--” before he takes her face in his hands and kisses her.   The rest of the band stops in their tracks, the roar of the crowd quieting to a dull hum in their ears at the sight in front of them; Vex’s lips are parted in a very subtle jaw-drop, and Percy can only stare, caught up in a moment that isn’t his but could be--   Vex’s lips are parted, and Percy can only stare; what if she had seen him first, what if she were standing in front of him smiling, disheveled, sweating after a show and the pressure of burning stage lights; what if he were healthier, assured, better--   --   (Keyleth has never been kissed like this in her entire life - she’s never even been kissed, not really, only for work or projects or an elementary-school dare - the softness and the intensity of it overwhelms her, his palms cupping her cheeks, her fingers automatically reaching up to curl around his wrists--   He pulls away, his eyes shining, his smile gentle and apologetic; his hands stroke down her jaw, her neck. He says, You know I’m in love with you, right?   She can only look on, dazed, buzzing, those neon lights filling up her heart and her skin is where she wants him to write his songs; she licks her lips and tastes salt, electricity, copper, music. She doesn’t speak. He backs away from her, his arms dropping, and suddenly she’s missing something she wasn’t missing before.)   --   Vex is hit with the truth.   Vax kisses Keyleth and it’s so uncomplicated; he loves her, he’s in love with her, he’s been in love with her. He doesn’t think twice, he doesn’t put himself on, he doesn’t try to be anybody he isn’t to make himself worthy of giving love, or receiving love. It’s so easy and pure and genuine and nothing like her, but like all the things she wishes she could be.   She meets Percy’s eyes and sees the longing in him, clouded over with a self-doubt she recognizes all too well. He must notice the mirror in her, as well, because after a moment he gives her a sad, resigned sort of smile.   There is nothing uncomplicated about her and Percy.   --   “I’m sorry.” Vax apologizes immediately after the encore. Well, he’s not, but he is. He should have asked, or set the mood a little better, or - anything, really. “Do you think we can go and - talk, somewhere?”   Keyleth stutters over herself, seeming a bit like a frightened wild animal, but not in a caged or trapped way - just an inexperienced one. She squeaks out, “Sure,” and her attention is far too occupied to even remember Percy exists.   Vax leads her into one of the now-empty rooms backstage, and before she can get another word out, he picks up a gift bag from the couch and extends it to her.   “I actually had plans,” he says, abashed. “I was going to give you that--” That happens to be a collection of every band shirt they’d had on sale that night, and a few very early designs that aren’t in production anymore, “--and hopefully charm you with a joke about how you may be our biggest fan, but I’m yours. No competition.”   She skids her teeth across her bottom lip, digging in. Her cheeks are flushed and red, her blood on high. She’s never done this before. “I, uh--”   “You don’t have to say anything.” Vax’s eyes drop. “I shouldn’t have cornered you the way I did. I was just - overwhelmed, seeing you standing there, so happy and excited and - I don’t know. You were too beautiful.”   “Okay, stop,” she breathes out, shaking with the hammering of her heart; he’s always felt so far away to her, but here he is now, plain and forthcoming and baring his soul in front of her. “You - look, I’m just - I’m not good at this.”   “I know.” He keeps a careful distance from her. “It’s okay, Kiki.”   She says, “I do like you.” There’s no reason not to confess. “I’m not used to - feeling this way about...people. It’s…” She struggles for meaning, nervously playing with a ring on her finger. “It’s just different, and I don’t know what to do, but I do like you.”   “Do you want time?” he says, clinging to the spark of hope she’s given him. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I’d never...push you into something you weren’t ready for. You must know how important you are to me, Keyleth.”   She steps forward, reaching for his hand, and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek; he resists the urge to hold onto her and she resists the urge to ask him to.   “Yeah,” she whispers. “A little time.”     -- (Years from now, Keyleth will look back and remember Vax’s grin under the glow of the stage lights, her fingers burning their prints into his back, his lips against hers with an intimacy far too deep for her to comprehend at the time; he’ll laugh into her hair, curled next to her in bed, and say Yeah, you totally loved me.)   --   They trudge back upstairs to the bar and they all get fucked up; Vax and Keyleth keep a polite distance apart, but not uncomfortably so. Vex says she needs the image of them kissing erased from her brain, but internally she hears Saundor’s voice, you’re selfish, Vex’ahlia, and care for nobody but yourself, reckless with no regard for the wellbeing of others; Percy sits next to Pike and answers questions dutifully about his upcoming films, who he’s liked acting with the most, who’s been the biggest asshole, and, (secretly), who’s his favorite member of the band.   She winks, and he rolls his eyes; “Oh, you know.”   Vex takes another shot. He’s not sure if she’d heard or not.   --   They’re all hammered by the time they return to the hotel, but the band’s wired as they always are after a show and Keyleth’s energy is endless; none of them want the night to end. Grog herds them back up the suite, laughing as they stumble and trip over each other, and Percy rationalizes that it must be Grog’s size keeping him upright, certainly not that the rest of them are lightweights. Grog grins but keeps his mouth shut, humoring him.   Scanlan starts some sort of card game that has them all screaming over each other - Percy is the first to be out, followed by Vex, who curses at the rest of them for show - but when she gets up from the table, Percy spots that shadow of sadness again, that flimsy mask. She catches his eye and she knows.   She approaches him and says quietly, “Feel like stepping out on the balcony for a bit?”   He nods once and follows her out. Nobody else pays them any mind, too absorbed in their game; as he slides the glass door closed behind him, he hears Pike scream, “You fucking cheater, Scanlan!”   The air is cool and damp; Vex leans against the railing and sags heavily, finally allowing the tension she’s been carrying to hold its full weight. She looks exhausted. She doesn’t glance at him when she says, “We need to talk.”   “Yes.” Percy’s voice is almost lost among the clouds. “We do.”   “You saw it too,” she states, keeping her eyes trained on the flashing lights below. “How...how simple it was.”   “I did,” Percy says. “But for what it’s worth, I never thought this would be simple.”   She smiles without substance, like the skeleton of a feeling. “No?”   “Vex, look at me,” he points out tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “I come with a lot of baggage.”   “So do I.” She licks her lips, pausing. “I thought it was just me. When we started this. I thought it was just me.”   The silence settles over them; everything is muted from where they are, the colors, the bright lights, the honking horns. He curls his fingers around the railing and squeezes. “Maybe we should try to be honest with one another.” It’s an uncomfortable topic to bridge. He attempts a semblance of humor. “I know you saw right through me.”   “I recognized the patterns, yes,” she says.   “I’m barely hanging on,” he continues blithely, shutting down the part of his voice that conveys any depth to true emotion. It’s difficult enough as it is. “I’m being treated. I spent a lot of time being nothing, being everything, being whatever wasn’t me with this life. I’m working on it.”   “That’s a good start,” she says, and crooks her head towards him without meeting his eyes like a silent acceptance, “because I rather like you. The you underneath all of this. And I’m - I’ve had a long recovery. Having. A long recovery.”   “I almost died,” he drops point-blank.   Vex waits a moment, staring at the whiteness of Percy’s knuckles, the tensity of his muscles coiling like a spring beneath his skin. “I almost died,” she echoes back, the carefree shouting of her friends behind her like a sick soundtrack to the tragedy of their lives.   He turns toward her, suddenly releasing himself. “What?”   “Surely you don’t believe you’ve the monopoly on horror stories,” she says wryly, and he flushes.   “That’s not what I meant, of course,” he responds politely. “Near-death experiences are rare.”   She leans forward onto her elbows, hunched further over the railing. A year and a half ago, she might have thrown herself off of it. “I had a boyfriend,” she says, but the sound coats itself against her throat when she tries to explain further, like rubbing sand between her palms, coarse and raw.   He seems to understand just fine. “Oh,” he says quietly.   “I’m trying, too,” she says, and finally stands tall, facing him straight on. He isn’t surprised by the sudden feverishness, but proud, almost. “I’m this now because I couldn’t be for so long. I think it’s the truth. I want to believe I’m putting on the truth, but sometimes I remember what I was like, and I don’t know.”   “You aren’t what you were made into,” Percy says, as if he’s reading her thoughts and pulling out exactly the right words to tell her in response. “It’s possible to have spent as long as you did as someone perceived to be without strength, but that doesn’t mean you don’t possess it now, Vex’ahlia. Or even then.”   “How can you be so sure?” she asks, and the intensity lights up the space between them, the focal point of lightning. He reaches up and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling kindly, and oh, yes, this is him, he’s here, finally making an appearance, Percy laying himself bare for her.   “You must have suffered a great deal and for a very long time,” he says plainly, softly. “Sometimes having the strength to survive is enough, even if you don’t have the strength to fight back.”   She feels a stinging in the corners of her eyes, the landscape suddenly swirling in front of her, lights blurry and out of focus. Her fingers are suddenly wrapped around the fabric of his sweater, clutching at his chest. “Yeah?”   “Let us agree that the nature of our shared experiences leaves us unable to lie to one another,” he continues, seemingly unconcerned about her desperate grasp on him. “I am seeing the truth of you. And I am telling you the truth. You are not as in conflict with yourself as you believe.”   I love you, she could say; she could say it now and somewhere in her heart she’d mean it, because Percy is right; the two of them recognize each other, buried deep underneath, like souls intertwined. I love you, she could say, but she doesn’t.   Neither of them realize the noise inside has quieted to a dull hum. His hand moves from her hair to her cheek, thumb wiping underneath her eye. She says, “You must know this doesn’t solely apply to me.” Her grip relaxes very slightly; she doesn’t want to ruin his sweater. “Being agreeable and polite and invisible until you have the opportunity to express emotion through someone else - I won’t patronize you as if you don’t know that isn’t healthy.” His mouth quirks into a sly grin at her accurate interpretation of his outward-facing persona. “You aren’t a ‘thing’ without feelings, Percy. You aren’t a tool to be used, or a vase, or any other lifeless, empty object. You’ve suffered a long time and a very great deal.”   He’s as intoxicated by her words as she is by his; it’s addicting, the truth, especially when it’s one you’ve been too afraid to believe yourself. He exhales slowly and leans in, not for a kiss but for support, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes are shut; she can feel his heart pounding. She murmurs, “I know how difficult it is to open yourself up again. To give yourself up to someone else. But I can handle it. You’re not a burden.”   “I’m afraid,” he breathes out, and God, they’re burning each other up with the thrill and novelty of understanding. “I’m afraid I’m - irrevocably damaged, or twisted. I don’t want to drag you into myself. I won’t do that to you.”   “That’s no way to heal,” she says, pulling back slightly to stare him in the eye. “Haven’t we established our inability to lie to one another? I have demons, too, and that means I can see yours for what they are, just as you see mine. Let me talk you out of them when needed. Let me scare them off.”   The look in his eyes is unbearably fond, but his voice wavers, uncertain and unused to the concept of hope. “And that’s not - that isn’t too much for you?”   The concrete balcony feels so firm beneath her feet she’s convinced she’s connected to the earth below, the dirt and mantle and core steadying her in place. She says, her spine straight, “It’s simpler to be strong for other people, don’t you agree?”   “I do,” he answers. His hands are now on her hips, the small of her back. They’re pressed together not out of want but out of necessity.   “We’ll find each other,” she says, low and tender. “We have to start somewhere.”   “I can start here,” Percy says, and presses a faint, delicate kiss to Vex’s forehead, before gathering her in his arms and holding her there.   --   (Keyleth smiles to herself, eyes downcast and averted. They’re all watching and pretending they aren’t. Vax, sitting at her side, doesn’t seem to know what to make of the display; she senses the war in him.   “Finally,” she says quietly, before he can make up his mind.   He glances over at her, corners of his mouth pulled down slightly, but the rest of his expression remains unguarded. “Is this a good thing?” he asks her bluntly. “She’s my sister. I need honesty.”   “I can’t speak for Vex,” Keyleth begins carefully, not wanting to set off any alarm bells, “but Percy’s...better than he used to be. When I first met him, he rarely even smiled, like he’d forgotten how. I mean - you’ve heard his story, right? So, I’m not gonna say that he isn’t without flaws, but I think…” she pauses to weigh her words in her mouth; tact isn’t something that comes naturally to her. “I think he could use someone else, you know? Someone who isn’t me. And someone exactly like her.”   Vax doesn’t answer her yet, still subtly watching them out on the balcony. It’s starting to rain and they’re both facing out at the city, buried in each other, unaware of the conversation taking place indoors. Keyleth tries, one last time, by saying, “I feel like...Vex can understand him. Understand what he’s been through. Or at least some of the - emotion, I guess, behind it.”   At that, Vax does look at her, eyebrows raised in a mild sort of surprise. “What makes you think that?”   Keyleth shrugs, unable to formulate a concrete example. “Am I wrong?” she asks instead.   Vax considers her for a moment, and then drops his head, as if he’s invaded a privacy for a little too long and is finally recognizing it. “No,” he says. “No, you’re not wrong.”   “Percy seems nice,” Pike adds, as if the rest of them have been given an entryway into the conversation. “He’s sad, but he’s nice. And, come on - when was the last time Vex has shown an interest in anyone? Let her have this.”   “Or do you not trust her judgment?” Scanlan adds, if not gracefully than at least purposefully.   Vax loosens up a little, taking into account his own motivations, and says, “I won’t deny that I’m wary of it, but…” He glances back to the girl next to him, beautiful and kind and good. “I trust you, Keyleth. I trust that you can see things objectively, for what they are.”   For some unknown reason, and one that endears her to him all the more, she blushes intensely at the compliment as if he’s just kissed her in a room full of prying eyes.)   --   They never notice that the shouting had stopped, because by the time Percy and Vex reenter, it’s started again. She’s wearing his sweater and her eyes are the faintest hint of red. Nobody comments on it, looking up as though they’d barely noticed the two were gone.   “Last game of the night,” Grog yells. “The two of you in, or what?”   Percy plops down on Keyleth’s other side, Vex beside him. “Deal us in,” he says. “I’m feeling lucky.”   --   They say goodbye the next day, later in the morning in the lobby, after a night of everybody once again sleeping in their own beds. Vax pulls Keyleth to him and she sinks into it because she doesn’t know how not to; whether she’s ready to face it or not, there’s something in her that longs for this, the closeness, the certainty.   Vex is again wearing his sweater; she smiles and winks flirtatiously up at him when he notices, and he rolls his eyes, feigning aloofness. He’s not getting it back, and he comes to terms with it quickly, more than enamored with the idea of Vex casually wearing his clothes.   They don’t hug. He stands in front of her, staring, overwhelmed with the events of the previous night, finding nothing left in him to say. She seems to understand wordlessly and reaches up, ruffling his hair with her hand like he’s an embarrassed young boy in need of validation, acceptance.   She says, “Hang in there, Percival. You’re doing great.”   It’s enough.   --   radiance against @thebriarwoods · 26m .@keylethoftheair are we all crazy or were you and percival hanging out with vox machina all weekend!?   Keyleth @keylethoftheair · 15m Replying to @thebriarwoods We were! They’ve been my favorite band since their debut and we finally got to see them play! We had such an awesome time!! Thanks @imvaxthatsvex @imvexthatsvax @themeatman @idliketorage @monstah Percival @percivalderolo · 12m Replying to @thebriarwoods @keylethoftheair and 5 others This is me officially tweeting my agreeance of the above statement   vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 10m Replying to @percivalderolo @keylethoftheair and 5 others percy, do u LIKE us? is that what ur saying??? u LIKE us??   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 9m Replying to @imvaxthatsvex @percivalderolo and 5 others is that true percival? you like us? vax i think he liiiikes us…...   Percival @percivalderolo · 7m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @imvaxthatsvex and 5 others You’re both ridiculous. Obviously I only like Grog.   grog loves beer @idliketorage · 5m Replying to @percivalderolo @imvexthatsvax and 5 others rite answer mate   Burt Reynolds @themeatman · 2m Replying to @idliketorage @imvexthatsvax and 5 others hey   it’s me pike!!! @monstah · 2m Replying to @idliketorage @imvexthatsvax and 5 others Hey   Percival @percivalderolo · 33s Replying to @themeatman @monstah and 5 others You’re both great too.   it’s me pike!!! @monstah · 2s Replying to @percivalderolo @themeatman and 5 others Thnx!!! - from me n scanlan   --   Considering the paparazzi didn’t catch many pictures of them and they’d been seen with the entire band, not a lot of speculation arises from their initial meeting. But neither Percy nor Keyleth expect the silence to last - the twins aren’t exactly quiet about their interests; especially not Vax, who’d openly hand over his heart to Keyleth at any given moment, if only she were to ask him for it.   All Percy’s aware of on that topic is that whatever Keyleth-and-Vax are, it’s definitely something. They’re progressing, and though it may be slow, it’ll be forever when it happens. He can sense it in her, her heart unfolding like a flower. He knows she loves him, and Vax isn’t pushing her to go anywhere she isn’t ready to. Percy can’t think of anyone better for Keyleth, or anyone who cares as deeply for her.   He hears them, sometimes, through the walls of their shared apartment in Atlanta; Keyleth’s voice has taken on its own tone for Vax specifically, one so painfully tender he feels invasive just listening to it even without being able to make out the words.   (They like to sit on Hangouts or Facetime and just enjoy each other’s company. He’ll work on a song and she’ll practice lines. It’s nice, he says, not to feel so alone.   “You have a twin,” Keyleth points out, smiling.   “Well, that’s different,” he says. “You calm me. Like my soul’s been put at ease.”   Her cheeks burn pink and he doesn’t expand on the thought. She understands him just fine.)   Percy and Vex, on the other hand--   “I’m so fucking bored,” Vex complains to him over the phone; his cell is sitting on the counter on speaker as he cooks himself and Keyleth dinner. “I wish we could just fly everywhere rather than drive.”   “Why can’t you?” he asks, measuring out a teaspoon of salt, dumping it into the pot of water boiling on the stove.   “It’s not worth it,” she explains idly, rustling around on the other end. “With all of our equipment and shit - that’s saved for international tours. We’ll take a few flights here and there, depending on the distance, but it’s mostly driving.” She snickers suddenly. “I bet Keyleth would love it.”   Percy grins in response. “Most definitely,” he says, beginning to chop a tomato. “How much longer d’you have?”   “On this tour?” The rustling ceases; Percy imagines her still, biting her lip and thinking. “Two months. And you?”   Percy pauses for the briefest of moments, also attempting to calculate. “Three weeks on location - so into mid-May - and close to another month back home in the studio.”   Vex hums. “I’ve been thinking...as we’re in Atlanta next week, any chance you can give your biggest fans a set tour?”   He laughs at the sly edge of her voice, like she’s fooling him somehow, or being particularly clever. “I’ll see what I can do.”   “Lovely, darling, thank you.”   He sighs at the smugness lining her tone. “Oh,” he says mildly, dumping the cut tomatoes in a bowl, “as if I could ever refuse you.”   --   Filming is unpredictable, and so is traffic, so the band doesn’t get to set until late afternoon when they’re well into a scene. Percy relieves a poor, intimidated intern of them at the entrance to the soundstage and leads them quietly to where the assistant director is sitting under what looks like a type of tent, two large screens in front her, and on them--   “Woah,” Grog whispers, pointing. “Look at Keyleth. She looks awesome.”   Keyleth is towards the right of the shot, standing in what looks like a kind of dungeon, or a castle, and she’s stunning. Otherworldly. She’s wearing a green, loosely-fitting dress that appears as if she created it from the forest itself, a gorgeous mantle over her shoulders that unfolds into almost a cloak of leaves, and a circlet on which a pair of antlers seem to sprout from. She’s carrying a staff and laughing at something with an older, sickly looking woman next to her as a man fixes her make-up.   “My, my,” Vex says, examining Percy’s getup - he’s in a royal blue coat with some sort of puffy necktie and a vest over a white button-down shirt with slacks, and very nice boots. “Don’t you look dashing.”   “We’re between shots,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “They’re getting one last angle on her and then she’ll have a moment to greet you while they set up the next scene. She’s actually just past the tent, here. If you take a quick glance around, you can see her - but it may be best if she’s not aware you’re here yet.”   “Cool,” Pike says, enthralled, clutching onto Grog’s arm. “Percy, dude, this is amazing, thank you so much--”   “Of course,” he says, smiling kindly at her, and then a hush falls over the set.   “Ladies,” they hear the director call in a thick English accent, “let’s pull ourselves together. Nearly there, nearly there. Marks, please.” Keyleth reigns it in, and they’re content to watch her on the screen in front of them. “And...action!”   Her face contorts, vicious, angry, terrifying; it’s an expression none of them, aside from Percy, have ever seen on her before and not one she would wear naturally. Her muscles flex under her skin, pulled taut, a snake ready to strike. The older woman is circling around her slowly, a cruel curve to her smile and a deadly look in her eyes.   “...Pathetic,” the woman whispers bitterly. “All this trouble and not a thing to show for it. You wouldn’t have even gotten this far if not for your...remarkable friend. Is this the truth of you, my darling? That you are a weak and powerless thing who only knows how to endanger the lives of those who help her?”   “Enough,” Keyleth says, low and dangerous, sounding nothing like herself. Vex shivers, trained on the woman, her dialogue echoing around Vex’s skull in someone else’s voice.   “You’re nothing.” The words ring in the air; it’s as if a chill moves swiftly through the set. “You’ve come to me with no help, no resources, no convincing arguments. You lack even words in this moment, and it is profoundly embarrassing. You’re a dishonor to yourself, and to those who died for you.” The woman curls her mouth hideously, pulling at her skin. “At least allow me to repay them by forcing you to suffer the way they did - slowly, without grace, without dignity. Let them hear you scream, like the others before you. Like your own mother.”   “I will not die,” Keyleth hisses, flooding her veins with fire, and suddenly they’re struck with the sense that Keyleth’s character has hit her breaking point. “Repay them, yes, I will - but not with my blood. With yours!”   And her hands whips out with more agility than they’d thought possible from her, wrapping around the woman’s throat, and hoisting her into the air, one-handed.   Percy quickly and quietly claps a hand over Grog’s mouth to stop his exclamation, as he hadn’t realized the other woman was on wires. Keyleth looks as if she’s exerting a tremendous amount of force, which they know cannot be true, but that’s the magic of cinema, Vex thinks, entranced by the display.   “Your girlfriend is way cooler than you,” she leans over and whispers in Vax’s ear, trying to ignore the ghosts. He smacks her away, but he’s smiling.   --   Keyleth almost stabs him with her antlers, which a crew member then pries off of her in a panic, fearful of the potential lawsuit.     “Sorry, sorry!” she says again, inspecting him for damage. “God, I was just so excited to see you, I’m so sorry, I always forget they’re basically weapons--”   “You could’ve killed him,” Scanlan says dramatically, and Vax snorts loudly.   “Kiki, it’s fine, honestly,” he tells her, taking her hand before it can reach him again. “You didn’t even scratch me. No harm done.”   She smiles brightly, allowing their joined hands to come to rest. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, and then shifts her gaze to each of them. “All of you.”   “Are you?” Percy asks dryly upon his return from craft services, handing Vex a plate of grapes and cheese. “You won’t be after the news I just received.”   The party turns to look at him; Vex raises an eyebrow, the grapes in her mouth making her look like a chipmunk with half a full cheek. Keyleth blinks owlishly. “What?”   “Change of order, to put it lightly,” Percy says. “We’re filming the scene near the end where - erm, where you...overdo it?” He’s trying not to give it away. “Where I have to step in and help you. We were supposed to start tomorrow with it, but the weather forecast isn’t great.”   She stares at him for half a second longer before it clicks, and then her skin flushes bright red as if she’s boiling herself in water. She glances back to Vax and squeaks out, “Well, thanks for visiting!”   “Keyleth, Percival!” a voice calls. “Ten minutes!”   Percy grins devilishly. Keyleth is now the color of a sunburn.   “Well, obviously, we have to stay,” Grog points out logically, “because she wants us to leave so badly. Means it must be good, right?”   “Are you guys gonna fuck or something?” Scanlan asks bluntly. “I’m pretty sure that storyline wasn’t set up very well in the first one, if so.”   Percy actually laughs, and it’s genuine, unashamed and free. “No, no, we’re not going that far.”   “‘That far’...” the twins quote at the same time, staring between them ominously.   “Um,” Keyleth says, and then turns and runs away as fast she can in costume.   Percy only snickers harder, and says, “Go ahead and stick around. Once it starts, it won’t matter, anyway. She’s a professional.”   --   (So, Percy and Keyleth have to kiss.   Vex is nearly on the floor in hysterics; Vax is torn between utter amusement and a weird fit of jealousy. Vex, who’s never kissed Percy, has nothing to be jealous of, something she doesn’t mind rubbing in.   “I don’t know what I’m missing out on, you see?” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I can truly enjoy this moment. Oh, I can’t wait.”   “You’ll probably be dating him by the time this film comes out,” Vax says snidely, not willing to lose this one. “And then you’ll go the premiere and watch them kiss in high definition and surround sound. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”   Vex stops, staring off into the distance with an expression equal parts disgust, fear, apprehension, and longing.   “Yeah,” Vax says. “That’s what I thought.”)   --   It’s not actually that bad - it isn’t a romantic kiss; it’s a desperate one. Keyleth’s character is on the brink of destroying herself in order to bring about justice, or revenge, and she doesn’t care if she survives or not - misguided and grieving, she imagines herself to be just as bad as her enemies. But Percy’s character can see through the smoke and mirrors, the manipulation and ego, and when reason and logic and every other call to her soul fails, he kisses her.   It’s quite beautiful, and Pike and Grog find themselves oddly emotional even without full context; they keep patting each other and wiping their eyes.   The band watches the two of them really act for this, not behind the tent through the screens. In-person, they’re even more stunning and gripping, their transformations almost unbelievable to witness.   Vex has never seen this much unbridled emotion from Percy since she’s known him, and she recognizes again how spot-on her own interpretation of him had been. This is his outlet for feeling, for everything he can’t bear to keep within himself.   “I know you,” he’s saying. “You’ll trust her over me? At the end of everything, you won’t even allow yourself the final courtesy of believing a single thing I say about you? After what we’ve done for each other, after all this time and torture--”   “You want me to live,” Keyleth says in response, lost and heartbroken. “That’s your priority, but it isn’t mine - I won’t sacrifice anyone else! Let it end with me! Please, let it end with me!”   Whatever’s happening will be inserted as a special effect, but Keyleth mimes some exertion of power, and suddenly they watch one of Percy’s hands tangle in her hair and the other wrap around her waist, and he’s pulling her in close, pressing his lips desperately and painfully against hers. After a moment of her still and unmoving, her arms fall slowly and her fingers curl around his shoulders, and when he releases her his tears glimmer in the light.   “It won’t end with you,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you do this. I’ll die with you before I allow this to happen. This blood is not on your hands. Don’t spill your own.”   “Cut! We’ll cut there,” the director shouts, and walks over to give the two of them a few notes.   There’s a loud noise, a bit like a cross between a sneeze and a cannon. “You really are twins,” Grog guffaws at Vax and Vex, standing there with identical expressions of bafflement on their faces, their mouths hanging open. Percy and Keyleth are now laughing at a joke their make-up artist has cracked, as if the emotion of the scene was nothing but a quick interruption of their normal dynamic.   “I’m feeling like,” Vax begins, “I want to kiss Keyleth.”   “I’m feeling like I want you to shut up,” Vex responds stupidly, still dazed.   Percy finds her eyes and winks.   --   (Percy and Keyleth have to do multiple takes of it before they’re granted enough of a break to give the band a proper tour, but Vex and Vax decide once is enough, and hole themselves up in Keyleth’s trailer until they’re finished with it. Vax sits on the couch and doesn’t pry, but Vex pokes around, oddly charmed by the decoration. Keyleth’s got a windowsill of succulents and various gifts from fans plastered to her mirror, and in between, snapshots of her and with the people important to her - there’s a strip from a photobooth of her and Percy making ridiculous faces; another of them on set during their first film; one of Keyleth as a child and a woman who is most definitely her mother; and, dead center on the vanity, two distinct pictures side-by-side: her and Percy with the whole band from their trip to New York, and what looks like a selfie she’d taken with Vax, slightly blurry and out of focus, but the laughter on their faces genuine and real.   Vex smiles as she picks up the photo, and turns around, extending it to Vax.   “I think you’re doing just fine, brother,” she says as he stares at it in awe.)   --   They all end up at a local bar afterward, drinking and eating greasy pub food and relaxing in a private booth in the back. It’s more about enjoying each other’s company than getting drunk for once, considering he and Keyleth do have to show up to work tomorrow and do their jobs properly. They cycle through a few options as to what to do for the rest of the evening - Scanlan suggests bowling, but it’s hard for Grog to entertain ideas that aren’t all-out wild - when Pike catches Vex’s eye and grins, clearing her throat.   “Actually, Scanlan and Grog and I are gonna join Gilmore barhopping,” she says, lying through her teeth, though only Vex can tell. Grog pumps a fist. “So if the two of you wanna go hang out with Keyleth and Percy, you totally should.”   Scanlan seems to catch on to her game pretty quickly. “Yeah, definitely. We’d like to take advantage of our one completely free night while we’re here.”   Vex shrugs. “Be our guest,” she says, and then cocks her head at Percy. “Is that alright with you, oh gracious hosts?”   “Yes, of course!” Keyleth responds a little too quickly, fingers clutching at her bottle. “We can - watch a movie, or something.”   And that’s what they do. Well, sort of.   They make it through half a movie - some old, black-and-white classic that ends up mostly as background noise - before Vex falls fast asleep, curled up against Percy’s side, his arm over her shoulders. It doesn’t take him much longer to follow her there, dozing off underneath Vex’s weight and a blanket, and Keyleth quietly tugs Vax into her bedroom, seemingly ignorant of the implications.   “Let’s let them be,” she murmurs, shutting her door as gently as she can. “They’re obviously tired.”   Vax wastes no time making himself at home. He kicks off his shoes and sprawls across her bed, picking up a stuffed white tiger and examining it. “He doesn’t sleep with people often, does he?”   “Uh, is he supposed to?” She’s slightly confused at the question, quirking an eyebrow as she sits down next him, leaning back against the pillows. “Do you?”   Vax laughs, tossing the animal up in the air and catching it. “I meant literally. I have a twin sister and a tour bus, so we’ve shared a bed more often than not. But I didn’t peg him as a guy who’d easily do something as vulnerable as sleeping beside someone.”   “Oh, I see,” she says, resting the side of her head in her hand. “No, he doesn’t. He’s not really the type to let his guard down like that. So, I figured...”   “Ah.” It’s not an interesting revelation and so Vax doesn’t pursue it further. “And what about you?”   “Me?” She’s apparently startled that he even has to ask. “I’m an open book, aren’t I?”   “Sometimes,” he answers truthfully, looking at her, cheek pressed against her moss-green comforter. “Mostly. But I think everyone has something they’re trying to protect themselves from.”   She picks at a loose thread on one of her pillows, eyes averted down. “So what’s yours?”   He thinks about saying rejection, which is true, but he assumes that’s true for almost everybody. He thinks of Vex and Percy in the other room, wrapped around each other innocently, holding their demons at bay. He thinks of Vex at peace.   And then he thinks of Vex, four, three, two years ago; flinching at a touch like a burn, eyes hollow in her skull, looking more like a girl in a graveyard than a rock show. He thinks of bruises and emptiness and the faint foreboding of home. How she got to the point where it hurt so much it stopped feeling like pain at all, and then she was nothing.   “Change,” he says instead, unable to be anything but brutally, achingly honest. He hears the beeping of hospital equipment like the beating of his own heart. “The unknown, I guess. The future. The things I can’t see.”   It’s not the answer Keyleth is expecting, and she tilts her chin down, examining him. “In what way?” She can’t stop herself from asking.   He cradles the words in his mouth before spilling them out; he doesn’t want to pour out all of Vex’s secrets, but it’s him, too. There are parts that are his and he needs to talk about them.   “I don’t know how much you know, if anything,” he says. “De Rolo seems like he’s...good at playing his cards close to the vest. Like he wouldn’t betray her, if she had told him, and I know she has. I can tell how much of herself she’s investing in him.”   Keyleth doesn’t interrupt, but her facial expressions are simple enough to read; she half-smiles, bemused and sad, but he’d judged Percy’s character correctly and she appreciates it. He continues, “Vex was in a - a pretty terrible situation a few years ago. With a man. He...took advantage of her insecurities. He’d pick out all of the horrible things she thought about herself, and validate them to her rather than relieving her of them. He abused her. It was...bad. It was really bad.”   “Vax…” Keyleth exhales, the quiet acknowledgment breaking him down.   “I didn’t know,” he confesses, and his eyes sting sharply. “I didn’t know she thought these things about herself. I knew something was wrong, but she’s such a good liar, and she’s so...she didn’t want me to worry about her. She’s good at keeping people out. She thought it would get better, or that she’d one day work up the courage to leave him.”   “But she didn’t,” Keyleth infers softly. Her hands are now covering Vax’s own, resting gently on his chest.   “She didn’t,” he says. “He almost killed her, and all I could think about was that I should’ve known. I let her down. I left her alone.” She strokes her thumb with his, allowing him to let it all out before speaking. “I’m afraid that - she’s finally better, Keyleth. She’s someone I recognize again. And I don’t want to lose her, not now, not ever.”   Keyleth carefully bends down and presses a kiss to the back of their joined hands. She says, “The fact that you’re so terrified of it proves that you wouldn’t let it happen again, even if it were an option.” She pauses, rolling over sentences as she constructs them. “I think that makes you brave, Vax. People can’t - always admit their own faults, or places they may have gone wrong. Protecting someone...isn’t as easy as it seems. But I also think it makes you stupid.”   He’s so caught off-guard by the insult that he nearly laughs; she blushes, struggling to rectify the statement. “You know it wasn’t your fault,” she clarifies, and the redness in her cheeks fades fast. “You’re carrying this burden alone. She didn’t place it upon you.”   “I don’t know that,” he denies, staring at the ceiling, the brief amusement falling away. “Maybe part of it was, and I hurt her. Maybe my obliviousness almost got her killed. What if there are things I just don’t see? Does it then matter if it’s accidental or not? What if I hurt you next?”   She’s silent for awhile, pondering him, her grip on his hands loose and comforting. After a moment, she says, “That’s mine, by the way.”   “Your what?”   “What I’m trying to protect myself from,” she says, and pulls her arm back. “You hurting me.”   He tilts his head towards her, shocked, heart dissecting itself horizontally. “Do you truly believe I would?” he asks, refusing to accept the confirmation she’s giving him. “That I’m capable of it?”   She smiles kindly down at him, but it’s wistful somehow, morose and tender. “No,” she answers softly. “But you do, and I think that’s probably the same thing.”   --   When Vex groggily opens her eyes, it’s because there’s an infomercial playing at a much louder volume than the film they’d apparently dozed off watching. She blindly reaches for the remote without fully waking up and finds the correct buttons in the dim light until it’s a gentle hum, and then she leans back against whatever she’d comfortably been sleeping on, which happens to be--   Percy. Percy with his arm around her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, glasses set aside, peaceful and dreamless. Percy blissfully handing her casual affection without consequence, like it’s simple, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to give yourself up to someone. She doubts he even thought twice about it. She was there and she needed him and so he stayed.   She leans forward carefully and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek, not wanting to disturb him; she shifts to resume her previous position, but his hand moves, lightly rubbing her lower back. His head tilts to the other side, facing her, though his eyes stay shut.   He murmurs, “Vex’ahlia.” His voice is rough from sleep, but he lifts his arm again, allowing her the room she needs to huddle herself closer to him. She’s struck with the sudden urge to cry without fully understanding why. He squints at her when she doesn’t move, a small smile on his face. “It’s okay,” he says. “Come here.”   It’s almost as if something cracks open in her soul that she’d been holding back a long, long time; she sinks into him like pouring water, her fingers curling over his shoulder, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He doesn’t speak, just loops both his arms around her and holds her tighter as if to stop her from breaking apart in his hands.   --   (The apartment is quiet when Keyleth rolls out of bed to grab a glass of water, interrupted only by Vax’s deep, even breathing and the faint buzz of the television in the living room. She makes a motion to turn it off when she realizes Percy and Vex are still there, stretched out across the couch and tangled up together. They’re facing each other; his arm is thrown around her waist and she has her forehead pressed against his chest, and it’s too close, too intimate. Keyleth has to force herself to look away.)   --   Percy’s alarm vibrates somewhere underneath his hip early the next morning, but what actually wakes him is Vex’s muffled voice against his collarbone saying, “Turn that fucking thing off, Percival.”   “You do it,” he finds himself answering, still clinging on to the edges sleep. “Your hand’s closer.”   She harrumphs in her throat, but he feels her fingers digging into his thigh as she slides his phone out from underneath him, dropping it between their bodies. He blindly gropes for it as Vex resumes her rest, clearly too comfortable to let anything disturb her.   He squints at his messages; he makes out delayed call time due to weather and sighs contentedly, switching over his alarm and tossing it onto the coffee table. He’s slightly more awake, and Vex is still here, aware of their position and enjoying it; he lowers his arm back to where it’d been resting across her waist previously and pulls her impossibly closer. She makes a small noise of surprise but doesn’t move away; she merely readjusts her head and throws a leg over his hip, and he notices--   She seems to come to the same realization, because he feels her lips curve up into a grin where her cheek is resting against his shoulder.   He heads her off at the pass, too exhausted to care. “You can fuck right off if you’re about to laugh.”   She does anyway, prompted by his remark; it’s a sweet, tired sort of giggle without any weight behind it. “Well,” she says, “you are a man, and I am extremely attractive.”   “I’m sure it was the combination of those two things, of course,” he replies dryly. “Your perception remains unmatched.”   She laughs again, and her hand crawls upward, fingers resting gently against the side of his neck. “Another day, I’ll take advantage of it.”   “I look forward to it,” he says, smiling despite himself and the oddity of their circumstances. He feels her adjust her head against his arm, tilting up her chin to look at him, and he opens one eye, blinking blearily at her.   She’s smiling, and the tips of her fingers are dancing against his skin, and in another life, he is sure he is already doing this forever.   “Yes?” he probes, his stare unbearably soft, his tone too gentle, too open and familiar.   Vex runs the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip, biting her own without realizing it, an automatic desire. She murmurs, “You know I do, don’t you?” and her glance drops to his mouth and back. “You know I want you.”   Percy understands the confession for what it is: a validation rather than an invitation, a place for discussion instead of action. It wouldn’t be a good idea - not now, not yet - but it’s still the truth.   “Our call time was pushed,” he says in lieu of a direct response. “I’ve a few more hours. Spend them with me.”   “Here?” she asks coyly. “On your couch? Don’t you own a bed, Percival?”   “I do,” he says, shutting his eyes and resting his cheek against the top of her head, his hand running up and down her spine. “However, I’m lacking in the self-control your brother and Keyleth no doubt possess. And if this conversation has been any indication, I’m sure you are, as well.”   Her body vibrates in a silent laugh, movements becoming laggier, and he recognizes the signs of exhaustion overtaking her once again. He drifts away idly imagining what it’d be like to control his dreams, and that if he could, he’d dream about her now, exactly like this, and no shadows would be lurking in the background.   --   (And, well, Percy’s not wrong.   On the other side of the wall, Vax has stuck diligently to his allotted side of the bed and Keyleth to hers, bodies a respectable distance apart, comfortable to coexist.   But somewhere along the duration of the night, they’d found each other’s hands and they hadn’t let go.)   --   They’re lazing around backstage while the tech team does the soundcheck for the night’s show; Vex keeps yawning, and Pike finally takes pity on her and gives her the rest of her cappuccino.   “Long night?” she asks slyly, wiggling one eyebrow repeatedly up and down.   Vex rolls her eyes. “Not in the way you’re imagining.”   “Really?” Pike says disbelievingly, leaning back against the wall, crew members passing around them like they’re invisible. “Okay, spill, Vex. Don’t tell me he rejected you or something.”   She laughs, because it’s the furthest thing from the truth. “No,” she says. “It’s - it’s both of us, but it’s me.”   “Spit it out.”   Vex focuses on the bass line thrumming through the floor; somewhere on stage, Scanlan’s shredding out notes and Grog’s hammering away on the drums and Vax’s voice is echoing lowly through the microphone, singing about ghosts. But there’s another memory, one of a hand around her throat and a smile too cold and cruel and vicious to ever have meant love; she closes her eyes sees those beige walls, those linoleum floors and fluorescent lights, and sometimes her bones still feel as heavy as they did then, too broken and bruised to move.   Giving up all pretense, she says, “I don’t want to fuck him and hate myself.” The words are harsher and more blunt than she intends, but she pushes on; Pike’s always been someone to listen without judgment, without fault or flaw. “I don’t want to be afraid, and I don’t want to be...somewhere else. I want to be with him. And I want to remember what it’s like when it’s about someone else, you know? Not just - me using people to remind myself I still exist, and that I am wanted. That I didn’t die.”   “I get it,” Pike says, because she always does. She lays a comforting hand on Vex’s knee. “You don’t want to be in your head. And I’m sure Percy has that concern, too.”   “Yeah,” Vex says, willing herself not to cry again; she’s been doing too much of that lately. “I could’ve had him so long ago if I’d wanted. But it wouldn’t have been real. I would’ve hurt him and I don’t think - I don’t think I could’ve come back from that.”   “Because you would’ve been proving Saundor right,” Pike infers quietly, and takes Vex’s fingers in hers instead. “Oh, honey.”   Vex tilts her head back, resting against the wall. “Yeah,” she sighs out. Grog yells from somewhere around the corner, and then there’s a loud clatter; Scanlan laughs as Vax erupts in curses.   “But you didn’t,” Pike points out, ignoring the commotion. “You didn’t hurt Percy. You’ve done exactly the opposite, so far, actually. Anyone can see that he adores you, Vex; you make him so happy. By the time this weekend is over, I’ll bet the blogs will be going insane over the two of you. I know Keyleth already tweeted about us all hanging out again, so, I mean, it’s only a matter of time.”   Vex can’t stop the smile that unfolds as Pike rambles. “Fans are that perceptive, are they?”   “Oh, yeah,” she says, “but that wasn’t going to be my point. My point is that you make him happy, and you’re trying to protect him, and protect yourself. And even back then, you were trying to protect us. That makes you nothing like Saundor said you were, Vex. Nothing.”   “I’m really trying not to cry,” Vex says, her throat tighter with every breath, “but thank you, Pike.”   “Anytime,” she says, and the world pauses its rotation for a moment, giving Vex the time she needs to catch up.   --   (By some unspoken agreement, Vex and Vax take up residence in Percy and Keyleth’s apartment over the weekend. It’s strange, two couples who aren’t couples but should be casually sharing space; it’s not as if they aren’t all aware of each other’s shortcomings, either. Keyleth never comments on the fact that Vex and Percy refuse to use his bedroom, and likewise, no remarks are ever directed at her and Vax for deciding to use hers.   Vax hears Vex’s laughter through the wall and feels her heart is safe. Vex notices he stands taller than he used to, and there is no sadness to his smile.)   --   Pike, to nobody’s surprise, turns out to be right.   Percy and Keyleth coming to a second show and a third show back-to-back cements suspicion; i know its keyleths fav band but nobody likes a band that much, Keyleth reads aloud from her indirects, i think something’s going on with someone.   gianna loves you @gunslingers · 3h Replying to @suntree who do u think tho? have they been seen in pairs at all or should we start just taking bets. i mean i agree like 2 nights in a row...verrrry fishy   aya @suntree · 3h Replying to @gunslingers well pike & grog & scanlan were out w/gilmore thurs night -sans twins. so im thinking one of them ?   jj @voxexmachina · 3h Replying to @gunslingers @suntree Omg wait yall this needs to be investigated further,,,this is so legit. Are there pics from Thurs w/out the twins?   aya @suntree · 3h Replying to @voxexmachina @gunslingers yeah! someone posted the pics on tumblr here:   teresa 2.0  @strongjawale · 3h Replying to @gunslingers @suntree @voxexmachina well the twins are bi so the possibilities are truly endless here if it is indeed one of them...i’m ngl i’d be hella into percival and vax   back on my bullshit @vexxxed · 2h Replying to @strongjawale @gunslingers @suntree and 1 other I JUST DEADASS HAD A HEART ATTACK AT THE IDEA OF VEX AND KEYLETH ASDDSLGKDSGLJL   aya @suntree · 2h Replying to @vexxxed @strongjawale @gunslingers and 1 other asfkghsfdl percival is straight im p sure...my moneys on him and vex tbh. keyleth just seems too clueless (in a cute way)   jj @voxexmachina · 2h Replying to @suntree @vexxxed @strongjawale and 1 other Idk, Id be into Keyleth/Vax, theyre a whole midnight vs sunlight aesthetic just waiting to happen   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 2h Replying to @voxexmachina @suntree @vexxxed and 2 others thanks j, now i gotta go make that shit immediately.   It continues on like that for awhile, and Keyleth only stops because Grog almost pisses himself laughing at the idea of Percy and Vax in a relationship, to which Vax response by draping himself across Percy’s back with his arms around his neck and kissing his cheek loudly.   Scanlan says, “Can’t wait to see your aesthetics.”   “Oh, young love,” Pike adds.   Grog bends down and whispers, “What’s an ascetic?”   --   Moving on from Atlanta is harder for the twins than their brief respite in New York had been; not because of the novelty of New York, but because of the familiarity of home in Atlanta. Percy and Keyleth’s apartment had been the furthest thing from a tour bus or a hotel room, full of warmth and light and people who wanted them to be there.   But something in Vax which was once closed has now opened, and he can’t wait for it any longer. He refuses to sacrifice anything else, or anyone else. He pulls Vex off to the side one evening when they’ve stopped to refuel and he’s unsteady, as if he’s aching to talk to her but desperately terrified of her answers; he grips one of her hands in his, and she recognizes that the touch means something to him.   He says, “I love Keyleth.”   “I’m aware,” Vex says, obviously bewildered but indulgent. “I remember it well, as I was there when you told her.”   “I love her,” Vax says again, holding Vex’s hand against his chest, over his heart. “I love her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, or that I won’t be there for you whenever you need me.”   “I know that,” Vex laughs, rolling her eyes at his dramaticism. “You’re my darling brother. I get it.”   “No,” he says, clutching her tighter. “No, I really mean it. You can...tell me, when things happen to you. I want to be someone you come to. Someone who listens to you.”   Vex takes in his sweet, sad eyes; his earnestness, the masked despair underneath his words. She thinks of him sleeping in a chair next to her bed for a week straight, and every time before that she’d said I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. And she understands.   She pulls him in close to her, her arms around his shoulders, chin against the crook of his neck. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, feeling him hug her back slowly, uncertain. “You know - you know I’ve never blamed you, right?”   He shakes harder in her embrace, and oh, no, he’s never realized that, this stupid fool of a man whom she adores more than her own life; even if she doesn’t blame him, he blames himself. Her ribs feel like they’ve split open, cracking against the way she has to suddenly stop herself from choking on her breath. How could she never have realized, how could she not have thought-- “Vax, my God - no, you bloody idiot, what happened to me was not your fault! There was nothing you could’ve done--”   “I could’ve gotten you out of there,” he whispers, his voice barely hanging on. “I knew you were lying to me, but I didn’t--”   “You couldn’t have,” she says firmly, “because I wouldn’t have listened to you, even if you were sitting in front of me showing me the evidence. Vax, it wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t your fault; it was him. I...I believed certain things for so long that you could’ve done whatever you wanted and it wouldn’t have been enough. I needed more. I needed an army, and by the time I ended up where I did, that’s what I had.” She rubs her hands comfortingly up and down his back. “I know Grog and Pike stopped him from getting within a hundred feet of my hospital room and threatened to beat him fifty times worse if he tried. I know Scanlan was the one who looked into the restraining order and legal proceedings. And I know you sat at my side every single day until I’d healed, and I know you haven’t left since.”   He’s openly weeping into her shoulder, finally unburdened, relieved, and so, so devastated for her, for everything she lost and found again. “I love you,” he says through tears. “I love you so, so much, and I can’t live without you.”   “You don’t have to,” she says, pulling away and taking his face between her palms, meeting his eyes. “I’ll be here. Forever. Okay?”   He holds her gaze a moment longer, attempting to steady himself. “Okay,” he says at last.   “Good,” she says, “because now you can pursue the woman you’re actually in love with guiltlessly, which is what I want for you. I want you to be happy, Vax, and I refuse to be the thing that holds you back from that.” She takes in a breath, blinking solidly, blocking out the world for a second as she finds the words for her own confession. “Look. I’m - I’m changing, too. I’m trying to. And I think we both need to - trust ourselves, for once. Trust that we’re doing what’s right for us, even if it’s in different directions. We can find each other, no matter what.”   Vax observes her briefly, his mouth pulling into the barest hint of a smile. “He’s good for you, isn’t he,” he says plainly, almost looking proud of her. “I know you’re good for him. Why haven’t you told him yet?”   Vex bites the inside of her own lip, taken aback by the sudden shift in attention, and resists the automatic urge to deflect her emotion. “He is,” she says honestly. “And I haven’t...found the words. Maybe I need to sing about it,” she tacks on as a weak attempt at a joke, but he raises his eyebrows, contemplating.   “Maybe you do,” he says finally, and drops his eyes with a smile. “Maybe we both do.”   --   (We have things to say to each other, he tells her. We have things to say to them. So let’s say them the way we know how. Sit down with me.   Pike ushers Grog and Scanlan to the back of the bus, recognizing the importance of the moment building between them. Vax pulls out a notepad and two pens and sets them on the table while Vex gazes aimlessly out the window, her fingers moving idly across her guitar strings, searching for herself, for what she wants and how to achieve it.   What are you trying to stop? Vax asks, scribbling in the margins. What are we changing from?   Lying, Vex says, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. I’m trying to be more like me, and less like someone I was made into.   I’m trying that, too, Vax says, which surprises her. I don’t want to have doubts. About you, about myself.   Vex grabs the pen and writes out, I’m giving up this whole lie, and this whole me.   There, she says. That’s what I’m doing.   Vax furrows his brow, and in a different handwriting, Call it out like a family appears below it, but he doesn’t stop - instead I bide my time, get a ride, until the - he crosses out a few things; she sees ‘tires’ struck out, screech - and then: until the rubber leaves the road.   Vex doesn’t know how to follow that, and says, Okay, now what are we telling them.   That I’m determined not to make the same mistakes I’ve made before, Vax says immediately. That I won’t blame myself for the actions of others. But that sounds stupid, and shallow. It’s more like...she’s my intention. Does that make sense? She is, you are. It’s not like something meaningless I can break.   No, I understand, Vex says. It has weight.   She writes out words. Drive, motivation, determination, intention. None of them are right. Resolution.   Yes, Vax says, tilting his head. That’s it. Because it’s us, you know, it’s a promise to ourselves and to them.   Okay, Vex says, scrawling out you’ll be my resolution. I think we’ve got something here. Hold on. We can work with this theme.   They take turns scribbling down whatever comes to mind along the same lines - one verse has the both of them mirroring each other, with Vex writing, You said don’t lie so I made the truth / seem like a lie to even you and Vax adding after Control your fear, it’s clear / that you do not know where you’re going to.   Vex’s most honest verse comes because Keyleth and Percy text them around one in the morning, finally wrapping up their workday; they tend to stay focused during filming, but when they get home to relax, their minds wander, and the twins’ phones end up simultaneously going off more often than not. Keyleth texts Vax “miss you” and Vax takes a moment to just stare at her picture, and Percy’s message to Vex is simply “Wanted to say goodnight, apologies if I’ve woken you.”   Fuck, she breathes out, and Vax drops his forehead to the table. It’s torture, she says.   One month down and it’s in sight / oh I’m guaranteed to lose my mind It’s dangerous to speak and sigh / you might know what I’m trying to hide   Vax doesn’t laugh. It’s hard, wanting someone and not being able to have them, but not because the love isn’t there.   It takes them another two hours to finish the lyrics, and they come up with a bare melody born purely from Vex’s idle plucking. They decide it needs to feel like them, and not like the persona they put on; it needs to be vulnerable because it is.   In the morning, Pike finds the notepad still lying on the table, covered in doodles and scratched out words and a random game of hangman, “resolution” written at the top. She reads it - she figures they’ll get to anyway, considering they’ll be playing it - and is surprised to feel herself almost moved to tears by it. It’s deeply personal, and for once, it’s not angry or bitter or careless, or even rough around the edges like many of their songs are; it’s a mark of something new. She traces over the ink of the last lines.   I’m not you, nor you me but we’re both moving steady.)   --   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 16m https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4...   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 11m y’all it’s totally vex. listen to the song she posted ______________________ vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4... Keyleth Retweeted vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 17m https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZaKMZ82mp4...   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 5m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @keylethoftheair FUCK !!!!!   --   FROM: Percy Interesting song choice.   TO: Percy do you have tweet alerts turned on for me?   FROM: Percy Obviously.   TO: Percy good. ;)   TO: Percy so any response?   FROM: Percy Musically? Perhaps. But it’ll have to wait.   FROM: Percy Plus, Keyleth retweeted it, so now twitter thinks you’re dating each other.   TO: Percy oh, balls.   FROM: Percy Her exact words were “ugh, she just so gets me.”   TO: Percy that’s the last time i try and sneakily reveal my feelings through music to you.   --   2:45 AM FROM: Percy It’s true.   --   A few weeks later, Percy and Keyleth are finally home.   Keyleth’s first priority is watering her own plants, and then heading straight to Percy’s to tend to his. She’s almost frantic about it, carrying a misplaced sense of guilt for ‘leaving them alone so long,’ despite having had someone care for them the entire time they’d been away.   The band is somewhere in the south, but they perform on a late-night talk show that’s employing one those travel the country sets where they host in a variety of American cities as a publicity stunt, and an opportunity for fans who don’t have the money to travel themselves. Keyleth and Percy originally don’t think they’re able to be home in time to watch due to the time difference, but a stroke of luck has them on Percy’s couch fifteen minutes before it airs, eating white cheddar cheese puffs and drinking wine, because they’re adults, for fuck’s sake.   The band looks even better than they sound, which is really saying something, because they sound incredible. Vex has her signature blue feather in her hair and Vax has his black one, and they’re wearing matching leather jackets, black skinny jeans, and shoes with studs on them - though where Vax’s are boots, Vex’s...are stilettos.   Percy’s face flushes bright red, and Keyleth, who’d been jokingly recording her own reactions like reviews, turns her camera on him to capture the moment. He’s sure his skin appears absolutely ridiculous against his white hair and scowls, raising a hand to block himself from view. She pats him on the shoulder and says, “Hang in there, Percy,” and then turns back to the television, zooming in on Vex’s heels.   After they’re done, the host comes over to chat them up for a bit, asking about their Grammy win, how the tour is, where they’re headed. And then, clearly as charmed by Vex as anybody in their right mind would be, he can’t resist a fake-but-not-so-fake proposal aimed her way.   “So, Vex’ahlia,” he says, charisma oozing out of him, “you’re beautiful, famous, rich, royal...where’s a guy like me start trying to get to know you? I’ve only hosted the number one late night show on cable for the last ten years, but somehow I doubt that’s something that impresses you. Any advice?”   “Well,” she says, smirking charmingly, fluttering her eyelashes, “if you’d like to get to know me, you can read my Wikipedia page; it’s pretty thorough, and mostly accurate.”   He laughs, a hand over his heart dramatically. “Ouch! The sting of rejection--”   “No, no,” she says diplomatically, now that her fun’s been had. “In truth, my heart is someone else’s.”   Keyleth drops her phone entirely, which proves to be unfortunate; she’d missed an excellent and unforgettable shot of Percy staring blankly at the television screen as though someone had just called out his winning lottery numbers.   --   Chaney @raspberryfieldsforever  · 18m @suntree @vexxxed @lizzyisademon @cooleraid DID U SEE THIS OMGGGG _______________________________________ Music or Lose It @musicorloseitmag “My heart is someone else’s”: Vex’ahlia, lead singer of Vox Machina, confesses on late-night...   aya @suntree · 15m Replying to @raspberryfieldsforever @vexxxed @lizzyisademon and 1 other I’M FUCKING LOSING IT I’M AT WORK I COULDN’T WATCH ASDGDSFG WHAT DID SHE SAY   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 15m Replying to @raspberryfieldsforever @suntree @lizzyisademon and 1 other YES IM HAVIGN A CORONARY LIKE !! SHE DID THAT !!! ON LIVE TV SHE DID THAT   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 14m Replying to @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever @lizzyisademon and 1 other AYA OMFGGGG she didnt say who or anything like it basically ended there but WE KNOW THE TRUTH…….   boo @lizzyisademon · 13m Replying to @vexxxed @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever and 1 other #TheTruthIsOutThere   RLY BACK ON MY BULLSHIT @vexxxed · 11m Replying to @lizzyisademon @suntree @raspberryfieldsforever and 1 other i did my waiting….twelve years of it…..in azkaban @imvexthatsvax pardon the interruption but WHO WERE YOU REFERRING TO   kait @cooleraid · 10m Replying to @vexxxed @imvexthatsvax @lizzyisademon and 2 others SAM DID I SERIOUSLY JUST GET HERE IN TIME FOR YOU TO TAG VEX HERSELF DELETE THAT IMMEDIATELY   vex’ildan @imvexthatsvax · 5m Replying to @cooleraid @vexxxed @lizzyisademon and 2 others ;)   --   “I think you killed them,” Pike says, scrolling through the thread. “They’re just screaming at each other incoherently.”   Vex laughs, her feet stretched out across Vax’s lap, also following the drama. “At least I was nice about it. I mean, I winked, didn’t I? Isn’t that a dream come true for a fan of mine?”   “Were you always this egotistical, or is that recent?” Vax asks, responding to a text from Keyleth containing only shocked cat emojis.   She glances up, meets his eyes and smiles. “I like to think it was always.”   He grins back warmly, and they come to a deeper understanding. “Me, too.”   --   (“And you, Vax?” the host asks, because he’s good at his job and knows not to play favorites. “Where’s your heart at the moment? Any singers you’ve got your eye on?”   He grins widely and says, “Actually, I’m more into actors these days. Us musicians are just so tortured and dull, right?”   His remark falls under the radar due to Vex’s bombshell, but it’s okay. Keyleth hears it, and she knows, and that’s all that matters, anyway.)   --   “I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors, Percival,” is the first thing his sister says when he pulls her up on Skype.   “Hello to you too,” he says, glancing her over through their pixelated connection. It’s his late morning, her night, and she’s already lounging in bed; he’s sitting at his dining room table, eating toast. “You’re looking well, Cassandra.”   “I am well, thanks,” she responds politely. “And if the rumors are true, you’re doing quite well yourself.”   “Oh, I’ll bite,” he says. “What’ve you heard?”   “Most recently, that you’re in some sort of a polyamorous relationship with twins from some rock band, and Keyleth,” she says, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. “The internet seems unable to agree on where your affections lie.”   He sighs heavily. “Fame has its downsides.”   “I’m waiting for the truth,” Cassandra probes, adjusting her earphones. “Unless you’re attempting to tell me that really is the truth, in which case, I must officially withdraw my support of your lifestyle to protect our family’s dignity, poise, and public perception.”   “It’s only partly true,” he says, knowing she’ll pester him until he tells her. “They’re called Vox Machina - the band, that is - and Keyleth and I are...enamored with their frontrunners, who are the twins.”   Her chin slips off her hand, intrigued. “Fascinating,” she says. “So which twin is whose love interest? And this developed simultaneously?”   He’s strangely shameless on the subject; she’s his sister and he misses her, and he knows she’s curious because she cares about him. He says, “Oddly, yes. And there’s no scandal, I’m afraid, it’s rather traditional - Vax’ildan sometimes worries me with his enthusiasm for Keyleth, and, well, Vex’ahlia is quite...”   “Quite,” Cassandra repeats, teasing him. “Enchanting? Effervescent? Does she light up rooms, Percival?”   “Try stadiums,” he says, but he’s smiling.   --   And then, the completely predictable but somehow unexpected happens:   Keyleth begins gathering renown in a way she hasn’t before.   She’s always been an incredible actress, but like Percy, had stuck to indie films and niche genres - but Aramente finally drops at a festival and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. It’s sort of magical realism, the kind of story that allows critics to go nuts with their interpretations; she plays the daughter of a novel type of royal family, one that requires a personal journey of strength and self-discovery across the far reaches of the earth before a title can be taken. She’d agreed to the role because she’d felt so connected to the character, and was overjoyed at the amount of time she was able to spend in the wilderness while filming; Percy knows that many of her scenes where she takes in the world around her are genuine.   She garners amazing reviews for her essentially one-woman performance - she’s the main character, and there are few recurring ones - and Kima is suddenly fielding an onslaught of offers for new projects.   None of this really affects Keyleth, though; if anything, she’s just excited that she has the opportunity to do more of what she loves.   What it does change is the amount of time she now spends promoting it, as it’s gotten picked up by a major studio for distribution. She and her two co-stars - the only two that recur in the film, Kashaw and Zahra - appear on talk shows together, complementing each other in the strangest of ways, comical and enjoyable to watch.   She and Percy have finally wrapped Passed Through Fire, but the two of them know it’s going to be a trilogy and don’t have to face the reality of separation just yet. She still makes time for Vax in between promotions - it’s mostly just the month after the film drops, and then, she tells him, probably the week it’s due for a theatrical release - and he makes sure to watch every interview.   And he notices Kashaw.   Kash, as Keyleth calls him. Kash staring at her a little too long, stone-faced and unreadable. Kash never reaching for her, but allowing her touch on him. Kash with a smile that can only be described as distant, except for when he’s talking to her.   Vax recognizes the signs.   “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Vex says, watching their most recent interview on YouTube, her phone held to one ear, an earbud in the other. “Percy, what do you make of this?”   She listens for a moment, clicking through her browser. “Of course,” she answers without explaining to Vax. He kicks her under the table just as their bus hits a bump, and accidentally hits harder than he’d intended.   “Fuck, Vax!” she snaps, rubbing her shin. “Balls! That hurt, you fucker--”   “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “What’s he saying?”   Vex rolls her eyes and lays her phone down, touching the screen. “Darling, you’re on speaker,” she says, “so save any inappropriate commentary for later. Ta.”   Percy snorts. “I’ll try to control myself.”   “Back to me, please,” Vax says.   “I’ve met Kash a few times, and he’s - standoffish, I suppose is the word. No social skills whatsoever, but in an antisocial way, not like Keyleth’s tactlessness. I wouldn’t worry too much, even if he does like her, because she’ll never pick up on it. He’d have to really spell it out for her.”   “Look,” Vax says, “it’s not like I have any right to her, or something. I’m just wondering how she feels.”   “Hasn’t even crossed her mind,” Percy says definitively. “You’ve sort of consumed her, Vax, and I mean that as a compliment. She’s a little more grounded than she used to be.”   “I won’t change course,” Vax says vaguely, “but I won’t stand in her way, either.”   “I think that’s a healthy place to be,” Percy answers.   “Thanks, Freddie.”   There’s a pause and then a noise of utter disgust. “Excuse me?”   Vex laughs loudly, and, well, Percy loses his edge.   --   (Vex has her bad days.   They’ll start with a memory. Just one, any one. Syldor’s hands around her throat. An argument in a hospital hallway. The twinge of a bruised rib. A door slamming shut, rattling the windows.   It’s not that she can’t go to Vax, but more as if she’d rather save him from his own guilt. She calls Percy and she says, “Bad day,” her breath coming and going in short, staccato patterns, her eyes burning and dry, and he’ll talk to her about his day, his work, his life. Anything to get her to focus on him and not her own past.   It’s what he’s doing when Vax sticks his head in her bunk and says, “Hey, I need you to watch this video and let me know if I have competition for Keyleth. Not that she’s a prize, I’m talking respectfully, as in, I’d just like to know where I stand, what I should be prepared for--”   “Gods,” Vex says, Percy in her ear pausing midway through pondering the appeal of Las Vegas. “Okay, I’m coming. I’ve Percy, so if you ask nicely, perhaps he’ll share some insight.”   Vax wanders back out to the kitchen. Vex murmurs, “Thank you.”   “No need,” Percy says softly. “I’m here for you. Always.”)   --   None of them really count on Kash’s spontaneous nature.   An interviewer asks him how he’s liked working with the cast, and he says, “Keyleth is the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life. She’s so bubbly and happy-go-lucky all the time. It’s exhausting.”   Everyone laughs, and Keyleth’s jaw drops, affronted, but she’s giggling too. Kash looks slightly confused, because he hadn’t been telling a joke, but, Percy thinks as he watches from the green room, it’s probably best it’d been interpreted that way.   They come traipsing back to where Percy’s waiting (for moral support, of course) a few minutes later, and Keyleth is in the middle of saying, “You’re such a jerk, Kash; since when is being happy a bad thing--”   He stops just inside the room, contemplating her. “It’s not,” he says, and without warning, without agenda, he tugs her to him and kisses her.   Percy blinks, not quite able to comprehend what he’s looking at, and then it’s over before he can.   “Well,” Kash says gruffly, “see you around.”   And he walks away, leaving her standing in the doorway with a stunned look on her face, like she’s just coming down from an out-of-body experience.   “Um,” she says, and her eyes slowly travel over to Percy.   “Erm,” he says in response, and attempts to shake himself out of it so that Keyleth can have her impending freak out against somebody solid. “Shall we...go?”   She nods blankly, following him to the valet.   --   (It takes ten minutes of driving home in Percy’s car before she suddenly exclaims, “What the fuck was that about?!”   “People like you,” Percy says unhelpfully. “Although I’m not liking this trend of men kissing you without asking your permission. Technically, he sexually assaulted you.”   Keyleth opens and closes her mouth like an exotic tropical fish. “Um,” she says again, “I think I’ll just talk to him.”)   --   It turns out she doesn’t have to, because he approaches her first, sending her a text: Hey. It’s Kash. Sorry I kissed you last night. I should have given you a chance to stop me. I’m not very good with people. Please accept my apology. I will not do it again. Unless you ask me to. Sorry again. Kash   “Well,” Percy says, because dealing with one socially unaware person is enough for him, and he doesn’t even know where to begin with two.   “I’m gonna let it go,” Keyleth says. “I mean, he came forward and realized his mistakes on his own, and I at least appreciate that.”   “Sure,” Percy says. “Are you going to tell Vax?”   She turns her stare on him, wide and fearful, and the effect comes off as if her eyes have been blown up twice their normal size. “Do you think I should? I’ve been worrying about it, but, like, we’re not dating, I don’t know, I mean, is it something he needs to know about? Is he gonna find out anyway? Were there people watching? Did you tell Vex already?” She says all of this very fast and without breathing, as if she only has a spare bit of time before the end of the world.   “Erm,” Percy says.   “You’re right,” Keyleth says. “I should tell him. He’s been honest with me, I need to show him the same courtesy. I just don’t know what to say, you know? Like, how do I frame it? ‘Kash kissed me and though I was inappropriately flattered I didn’t like it’?”     “That’s, ah--”   “No, it should be in-person,” Keyleth continues fastidiously. “I should tell him to his face. He might think I’m rejecting him, and I’m totally not. I’m really not good with words, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I love him, you know? I’m working towards something. I don’t want to ruin our friendship where it is now, either. You’re right, Percy, you’re so wise. I’ll tell him when they’re in town next week. Thanks!”   “You’re welcome,” Percy says, so exhausted from following Keyleth’s own internal-turned-external monologue that he actually feels as if he has spent the last hour giving her advice. “I’m going to bed, I think. But I’m glad I could be of service.”   --   The band’s due to arrive in Los Angeles within the week - they’re in Phoenix, and their San Diego stop is actually at the end of the tour, rather than following, at the twins’ own request - and their song is almost perfect. Vex and Vax have a furious debate over which show to play it at - Vax wants their last show; if it goes poorly, he argues, then they’ll be out of there the next day, and perhaps it won’t extend the sting of rejection - but Vex merely rolls her eyes and says, “Aren’t we trying to be brave?”   “I’ve done that already,” Vax says immediately. “I did the whole ‘spill out my soul in public’ thing. Your turn.”   “Fine, my turn,” Vex agrees, her palms flat against the wood as they stare at each other from opposite ends of the table. “I want to play it at the first show.”   Vax frowns, but Pike shrugs and says, “Sorry, Vax, you kind of handed her that one.”   “I know,” he grumbles, but acquiesces.   --   vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 22m monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   emo bitch @ravensallover · 19m hey folks what are we thinking about the foursome today with this lil gem from our boi ________________________________ vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   jack of spades @georgiaisforlovers · 17m Replying to @ravensallover @imvaxthatsvex Wait n see who retweets it   Keyleth Retweeted vax’ahlia @imvaxthatsvex · 28m monday mood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU...   jack of spades @georgiaisforlovers · 14m Replying to @ravensallover @imvaxthatsvex @keylethoftheair Welp   emo bitch @ravensallover · 12m Replying to @georgiaisforlovers @imvaxthatsvex @keylethoftheair lmao where’s tara   the legend of tara @scarenrae · 10m Replying to @ravensallover @georgiaisforlovers @imvaxthatsvex and 1 other I SWEAR TO GOD,. IS IT JUST KEYLETH??? IS IT A FUCKIGN LVOE TRIANGLE??? WHAT IS IT   --   TO: Vax Totally not trying to read into anything but   FROM: Vax yesss?   TO: Vax Was that for me?   FROM: Vax of course, i know ur fav bands :-)   TO: Vax I don’t like to assume!   FROM: Vax kiki my life is full with u in it & all my music if for u   FROM: Vax is* for u   TO: Vax <3   FROM: Vax <3   TO: Vax I wish I wasn’t alone tonight   FROM: Vax i wish that most nights   --   Percy isn’t expecting it. Maybe that’s the worst part.   He’s scanning through his Google news alerts casually while he waits for the car to pick him up and take him to the studio for an ADR session; now that the film’s in post it’s taking heavy scrutiny. Brooklyn Off-Duty Police Officer Involved in DUI. He flicks his thumb down the screen. Fire Contained in Pasadena. He swipes over to the U.K., as he does customarily to remind himself what he left behind, and what is still waiting for him should he choose it. Brexit Negotiations...Scottish Referendum...Anna Ripley, Notorious for the Mass Murder of the Royal de Rolo Family, Found Dead…   The world falls silent, still.   He clicks on the article without even registering his own actions. Posted ten minutes ago.   He stares, and stares, and stares, but the words never change. It’s not a hallucination or a dream. The headline sits there, gloating, mocking him.   Anna Ripley…   The body, he thinks numbly. He wants to see the body. He needs the evidence, the photographic proof of her lying lifeless and cold and unmoving. Anything to get her sick, twisted smile out of his mind. Anything to stop her voice from echoing around his skull.   Percival...   There’s the distant memory of a fingernail, sharp underneath his chin. His phone drops from his hands, but he doesn’t hear it hit the floor.   You’re so clever, Percival. You’re so talented. You’ll do great things. I couldn’t sacrifice that.   He slides down against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, hands covering his ears. The knocking at his door fails to register; his phone remains unanswered and unnoticed. He sits and he rocks and he breathes, and he tries to keep himself alive.   --   Percy doesn’t show up to record with her. He’s supposed to be there just after nine, an hour after her own call time, but the crew member who’d gone to pick him up returns alone.   From the booth, she sees him talking to the director, who points out something on her phone and shakes her head, covering her mouth as she talks. Keyleth can’t make out what they’re saying, and asks, “Hey guys, everything okay? Any notes?”   The director glances up and smiles; she presses a button and says, “Doing great, Keyleth. Actually, we’ve moved Percival’s slot to tomorrow - we’ve decided to bucket all your time for today, if that’s fine with you.”   Keyleth sees nothing strange about the explanation and so she doesn’t pry for details. “No problem,” she says brightly. “Let me know when we’re ready.”   “In three, two…” she signals for Keyleth to start, and leans over to the A.D. “Don’t give her enough of a break to check her phone today,” she murmurs to the other woman. “We don’t have the flexibility to lose time with both Keyleth and Percival.”   --   It’s five in the evening for Cassandra when Kynan pulls her aside; she’d been traveling, stuck in meetings all day, hadn’t even glanced at a screen in hours. He hands her his mobile wordlessly, fingers clammy and warm, and her lips part in a bare, uncontrollable slip of shock. The blood sinks back down into her heart and pools there, her face left white, a porcelain mask cracking.   She asks unsteadily, “How could this possibly have gotten out before we were even informed?”   “I don’t know.”   Her expression hardens. “Does Percy know?”   Kynan swallows nervously. “I don’t know.”   “Fuck,” Cassandra breathes out, already dialing his number. “This isn’t good.” It rings, and rings, and rings. She tries Keyleth and it’s the same; it rings, and rings, and finally goes to voicemail. “Keyleth, it’s Cass,” she says into the receiver. “Call me the second you see this, please. Talk soon.”   “What can I do?” he asks, needing to be helpful. “Task me.”   She furrows her brow, thinking of someone who may be there, accessible. “Actors,” she hisses, and it comes to her immediately. “So bloody unreliable. I need you to get me Vex’ahlia Vessar’s mobile. Her father is the Marquees of Reading. She’s in a band called Vox Machina. It shouldn’t be difficult.”   A look of recognition crosses his features. “Understood.”   --   Vex isn’t one to pick up calls from unknown numbers.   Vax, fortunately, is, and it’s his phone that rings just after ten-thirty in the morning as they’re checking out of their hotel. He slides to answer without thinking about it, barely comprehending the +44 code in front of the rest of the digits.   “Hello?” he says, adjusting the strap of his backpack.   “Vex’ahlia?” a harried voice answers in response.   “Wrong twin,” Vax says, now struggling with the buckle. “Who’s this?”   “I need to speak with Vex’ahlia immediately. It’s imperative I get ahold of her. Are you Vax’ildan?”   He stops, straightening up slowly. “Yeah,” he says carefully. “Again, who is this?”   “My name is Cassandra de Rolo,” she says, and he actually pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at it in surprise. “Hello?”   “Hi, yeah, erm, sorry, Your Highness, or - yeah,” he says, unaware of how to address her. “You - right. Vex. Okay. Uh…” He lowers the phone again and scans for his sister; she’s talking to Grog, lounging in one of the lobby chairs. “Hey, Vex!” he yells.   She leans her head around Grog’s frame. “What?” she shouts back.   “You - need to take this,” he says, holding up his cell. “Now.” She gets up obediently, padding over to him with a quizzical look on her face, and takes the phone. “Hello?” she says, and then for awhile she is quiet.   He watches her expression shift from confusion to intense focus, something a bit like dawning horror hiding in the widening of her eyes. He can’t make out what Cassandra is telling her, but it’s frantic, worried. Answering a question he doesn’t hear, Vex says, “Yes,” followed by another pause, and then:   “Yes, I’ll find him.”   --   “Vex, this is nuts,” Vax says for the tenth time, trailing behind her furiously. “You can’t just take off and not even tell us--”   “I’ll meet you in L.A.,” she says, brushing him off as the doorman outside finds her a cab. “Vax, I’m sorry. I have to go.”   “But why--”   A car pulls up next to the curb and she throws the door open before the driver can think about getting out to help. She glances over her shoulder and says, “Don’t worry about me. See you tomorrow,” and then she is gone, speeding away from the hotel like her life is at stake.   --   (Maybe it is, he realizes after, staring at Cassandra de Rolo’s contact details. Maybe it is.)   --   Vex buys the first flight she can on whatever airline is leaving the earliest, and because she only has a duffle bag, she’s able to get on one ten minutes out from boarding. The man at the desk recognizes her, too, and it’s a rare moment where she’s grateful for fame rather than angry about it.   She reads the news report while waiting at the gate, her heart sinking deeper with every word, the memory of Cassandra’s revelation fresh in her mind.   “Vex’ahlia, I’m not sure what you’re aware of or not, but I don’t have time to respect his privacy at the moment and I know the two of you are close,” she’d said. “Anna Ripley, the woman who murdered my family - our family - has died. She affects Percy differently than I, because she chose to keep him alive; she’d told him she was doing him a favor, and that she was going to create something beautiful out of him, out of his tragedy.” Even now, the idea has Vex’s skin and bone shivering out of tune with each other, like she’s shaking inside of herself. “She’d always been interested in him. She’d thought he was brilliant. And she was a sociopathic, deluded, evil woman.”   She’d said, “I can’t get ahold of Percy.”   She’d said, “Please, Vex’ahlia, I’m begging you. Find him.”   But Vex had started to move before Cassandra had even asked.   --   The flight is an hour and a half of torture, every terrible circumstance and situation Percy may possibly be in playing like the b-roll of a film on loop. She’s so wired by the time she arrives at his apartment complex that she throws two hundred dollars at the cab driver, even though the ride had only cost her fifty.   There’s no security to wrestle with, no difficult front desk management; Percy likes to be prepared, if nothing else. She marches up to the man sitting behind the counter and says with all the charm she can muster, “Hello, sorry to disturb you, but I’m Vex’ahlia Vessar - I believe Percival de Rolo mentioned I’d be staying with him this week and left me a key? I’m a few days early; I wanted it to be a surprise.” She slides him her I.D., not wanting to waste any time, and not even knowing if she has any time to waste.   The man smiles kindly up at her and says, “Of course, Ms. Vessar. Welcome, and what a lovely surprise - I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” He reaches into his desk drawer and hands her a small envelope, the weight of the key heavy inside of it; well, Percy does pay a fortune to live here, so it shouldn’t be any surprise that the staff are extremely well-trained and professional.   “He’s on the eighth floor - 8A. There are only two apartments, so you can’t miss it.”   She unlocks his door with her blood pulsing in all the wrong places. The pit of her stomach, the base of her skull, the bottoms of her feet, the creases of her elbows. It opens with a short click, and then swings inward, and Vex is immediately relieved that he isn’t face-down in the entryway.   The second thing she thinks is that his apartment is entirely too green for him, but exactly enough for Keyleth; another time, the observation will be amusing, but it isn’t now.   “Percival?” she calls, and hears no answer in response. She doesn’t take her time. She rushes from room to room, searching him out; the fear of finding him doesn’t outweigh her need to find him. Library, work room, guest room...   In the bathroom off of the master bedroom, the water is on, beating against the bowl of the sink.   (As long as Vex lives, the sight of endlessly running water in stillness leaves her with a mark; an uncomfortable emptiness, and the sound of death.)   She pushes the door open further, and hits something with a gentle thud, and she has never faced anything as terrifying in her life as Percy’s limp body on the tiled floor, curled up in itself.   “God,” she exhales, dropping to her knees, her hands immediately finding the pulse strong in his throat; it’s fast, actually, too fast, and he’s sweating through his clothes, forehead hot and clammy. “Christ, Percy, fuck--”   He makes a low noise in his throat, but doesn’t move. She turns him onto his back, her palms, cupping his face, stroking his cheekbones, trying to get a response. “Percy,” she says, shaking him a little. “Percy, I need you to open your eyes, darling, please.”   She glances around the bathroom, knowing he must’ve taken something to wind up in this state; she remembers horror stories, celebrities and their painkiller addictions, and tries to think of any recent injury Percy could’ve had that would’ve allotted him the same treatment--   Her eyes fall upon a small prescription bottle by the sink, and she reaches for it, fearing the worst--   She steadies herself on Percy’s shoulder. He grunts again, a cross between a groan and a word. She shakes the bottle and it rattles; it’s Percy’s anxiety medication, and it’s mostly full. She sighs, relieved; so, he didn’t overdose.   Vex lifts herself up and fills a cup with water from the still-running sink. “Percy,” she says, “I need you to drink this.” She slips her hand underneath his neck, and with a disturbing, macabre thought, she realizes that the dead weight of a head is really quite heavy. “Percy,” she says louder. “Open your eyes.”   And then she pours the ice-cold water onto his face.   --   He blinks blearily and the world is upside-down, out of focus, shadowed in hues of grey. There’s something hovering above him, but he can’t make out what it is. His mouth is dry and dusty, and his skin feels liquidized, like it’s melting off of him, like it’s not there at all.   “Percy,” a voice says. “Can you hear me?”   “Yes,” he thinks he says, but it comes out sounding all wrong. “Yes,” he says again, louder but still nonsensical.   The person’s fingers brush his hair away from his forehead. “Gods, Percy,” the voice says, and he recognizes this voice. It’s a good one, full of gentle lulls and lilts, and not the horrible thing of possession he’d been hearing for the past few hours. He tries to center his gaze, but his eyelids are so difficult to hold open, and it doesn’t seem worth it.   “Who?” he tries to ask, the word slurred.   “Vex,” Vex says, staring down at him.   “Vex,” he repeats, and grins to himself. “Nice dream,” he sighs.   Something is slipped behind his ears, resting on the bridge of his nose.   “This isn’t a dream,” she says softly. “Open your eyes, darling. Please.”   So he does, and this time, it’s in focus.   Vex is hovering above him looking every bit as beautiful as if he had dreamed her up himself; she’s smiling and stroking his face with the tips of her fingers, tracing across his pronounced jaw line, his bottom lip, his cheekbones.   “Vex,” he says, surprised, and it comes out sounding more and more like it’s supposed to.   “Yes,” she says, and he’s startled to find tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m so happy to see you.”   --   It takes her ten minutes just to get him to sit up, and even then he can’t do much more than that. He can’t seem to look at her for too long - she’s reminded of the first time they met, and the brutal contrast between then and now has her heart swollen in her chest - but it’s because of the tremendous effort it’s taking him to raise his head. He sits with his legs bent, one knee up and drawn in, breathing deeply through his nose.   “Percy,” she says, reaching for his arm; he’s still clammy to the touch, and she doesn’t know much about caring for someone but she does know she shouldn’t let him sit around in his damp clothes for much longer. His jeans seem fine, but the shirt’s soaked in water and sweat, and he’s started shivering. She tugs on the hem of it, attempting to get him to focus. “Dear, you’ve got to take this off.”   He nods without looking at her, but doesn’t move.   She tries again. “Is it alright if I help you?”   Another pause, another nod, and then she kneels in front of him and carefully lifts his shirt over his head. The fabric sticks to his body in places, his muscles shaking like the movement costs him extraordinary effort. Her eyes trail down, inspecting him from a clinical angle. It’s unsettling to see a man so in-shape and well-defined unable to even stand.   “I can stand,” he says haltingly, and for a moment she fears she’d spoken aloud, but it’s rather as if clarity in some regard is returning to him. “Need...a moment.”   She rests a hand against the top of his head in an acknowledgment, straightening up, running over a checklist. She’s in survival mode, the fight side instead of flight. Fresh towels, she thinks. New shirt. Drinkable water. Bed. Company. She can handle all of those things.   She rummages through his dresser and grabs the first things she finds: a white v-neck and a pair of sweatpants. She fills a glass from the filter in the sink and sets it on his nightstand. She pulls back the covers. And then she returns to the bathroom, where he’s holding onto the counter and trying to hoist himself up.   Vex extends a hand. Percy looks at her and takes it, her fingers grasped tightly in his, and they’re both surprised to find that she can support his weight. Once he’s standing, he’s a little steadier, a little more alert; she takes one of the towels and drapes it around his neck, his shoulders, rubs the middle of his back. He lets her work, recognizing that she’s doing what’s good for him, fighting back against the impulses he has to not fight at all.   It’s another twenty minutes until she gets him in bed. He manages to change into his sweats and stops there, still shirtless, but she doesn’t push him on it. She removes her jacket, kicks off her sneakers, undoes the braid from her hair; he watches from where he’s leaning against his side table, entranced. And then, before she can talk herself out of it, she unzips her jeans and rolls them down her hips, her thighs, pulling them over her feet and off. She doesn’t have an ulterior motive; she doesn’t intend on leaving him alone and they aren’t comfortable to sleep in.   He stays silent, processing. She slips under his deep blue sheets, and says, “Come here.” She pats the space next to her as if he requires the visual reference to understand.   After a moment, he says, “This isn’t how I...imagined having you in my bed the first time.” His hesitation, she realizes, comes from regret, and not from reluctance. He’d wanted to be better, not falling apart. That had been the point.   “Percy, it’s okay,” she says gently, mirroring his own sentiment from that night on his couch back at him; it’d helped her for reasons she couldn’t explain, so maybe it’ll help him, too. “Come here.”   He moves slowly, but he comes; he sits on the edge of the bed with one foot still planted on the floor, the other knee bent, resting flat. He stares straight ahead at the dark screen of the television and says, “You don’t have to do this,” but the drugs make it much harder for him to sound convincing.   “I know,” she says, “but I want to,” and it’s not a lie.   He lifts his other leg onto the bed, but still faces forward. “Why?” he asks.   Vex bites her lip. “The same reason you’d do this for me,” she confesses, a shot not quite in the dark.   She isn’t sure why she says it. She’s kept it to herself for so long and so well, content to burn, and burn, and burn. Maybe it’s time for confirmation of something, if not the thing itself. Maybe it’s time they do what they promised to do months ago on a balcony in New York and tell the truth. Maybe it’s what he needs to hear.   It catches him off-guard, exactly enough to finally get him to turn his body and meet her eyes, and the intensity in his stare is so staggering that she forgets any thoughts following. His pupils are slightly blown but it’s him looking at her, not the ghost of a tortured boy from long before she knew him. He studies her with a clarity he doesn’t fully possess, and he seems to make a decision.   He leans in towards her, supporting his weight with a palm flat against the bed, and oh, my God, he’s going to kiss her. And even worse, she wants him to.   “Percy,” she whispers, and he’s so close she can feel him exhale against her lips. God, she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, but she can’t. He’s playing directly into her own coping mechanisms. She understands misdirection of emotion better than anyone, and how it comes back to haunt. “If I thought it would help you, I would,” she states softly. “But I think you’d be angry with yourself, later.”   “I just want to forget,” he says, voice so small and plain it breaks her heart again and again and again. “I can’t think about it anymore, Vex. It’ll kill me.”   His elbow shakes against her, and he can’t hold himself up much longer; she wraps her arms around him, one hand cupping the back of his head, and pulls him against her like breaking against an ocean.   The way his body falls into hers is almost graceful in nature; there are no hard edges or sharp corners, just his cheek pressing against her shoulder and his torso half-resting on top of hers, legs intertwined. He shudders slightly and adjusts his arms underneath hers, holding her in an embrace that quickly turns into a quiet sort of desperation.   She lays her chin against the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp comfortingly. She asks, “Do you want to tell me about it?”   “No,” he says against her collarbone, and then, “yes.” He breathes steadily for a second, composing himself to the best of his ability. “I want you to know everything about me.”   He says, “Anna Ripley is dead.”   She says, “I know.”   He says, “I’m not, and sometimes I think that’s the problem.”   --   (He spills everything out to her, whispers in a darkened room. She holds him tightly against her and he touches her skin to keep himself grounded. Sometimes she’s there, he rambles, like I can feel her watching me, like I hear her voice in my head, telling me how proud of me she is, how I’ve done such great things, how I’ll bring about so many more. How intelligent I am. How all I need is a tragedy to make me understand that I should be shared with everyone.   Vex doesn’t bother pointing out that the rhetoric of a madwoman doesn’t make sense; he’s long since figured that out. It’s not what matters. What matters is that it was damning, shameful, blaming, celebratory. It carried an algorithm meant to break him as a person, warping his innocence into something worthy of punishment. Cassandra survived by accident, he says. She snuck out. It was supposed to be just me. Only me. It was my fault.   But it wasn’t, Vex points out, her lips above the shell of his ear. You were young and impressionable and content with your life, and that doesn’t make you a fool, or somehow responsible.   He’s hanging onto her every word, his tears hot and pooling against her shirt, body shaking with every breath. Maybe this is what he’s been building to all along, what he’s been dreaming for: someone to simply hold him and let him cry.   You’ve suffered a long time and a very great deal, she says, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here.)   --   It’s late afternoon when Keyleth’s session ends; they’d worked hard, focusing entirely on their task at hand, and so she’d felt it inappropriate to check her phone throughout the day. It’d actually felt nice to disconnect for awhile, to be away from all the noise, the alerts, the responsibility. She leaves Percy a few doodles and comments on the script for his lines, thanks the director and assistant director, and finally powers on her phone.   She’s hit with ten missed calls, three voicemails, and about forty texts from various numbers. It takes her a second of scrolling in complete confusion before she realizes she’s being asked about Percy.   Vax is responsible for at least fifteen of the texts and two of the voicemails, so she calls him without listening to anything, her blood suddenly flooding with adrenaline. She can’t think of anything good that would force this level of contact, and she’s panicking by the time Vax answers with a visibly relieved, “Keyleth! Thank God, I haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone--”   “What’s going on?” she asks immediately, stepping out of the studio and towards the car waiting to take her home. “I haven’t been able to check my phone today, and I have all these missed calls and messages--”   “Cassandra rang me,” he says, and Keyleth stops walking mid-step, almost falling over at the unexpected twist. “She - I don’t know much, or what this all exactly means, but it’s all over the news - Anna Ripley is dead?”   Something cold pools at the base of her skull, the name alone sounds like a curse. “Anna Ripley is dead?”   “Yeah, and Cassandra was worried about Percival, so she spoke to Vex for a few minutes and Vex took off,” he says. “She should’ve been there awhile ago, but I haven’t heard from her--”   “I should’ve known,” Keyleth says blankly, getting into the car. “Shit! I should’ve known something was wrong when Percy didn’t show up for work - I thought - is he okay? Damn it!”   “Breathe, Kiki,” Vax says, and the use of his nickname for her calms her somehow. “I think Vex is with him. I haven’t heard anything to suggest otherwise.”   “Change of plans,” Keyleth says to the driver. “Drop me off at Percy’s instead, but do you mind waiting for a few minutes?”   “Not at all,” the man says with a polite nod.   “I’ll go over there and let you know,” she says into the receiver. “I should’ve been there for him.”   “Maybe,” Vax answers vaguely, “but maybe not.”   --   She doesn’t get what he means until lets herself into Percy’s apartment with her own key and finds nothing amiss.   The silence is weighted down by something, though, and it’s a strange feeling, sort of like she shouldn’t be there at all, like she’s intruding. She doesn’t call out his name; she glances between rooms, searching for signs. A bag in the living room. Kitchen cabinets open, glasses on the counter. His bedroom door is cracked slightly; she places a hand against it and peeks around--   “You can come in,” a low voice says, “but be quiet, alright, Keyleth?”   It’s Vex, stretched out in Percy’s bed, hair spilling across his pillow and his head resting against the nook of her shoulder, sleeping soundly. Her arms are around him and her eyes are red, drained, but she looks like she’s where she’s supposed to be.   “Oh,” Keyleth says quietly, observing with a restrained type of relief. “You are here. Good.”   “Cassandra called me.”   “I heard. Text your brother. He’s worried about you.”   Vex’s eyebrows raise, but lower again just as quickly with a nod of understanding. “I will.”   Keyleth doesn’t comment on the state of them; Vex’s fingers trailing up and down Percy’s bare back, her clothes strewn about the floor, the undeniable and unshakable truth of intimacy. She asks, “Is he alright?”   “He wasn’t,” Vex says, “but he will be.”   Keyleth doesn’t make a move to leave, but she doesn’t speak again, either. She hovers in the doorway, overcome and overwhelmed and jealous.   Vex says, “Whatever it is, spit it out. I won’t be offended.”   “How can you do it?” Keyleth asks, being given permission. “You just - hopped on a plane the second he needed you and - gave yourself over to him. Like, wholeheartedly. You didn’t even really know what was wrong, or what to expect, and you did it anyway. Why?”   She can’t wrap her head around it, stumbling over the building blocks, all the roads and bridges; she wants to say she’s that kind of person, too, but she also wants to know every facet of it, every secret and hidden piece.   Vex smiles sadly at her. “I think you know exactly why.”   Love is suddenly sitting in the room with them, spread out across the bed, lounging in all the chairs, filling up the sink. Vex starts, “It might be careless to you.”   “It is,” Keyleth says, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”   “People who are going to hurt you will hurt you regardless of the walls you build,” Vex says gently.   “So you shouldn’t even try?”   “I knew there was a possibility I’d end up hurt today,” Vex says. “And I was. But not by anything Percy did - by things I couldn’t protect him from.” She absentmindedly strokes his hair while she speaks. “It’s impossible to protect yourself from everything, Keyleth, but aren’t there people you hold dear who you want to protect? People who you want to keep safe, and you’d do so, without a second thought to yourself?”   “Of course.” Her eyes fall to Percy, breathing steadily, and her heart wanders to Vax. Of course she wants to keep him safe, wants him to stop torturing himself, gathering up burdens like toys.   “So doesn’t it then hold that there are people who want the same for you?” Vex says. “Percy and I - we’re fighting to protect each other, but for us, it sometimes means protecting each other from ourselves.” She hesitates before continuing. “You, on the other hand, aren’t trying to protect yourself as much as you’re simply...afraid, I think.”   “Afraid of what?”   “Losing someone,” Vex says. “You’re afraid that if you have Vax, you can also not have him, and you’re trying to convince yourself it isn’t worth it.”   “No, I--” Keyleth interrupts, and stalls, wringing her hands together. “It is worth it, but I guess - yeah, I am afraid of...knowing what it’s like to not be alone, and then have to be alone again.” She gestures to Percy, still sound asleep. “I get it with you, Vex. Like, I get the two of you have this - this deeper understanding. But Vax is...the kind of guy who runs blindly into burning buildings without even knowing if anyone is inside to save. And me - I’ll save people but I won’t die for nothing.” She grimaces. “Sorry, I know that was convoluted, I’m not the best with metaphors--”   “No, I think I understand,” Vex says, but lowers her voice notably when Percy shifts his head. “You’re afraid you’re going to lose him to - what, his own spontaneous, self-sacrificial nature? That he’ll take something on too big for him, or...”   “Something like that,” Keyleth concedes. “I feel like Vax is always - searching for the next thing to punish himself for.”   “So give him somewhere new to go,” Vex says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t want him running into fire - fine. Let him run to you instead.” Keyleth frowns at the advice, because it seems like addressing part of the problem and not the whole thing. Vex continues, “He’s learning to stand up for what’s important to him, and you’ll be first on that list if you give him the chance. Keyleth, he’s devoted to you.”   “I know,” Keyleth says, because she does. “I know.”   “You’re afraid,” Vex repeats, softer. “Reasons look a lot like excuses when you whittle them down.”   “So are you,” Keyleth says, “or you would’ve told Percy already. And maybe that’s fine. Maybe it’s okay to be afraid as long as you don’t intend to let it stop you.”   “Maybe,” Vex agrees. “Do you intend to let it stop you?”   “No,” Keyleth decides. “Do you?”   “No,” she says, voice quieting, looking down at the boy in her arms. “No, I don’t.”   Keyleth rests a hand on the door frame, smiling, eyes averted away. “Good luck,” she says as she backs out of the room. “To both of us.”   --   (Keyleth leaves and the apartment is once again silent, no television hum, no running fan.   So are you. Vex hears Keyleth’s accusation like she’s still standing there, shouting it at her. Or you would’ve told him.   It isn’t that simple, she wants to say, but there’s no one left to argue with. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t.   It is.   Percy has an arm slung across her waist, and his face is peaceful, dreamless. Nobody has ever seen him this exposed, vulnerable by his own choice, and he has let her in as if there were never even a lock. She touches her lips to the crown of his head.   “I should’ve told you,” she murmurs into his hair. “It’s yours.”)   --   Keyleth calls him as she slides back into the car, and Vax answers on the second ring. “Hey.”   “Hey. I saw them both,” she tells him. “They’re fine. She’ll text you soon.”   He sighs in relief. “Oh, good. Thanks, Kiki.”   “No problem,” she says, and works a fingernail in between her teeth, caught up in thought; Vex had given her a lot to contemplate. She can’t get the image of them out of her mind, curled up together, damaged and hopeful and whole. She says, “I get what you meant, by the way. When you said maybe it was good it wasn’t me who got the call.”   “Yeah?”   “Yeah,” she says, gazing at the palm trees peppering the skyline outside her window, streets flying by. She presses the tips of her fingers against the glass.   “Why?”   It’s almost wrong to say, like a confession that isn’t hers. “Because she loves him,” she says.   Vax is quiet for a moment. “I know.”   “That means something, doesn’t it.”   It’s not really a question, but he answers anyway. “Yeah,” he says wistfully. “It does.”   --   When Percy drowsily stirs from sleep, he’s disoriented and sluggish and not quite sure where he is, but he’s pressed up against something warm and alive, breathing slowly.   He blinks his eyes open into a mess of dark hair and the dim glow of a phone screen; painted blue nails tap out a message just above his shoulder, and then a hand drops, stroking up and down his arm as if it’s out of habit.   It doesn’t hit him all at once - it passes over him slowly, like waves that foam at the tip and never quite crash. Vex. Vex hovering over him, holding him. Vex leading him to bed. He becomes acutely aware of his left arm, tucked between their bodies, hand laying against her bare thigh. Vex’s face, getting closer and closer--   He sighs against her collarbone, and she stills, setting her phone down. She whispers, “Percy?”   “Mm,” is all he can make out, groggily trying to pull himself out of it. He lifts his head carefully, and with a groan, immediately drops it onto his pillow and off of her shoulder, sliding onto his back.   She mirrors him by rolling onto her side, one hand on his chest, eyes tracing his face. “Are you - awake?” she tries again. “Are you alright?”   “Yes,” he says, and after a period of stillness, reaches blindly for his glasses sitting on the nightstand, almost knocking over the water in the process. “Just...out of sorts.”   She’s silent as he lifts himself up, angling his back against the headboard. He takes a moment to blink against the sudden clarity of his vision, shaking his head lightly, like it’s full of loose parts, metal rattling around. He grips the glass of water and she tracks his movements sharply, the bob of his throat as he drinks, his muscles flexing.   He won’t keep her waiting any longer, no matter the oppression of his lethargy. He says, “I owe you an explanation,” setting the glass back down.   “Alright,” she says, put a little more at ease after hearing him speak.   “I had a - panic attack,” he says tentatively. “It was...the worst I’ve had, I think, ever. And I couldn’t remember...if I’d taken my medication. So I kept taking it without realizing. I couldn’t - I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear.” He clears his throat, sparing her a short glance and down. “I wasn’t trying to--”   “I know,” Vex interrupts so he doesn’t have to say it. “I - had the thought, briefly, but I somewhat figured it out.”   “I’m sorry,” he tells her plainly, spreading his fingers, palms facing up and then contorting into fists.   “You don’t have to apologize,” she says, but she sits up and she’s close again, almost against his side, and he thinks of how he almost destroyed them both.   “No, I do,” he says, and reaches up, taking her chin in his hand gently. It’s not the time for shame. “I shouldn’t have tried to...kiss you. You did the right thing.”   Her teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she exhales in breath shorter than it should be. She says unsteadily, “I almost let you.”   “I know,” he answers softly, and his hand drifts to her hair, wrapping a curl around his fingers.   She releases her bottom lip and it’s red, slightly swollen. She looks at him from under her eyelashes, and he suddenly is hit with what she’s implicating. She says, “Percy, I was so close. I almost - I almost ruined this with you.”   “But you didn’t,” he says, and senses the need for weightlessness. “And thus, I’m here, awake and coherent and perfectly capable of stopping you from jumping me, should your unhealthy method of handling stress rear its head again.”   At that, she finally laughs, angling her neck and resting her cheek against the palm of his hand. “Well, in that case…” she trails off dryly. Her eyes are shining and her heart is still frantic, fluttering. “Now I’m convinced you’re feeling a bit better.”   He observes her casually for a moment, as if from a great distance, finding the cracks. “Do you want to talk about it?”   “This isn’t about me,” she says.   “It can be about us both,” he says. “I’ve had my time. Please, distract me.”   She pulls the sheet back up over his hips, aware of how little she’s wearing, and hunches over her knees. Her hair flows down her spine, against her shoulders, curling and wild. She starts slowly, “I haven’t actually - acted on it as much as it seems like I have. I don’t just...fuck people. But for awhile after - after Syldor - I’d seek it out, you know, the detachment, the roughness. I didn’t know how to...feel anything else. And I’d remember that I was real and that I was - desireable, I guess.” She’s leaning closer to him without realizing it, drawing comfort and stability from his presence. “But with you...it’s different. I won’t say I don’t want you to want me, because I do, but when I look at you--” she breaks off suddenly, her thought losing its way. She struggles momentarily and says, “I want you to be real.” There’s a long pause populated by only the two of them staring at each other. “And I want to know that - there’s a difference between using someone, and someone...caring about you.”   He watches her with eyes that never judge and a body that simply listens; he doesn’t ask for more than she’s giving, and he doesn’t pull her closer. He merely strokes her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, and then says, “Thank you for telling me.”   “I want you to know everything about me,” she echoes, aching for reasons she can’t comprehend.   “I want you,” he says bluntly. “I didn’t - return the sentiment before, but I do, Vex. How could I not?” He brushes over her bottom lip, still red, like it’s beckoning him. “But more than that, I don’t want to hurt you. And I want to be the person who shows you the difference between - being used, and something with - real emotion as the motivation.”   Vex smiles, genuine and quiet, something reserved for only him to see, and says, “As long as we’re on the same page.”   “We are,” he says. “And as for me - I’ll tell you the rest when I’m ready. When I know how I feel about - her - and why I feel it, you’ll be the first person I’ll come to. Or second, depending on when I meet with my therapist.”   “I’m flattered,” she teases without malice.   “First, then,” he replies decisively, kidding. “After all, she probably didn’t even bother to call. You flew across state lines. There’s a clear winner.”   “Charming.” She rolls her eyes at the bravado, and then, sensing the need for distance - not from each other, but from their problems - she says, “Well, it’s almost six and I’m famished.” She gathers her hair at the nape of her neck and ties it into a sloppy bun. “Thai alright with you?”   She slips out of bed, facing away from him, and she can almost feel his gaze fall to her ass. She turns and smirks over her shoulder at him, and he flushes, unable to avert his eyes in time.   He says, “Erm.”   “What,” she says, “never seen an attractive woman in her underwear before, Percival?”   “Not that I can ever remember,” he says stupidly, like he’s just letting whatever words he has stockpiled in his mouth fall out of it.   “Well, I wouldn’t want to be a distraction,” she says nonchalantly, and opens his first drawer, remembering where his clothes are organized from her earlier search. They’re mostly boxer briefs, but she finds a navy pair of boxes with white dots on them and slips them on, rolling them over her hips. “Do you have a normal delivery place, or should I Google it?”   He’s speechless for a solid thirty seconds - she’s left the room entirely and is standing in the kitchen with her phone when he finally appears from the hallway behind her.   “Good God, woman,” he says, shaking his head. “I guess it’s true what they say about rock stars.”   “I’d suppose similar things are said about movie stars,” she shoots back, grinning, and even though they’re both exhausted, emotionally drained and bodies bruised instead of broken, the world feels conquerable.   --   Percival @PercivaldeRolo · 36m Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   aya @suntree · 25m um _______________________________________ Percival @PercivaldeRolo Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   vex’ildan Retweeted Percival @PercivaldeRolo · 48m Like Real People Do - Hozier https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms   aya @suntree · 7m Replying to @imvexthatsvax @PercivaldeRolo UM   --   (She’s leaning on her elbows against his kitchen island, one foot kicked over her other ankle, scrolling through her phone. She’s since put on his sweater while waiting for their food to be delivered, and as he approaches from the hallway, freshly showered and fully clothed, he hears the song he’d tweeted playing through her speakers.   She doesn’t hear him coming, but straightens her spine, adjusting her weight between feet. He steps up behind her, chest pressed against her back, and places his hands flat against the marble, arms on either side of her body. She starts slightly, arching her neck, and he realizes just how much taller he is, how easily he envelopes this lithe woman in front of him. He thinks about being somebody bigger, not in size but in spirit, in heart. Somebody who can keep her safe.   He doesn’t speak for a moment, letting her settle comfortably into him. Finally, he lowers his lips to the shell of her ear and murmurs, “Thank you.”   She rests the back of her head against his shoulder and the music plays on.)